Well, that train jumped the track

I can’t remember what I’d planned to write about.


Because WordPress screwed with the *write page again and completely threw me for a loop.

Thanks a lot guys.

The last *improvement* was not an improvement and you’ve made it worse.

I hug my bull terrier

Frito casserole is what was for dinner

  • 3 cups Fritos corn chips
  • 1 onion, chopped
  • 1 (19 ounce) can chili
  • 1 cup grated cheddar or Mexican blend cheeses
  1. Put 2 cups Fritos in baking dish.
  2. Arrange onion and half the cheese on top of Fritos.
  3. Pour chili over the cheese.
  4. Top with remaining Fritos and cheese.
  5. Bake at 350* for 15 minutes, or until hot.

This is what happens when you see a large display of Fritos, upon entering a store, when you haven’t been able to find Fritos other than in tiny bags for years.


The edge of 63

As a young woman, it never occurred to me that I’d have so much to worry about when I got older. Hell, 63 years of age to me was OLD and an age I’d probably not reach.

Well, here I am, teetering on the edge of 63.

Now, I worry about our Social Security getting raped by the Republicans, not to mention the pillaging of Medicare, affordable healthcare, and so many other things.

Seems the Republicans enjoy playing reverse Robin Hood and they steal from the poor to line the pockets of the rich.

When I was young, I didn’t have health problems and a need for life saving drugs.

When I was young, my husband hadn’t yet been diagnosed with MS. (Need I mention ALL the drugs he needs to make it through a day?)

When I was young, I quit my job on more than one occasion to go 2,000 miles away from my husband (who was still in good health) to care for my baby sister, not worrying about hours needed for medicare and time lost with a healthy husband.


At least that floor is clean…

The dogs had tracked in so much mud it had to be done. I can’t believe that it took me an entire day yesterday to mop the kitchen floor. I used to get every floor in this house mopped in that amount of time.

This is what happens when your back gets wrecked by a Curmudgeon and two dogs.

Anyway, today I am wearing red and not lifting a finger. I am on strike.



Save the EPA

In case you weren’t around then like I was. Or if you’ve forgotten…


Thank the orange troll when it returns to this.


Geo. Wash briddge 1973

George Washington Bridge 1973

Sleep is not overrated

When one lacks sleep due to outside influences one can and will become very cranky. AKA the bitch from hell.

Every time I dozed off, a dog, The Curmudgeon, or a noisy car right outside my window managed to wake me.

Needless to say I had a very long night.


What happened to that utopian future to which we looked to with such hope?

In my idealistic youth, I thought when I hit this age our world would be this utopia depicted by fiction writers.

I mean the year 2017 was so far off and strange sounding that it was a time of mythic inventions, miraculous cures for disease, equality for all, and no worries.

Well, it is so far from the truth it is frightening.

Instead we have a rise in bigotry, misogyny, stealth thefts of social security and medical aid by our own government, the EPA raped and pillaged so we can have dirty air and water like we had back in my idealistic youth.

The endangered species act tossed aside so their homes are available for pillaging by land grabbing, greedy people.

People are becoming more violent towards each other because the government aka Twitler, the orange troll, the idiot in charge, The Tweeto Bandito (I love that one) condones it! Hell, the fat man with tiny hands encourages it!

Oh, to be back in my idealistic youth knowing all about what is to come. I’d not do this life over the same way. I’d be hitchhiking to the sweetest, small beach town I could find and make it my home.


Yay, a quiet day.

Gavin had a nice, quiet day.

G had plenty of brotherly help today so I wasn’t needed.

Other than some of his normal whining, The Curmudgeon wasn’t too much of a handful.

Chilly outside so neither dog was too anxious to go out every five minutes like on warm days.

Dinner was simple and tasty so no complaints there.

We had snow flurries arrive in the afternoon.



Another recovery day

This one is not only Gavin’s but I picked up G and brought her home from where she had her second knee surgery.

Once I got her home, her eldest son and her youngest brother took over her care.

Now my BFF has two fake knees. 😉 Six weeks until she’s allowed to drive again. She’s already wishing the time was over.

We’ll celebrate when the doctor releases her to back to normal living.

midnight margaritas



Day three of Gavin’s recovery

I’m happy to say the day went well. He’s staying quiet and cooperative. It’s a freaking miracle, he’s a Bull Terrier for heaven’s sake.

Had to leave The Curmudgeon in charge for a bit while I made my second run this week to the pharmacy for another of The Curmudgeon’s medications. Both dogs stayed out of trouble. Yay.

coffee zombie

Day 2 of Gavin’s recovery…

He’s calm. Sleeping well and doing everything he should.

We have foregone the e-collar for the moment because he’s leaving everything alone. That may change as he heals more and the stitches begin to itch.

So far he is enjoying his pain medications and food, he wants food every minute of the day. He’s afraid we’ll not give him his breakfast again I guess.

Say ‘cookie’ and he’s on you like a shot. LOL

Today’s Tee shirt


Gavin looks like he’s been through a war…

We had a veterinary emergency run yesterday morning. Gavin had a small mass on his anus burst open and we had blood everywhere.

The Curmudgeon called the vet while I tried to stem the flow without success. Finally I grabbed an old pair of his undies and pulled them on Gavin pulling his tail through that convenient hole.

After some surgery there, while he was still out, our vet removed numerous skin tags and warts from his face, legs, and body since we don’t want him under anesthesia any more than necessary.

Gavin slept when he first got home then when he got up and poddied, he wanted his food. He demanded food. He screamed for food. Poor baby didn’t get breakfast and it was well past dinnertime.

I think he’ll survive now that he ate. We still have a bit of post anesthesia whining off and on, but by morning he should be fine.

Alcohol suit up