The Adventures of Dead Mouse

I had a helper yesterday to make my day go faster.

Meet Mr. Dead Mouse.

He said just call him Dead.

He did some sweeping.

The hammer was just a wee bit large for him.

Dead likes honey and was fascinated with the antique smoker.

He was very sad when the bee gloves would not fit.

Dead gave the grind wheel a couple of turns.

He laughed and said it made him dizzy.

He enjoyed checking out the old tools

and was very grateful he had sharp teeth.

This saw could not be mouse powered.

Pretty knowledgeable about power

Dead admitted he COULD possibly be

the reason this outlet will not work.

 Dead decided to leave the vise alone.

I would say that was wise considering his fragile condition.

Dead Mouse became Happy Mouse

when he discovered this hub cap.

He's a Chevrolet mouse through and through.

He swore on his mother's grave

he did not know this place was posted.

Dead spent the rest of the day dancing his little feet off.

He came alive to Queen's "We Are The Champions"

We both enjoyed the music.

Boston, CCR, Nine Inch Nails, even The Boss sang.

When I left for the day, Dead was still rocking out!

He will probably be too tired tomorrow to help.

It was a productive day.

A job is always easier when it's shared.

Thank you, Mr Dead Mouse.

You made my day.

Things I've Learned While At The Mercy Of Medical Care...

#1  PLEASE BE QUIET PEOPLE ARE HEALING  does not apply to staff, neither house keepers nor care givers.

#2  Comfort and hospitals do not go together.  They may be color coordinated and falsely cheerful but there is no comfortable spot here unless it is in the leaving.

#3  The healthier the food, the more disgusting it tastes...may only apply to food served here.

Sick humor again.  The staff is wonderful.

Thank you for all your prayers and healing thoughts.  I know I could feel you with us.  Could not have done this without your shoulders to cry on. Double thanks for the thoughtful follow ups and the special posts requesting prayer for Hubby.

Update:  Refraction rate is closer to twenty percent than ten so that is a relief.  His breathing is greatly improved and his blood pressure and water retention have both lessened significantly.

Testing, testing, testing.  He has to be worth saving before they put him on a list.  So far so good...no  TB,  no VD nor AIDS.  No blood clots. Basically they said he has to be clear of any other illnesses before they put him on a list for a new heart.  So tests will continue into perpetuity (I know that's usually a financial term but I do think it will also apply here.)

Look's like we're going to meet our major medical out of pocket expense again this year...oh, yeah!  I haven't checked to see if they cover transplants.  If it doesn't, I guess they can repossess the heart. Thank God we do have insurance.

Hubby sent me home to feed the cows and wash his favorite pjs.  I think he was tired of me telling on him to the nurses when he has a problem.

I just checked that load of laundry and have washed his leather belt!!!...but y'all know I'm half crazy anyway.  Andrew and I have weighted his belt down with books and boards and a trunk so the leather won't curl...

I over heard Hubby telling a friend on the phone that when he gets a new young heart, he's gonna get a new young wife because I won't be able to keep up with him then.  I smiled because he doesn't know I am already working on his honey-do list...and I flipped him off.  I'm bad.

Remember please, my perceived insensitivity is only my sick sense of humor...my survival mode.  (I cry when no one can see me.)

Oh, and I captured some ghostly orbs in the hospital garden....wooooooooooooo!  Scary.

This N That And My Own Accident

No pictures, Blogger is playing games so words are taking long enough.

We got rain!!!!!!!!  Wonderful, life-giving rain.  I can already see the grass greening up.  Hope we get enough to get a good winter pasture started because we certainly will not have hay from here.

I was grateful when no one was hurt in the truck accident.  I am also grateful no one was hurt, well, not much, during the execution of my graceful accident last night.

As you have read I have been repairing and working in where it's cool...and yes, I'm keeping the chair.

I have also been painting on canvas.  My end product was strange and like no painting I've completed before. 

My plan was to paint two canvases for each side of our bed to balance with our matching lamps, chrome and glass side tables and a foo-foo lacy back drop.  Sounds horrible, right?  One canvas to represent me in some way and the other to represent Hubby.

My paint usually does better than it did this time.  It made me paint this horrible dark picture with a tornado, a cave, stormy skies, cascading water and some unidentified metal thing hovering over it all.  I puzzled over this.  I looked close and far away and still didn't really know WHY I had painted this.

Soooooo, I decided to hang it on the wall just to get the feel of it 'cause it sure wasn't feeling right on the easel.

I retrieve the drill, have a screw, screw it in, screw it out and then decide I'm not tall enough to get it right.  Here's where you can laugh and the accident begins.

I climb on the bed, can't quite reach the spot I need so I stretch my left toe to brace on the metal cross frame of the (stupid looking) cute little side table, you know, the one with glass. I hold the screw in place, start the drill and all hell breaks loose.  The glass breaks, the lamp drops to the second shelf, the painting flies through the air, I bounce off the wall and back to the bed and slide into the floor.  But, by golly, I'm still holding that drill!

I sit for a moment and think how stupid can some one be...use the right tools like a step ladder!  I notice blood, lots of glass, and my over turned table.  I'm angry at myself!  Now my tables don't match any more.

I go to the kitchen for the trash can, the broom and dust pan and a wet rag to clean up my bloody foot prints.  Picked up glass, set the lamp BESIDE the table, cleaned the floor and examined my filleted foot.  I discover I am grateful for the fillet.  It was about three inches long on the bottom of my foot.  If it had gone in instead of across the glass would have been completely through my foot.

So now, my next project is to repair the side table.  Oh, and the painting...I've decided I don't like it at all!

Jogging The Old Memory Banks...

After reading a wonderfully humourous entry by Journaling Woman about WPP, I had to tell this true tale of mistaken identity....so blame her.

For years my sister, Beverly, lived out of state.  She returned and opened a real estate business, while I still worked for (and always have) the postal service.  We were then about the same weight (before the love of sweets attacked me), same height, same coloring, blue eyes and same length of hair but also very different in appearance.

Beverly began to report problems.  "A big hairy man grabbed me at the meat counter and swung me around and said he was so glad to see me, I said put me down!"  I said, oh, that was Hokie, haven't seen him for awhile, he's back, how is he?  She stiffly said I did not ask.

People would stop her and ask her postal questions.  She went to a furniture store in another town and the guy was following her grinning and just talking.  She asked, do I know you.  He laughed and said why, yes, I sold you two recliners yesterday.  No, she said, I have never been in this store.  When they talked, they discovered it had been me in uniform.  The guy said I thought you were Gail with her clothes on!

I, with my weird sick sense of humor, thought this was all wonderfully funny.  It opened some doors for me, I could do things and deny it!  I could say oh, that was my sister...

I began to feel sorry for her and had a shirt made for her birthday.  Bright red with "I am Beverly" on the front and "I am not Gail" on the back.  Beverly made sure she always wore it to town.

Darn, when I think of the things I could have done...

I Should Have Known...

When I was dating hubby, he was showing me his stomping grounds which consisted of bluffs, a river, rail roads and bridges and sand. 

We were enjoying a nice walk along the rail road tracks, something I had never been around.  We crossed the train bridge, I was reluctant because my feet were shorter than the distance between the bridge ties.  Hubby had done this all his life and had no trouble with the height, the spaces in the tracks or my fear. 

We talked of train schedules and that trains did not run on Sundays.  He told me horrow stories of trains coming while someone was on the bridge and they had to jump off. 

Now, please remember, I am a gullible seventeen year old.  As we recrossed the bridge, hubby broke into a run and yelled "Train!"  He said run and I am hitting every tie while he is clearing three at a time.  I am terrified and when I finally get off the train bridge and turn to see the train, I see future hubby laughing his ass off!

Quoting the famous Bill Ingvall, "Here's your sign", I married him anyway.  This was just the beginning.