So On And So Forth

So...we took Madame to the doctor the other day to check a mole on her back that looked suspicious.
We had to take the Gent with us for he can't be left alone too long or he gets upset and gets the idea he should go off looking for his Missus.
While we were in the waiting room after having laboriously helped Madame out of the car and inside, I noticed a water cooler in the corner. Since one of my duties is to make sure the folks are hydrated to prevent another stay in the hospital for him as happened several months ago, I asked him if he wanted me to get him a cup of water. He said no, he didn't drink water since Madame hadn't weaned him yet. Madame shushed him and told this ninety one year old letch to behave himself as we were in a public place. He snickered like a little boy who knew he'd been caught, but that nothing serious would come of it.
Later in the exam room, I was helping the arthritic lady to unbutton her blouse as she was struggling with them, and he looked over there and asked, "can I get in on that?"
As I noted before, there are some things he still is on the ball about and only when he brings us up short with some off the wall comment, do we get reminded that his memories get all tangled up inside and confuse the heck out of him.
I think from what I have heard and read, that he is not as bad as some Alzheimer's patients.
So far he has only threatened to leave the house but has not to this date done so.
He did say that Madame has run him off three times but she, in the background, simply looked at me and shook her head.
And the beat goes on...

Herdin' goats with the Toro.
I got tired this week of looking out the kitchen window and discovering the supposed-to-be-fenced-in goats chowing down on my Kentucky Wonder Bean pole which has just begun to bloom at long last.
I came boiling out of the house and ran to the Toro and reved it up and chased them back to the barnyard & thru the pitiful little fence. This, of course after the fainters had struggled back up and got their back legs to working. The two little gazelle-like pygmy twins don't faint, but their Mother, Rosa does enough for all of them every time I crank up the mower.
So, that afternoon I went out and took down some of the cattle panels we had used to build said fence and blocked off the north end of the barn with two of them and attached a third to the large swinging metal gate at the south end and now they cannot get out at all and such complaining as they did do about it.
Now I let them out in the afternoon when I get home and they don't mess around meddlin' with my pitiful little garden that I am now having to drag hoses around to water after being late because of so much rain this spring--they hotfoot it to the lush brush on the east side of the barn which is where they belong anyway.
I fire up the Toro and use it as an ATV to go out to let them out, then I bring it back to the front door to be ready in case they invade the yard again.
They did insist for the first couple of days in trying to get at the beans but after much fainting and herding, they now head back to the barn lot just when I step out the door and clap my hands and holler at em'.
I only had to get after them once today with the lawnmower and it is funny that they know when I go get on it that they must head for the barn lot, especially if I start the motor, but they still don't understand that their coming into the yard is what causes me to get after them.
So I guess I can say that they are trained goats...after a fashion.
The two aforementioned pygmy twins can streak across the yard so fast that they almost leave their little exhaust pipes behind.
Our little dog, Sparky loves to check out where the goats have been. She delights in rubbing both sides of her neck in goat ambrosia. She even comes bouncing up to me afterwards like a little kid wanting to show off a new dress, or in this case, aroma.
When my youngest was living here, she was selling Avon and we got UPS deliveries once a week.
After one truck nearly ran over Rosa when she fainted in the middle of the driveway, I put up a sign at the entrance to the yard stating "Please be careful of fainting goats and stupid dog."
Several weeks later, a substitute driver came and told me that the truck had a sign on the dash to watch for fainting goats at this address.
Bedtime again...

The Heartbreak of ALZ

As I listened almost everyday this week to the now patient, now irritated, now angry voice of the wife of this gent who has lost his past, it came to me again that memories are too precious to leave unwritten.
Like a little boy lost, one day he will question how, when, and where they met, then suddenly gets a flash of memory that puts everything in place for him.
As she has done countless times in this past twelve years for him, she goes over every detail of many events in their sixty-five years of marriage.
Often he will recall a name of a brother or neighbor and some event he does remember, then wants to discuss it in detail with her as though she was not there herself.
Most days when not staring vacantly out the patio door while in his swivel recliner, he asks me, as I go about the kitchen work, if I were "raised in these parts, ever picked cotton, lived on a farm, or raised a garden. Plus he is sure glad I am "fixn' vittles".
Then he will ramble off on his childhood of farm chores and life in general as he knew it in the early part of the last century. Being ninety-one years old put him growing up square in the middle of the horse & buggy days. He speaks often of the farm labor and how grueling it was to do vital-to-life farm chores before going off to the distant school. The oft quoted old saw about "walking five miles in the snow to school" was reality to him.
He goes through the family history and intersperses that with comments on the sorry state of
"today's youth".
Madame, as he calls his wife, is visibly worn from this constant grating against her sanity. Being nearly eight-four and in failing health, she loses it with him once and a while and has to retreat to her bedroom to lay down and rest not only the body but her mind and voice as well.
I can take up some of the slack for her but of course she must, as all Alzheimer's spouses, bear the main brunt of the agony of watching the fading of his memory.
The worst part is when he doesn't remember that she is his wife, which for this particular patient has not occurred but twice in the last twelve years since he was diagnosed.
There are many flashes of recognition on his face when he chuckles at something, makes a face behind her back when she is in a full nagging storm or frowns at a negative statement that lets me know that he still "gets it".
Sensibly, both no longer drive though Madame remarks once and a while that they might just go up to KYC for lunch on a Sunday when they are alone, but hasn't done that yet.
Understandably, the grown children of this couple worry about them continuing to live in their own home but realize that they are still capable of this for now as long as they have help.
Since this fellow lost his right leg below the knee when he was with Patton's fifth armored division in Germany, the Va sends a lady to help with him every day for two hours in the afternoon. She gets their supper and tends to his needs such as toenail trimming (only five in his case) and personal needs with the prosthetic leg which occasionally needs a bolt tightened on the ankle, plus other chores as well as doing some exercise therapy with Madame.
We went to eat fish one day last week and he was puzzled by the amber colored iced tea glasses that were put on the table saying somewhat peevishly that the tea was too "strong". Madame gave up trying to explain that and then he felt slighted that there wasn't enough ice in the glasses which of course we remedied at once.
Then when the fish dinner came I watched as he repeatedly salted the whole plate starting with the french fries. I tried to hide the salt but anger flashed across his face when he couldn't find it and of course then he complained about the lousy taste.
His daughter related that they had tried in the past to take them out to dinner but he would order coffee and get mad unless it was boiling hot, then forget about it after putting in cream and sugar and get agitated when he discovered it had cooled off and would make a scene with the waitress about that as well as other things he didn't understand and refused to eat such as the barbeque topping on the meatloaf which he vowed was "burnt" because it was dark looking.
So now they have hired a cook.
Me.
The lady who has been driving a truck for the last twenty or so years is now having to learn all over again how to be a housekeeper and think up new and exciting dishes to please the palates of these two sugar hooked individuals. I am stunned that they are not diabetic as much sugar as they consume.
To be continued...

...And along came a spider...

Another exciting week in the bag with the folks.
Had their daughters & a son in to visit with all being concerned with the number of ticks getting into the house via the little dog who picks them up when taken out for a "leak".
No one had treated the huge yard this year and we were finding them around the gent's chair quite a bit.
Not wanting to expose the folks to tick fever, especially the 91 year old, they spread tick granules all around the area where the gent walks the dog.
Now Madame is in a regular froth to keep the dogs feet clean lest the little darling lick up a grain or two of poison so a large sign was posted on the door stating "WASH BABY'S FEET'.
Naturally he mostly ignores it and she gets really upset with him for forgetting this ironclad rule, never mind that he is forgetting most things nowadays.
Made for a lively week even though she is getting weaker and really hurting with her arthritis.
I found a large wolf spider in their storeroom so sprayed in there but am having a royal battle with the darn critters at my house.
I can no longer go out the door after dark without swatting down a web first else it gets tangled in my hair and the excited spider really pisses his pants thinking he or she has really glommed onto a big one.
I half expect to be wrapped and hanging one of these days unless I can get myself to the poison center to get some spray.
Theres another thing...the youngest granddaughter has a thing for spiders, especially the garden spider known as a banana. She has in all these years of living here, taken great delight in catching bugs for these ungrateful creatures who still don't welcome her trying to pet them.
She has managed to touch them now and them so as to fully enjoy the violent swinging of the web that ensues.
She reacts almost the same when I talk of spraying for these varmints but now...she has moved away...heh heh heh.
She lovingly protected the blasted egg sacks all winter and now there is a bountiful harvest of little baby banana's all along the porch and last nite I went out in back to water and they had barricaded the back door with webs. GAAAK!
I really can't complain about her too much as I am no slouch about letting cobwebs collect in the house. After all they catch mosquito's, I have reasoned and one or two are at least fifteen years old.
One day I guess I will have to sweep them down but oh well...no hurry, they will keep. Plus when one does housework for a living as I do now, its like the shoe cobbler's kids having no shoes...you don't want to clean your own house after doing someone else's.
Anyway, I am so far out in the country that I don't get much company especially after having no social life from being on the road for twenty some odd years.
It's really getting annoying though when the inconsiderate spiders start building a web on me when I sit on the porch...that alone may end their big party.

Update

Lots of computer problems this last few weeks. Takes forever to get anything loaded and by the time I do, I am out of the mood to expound on anything at all.
Its been interesting getting acquainted with the folks I am working for.
The Lady is a sweet 83 year old who has been coping with her 91 year old Alzheimer's husband for about ten years now.
Needless to say, she gets a little short tempered with him from time to time though he is generally pretty easy going and good natured and other than repeating himself alot, seems pretty normal.
They begin the day with a couple of glasses of Sunny D,(calcium added), and either cheese danish or toast & jelly for breakfast along with about a dozen pills each. They require coleslaw for lunch each day and her recipe is(for me) to grate the cabbage and carrots, add a layer of sugar, enough bread & butter pickle juice to make it soupy and mix in mayonnaise. Otherwise I can fix meatloaf, chicken breasts or hamburger macaroni and green beans or creamed corn as long as I add sugar to all.
If I don't get enough therein, they ask for the sugar bowl and add more.
Then, of course they require dessert and unless it is forthcoming, he gets really mad and fires the cook.
That iced tea had better be just right too or the eyebrows furrow up and a storm brews.
I am astounded that neither has diabetes or high blood pressure.
The gentleman lost his right leg below the knee while serving with General Patton's army in Europe during WWll and when he returned to the states, was grossly dissatisfied with the type of wooden leg he was forced to wear.
After much pain and aggravation he undertook to redesign the leg and landed himself a job with a local limb company with the resulting work. He spent 35 years doing that and when he retired, he was asked to return because of the good quality work he had done.
Meantime he lucked onto a fellow who had one hundred acres close to town that was for sale for forty dollars an acre. He has subsequently sold off portions of said land for quite tidy sums and the place in the country has now become part of the town.
He grew up picking cotton, as well as doing other farm chores so it was natural that he and "Madame" as he lovingly calls her, raised most all of their food for years and years.
He remarked the other day that he had a hard time getting used to "town food" but now of course prefers it, as long as it is coated liberally with sugar.
"Madame" sees to it that he gets plenty of exercise by telling him to go put out the bird feeder, which he obediently does, only to make him go take it in again when the wascally squirrels come to get their share. This is repeated in the course of a morning probably about three or four times.
She gets her exercise getting up to remind him to put the feeder out when he forgets and sits down in the porch swing. I think sometimes he doesn't really forget but looks for relief from the nagging.
Both of them give it up in the afternoon though and go take naps.
He has to remove his leg to get comfortable in bed either for a nap and at night. So he understandably is slow to come from the bedroom upon arising.
THE DOG.
Madame has a small dog which is reputed to be a cross of a papillion & cocker spaniel which is the most hyper dog I have ever encountered. She is very pretty and a good watchdog for them. And, everyday is a new day cause I am a stranger each morning when I arrive amid the barking and running around plus earnest attempts to nip at my heels which only subsides when he gets a swatter or newspaper after her.
Occasionally, out of the blue she will erupt in a frenzy of a screaming barking fit and try to bite whoever happens to get up out of a chair, especially him and last month she took about a fifty cent piece size chunk of skin out of his arm which was a long time healing.
But Madame is madly in love with this dog even to the point of allowing her to pee and poop all over the expensive WHITE carpet. The couple's daughters bought an expensive steam cleaner for this purpose and which has to be used about every other day.
Madame sends the Gent out about every two or three hours to walk the dog to avoid this but he generally sits down in the swing or doesn't let the dog have enough time to do her job.
The dog can do this quite freely but the cook must appear each day in spotless clothes and socks as well as all other things in the house much be just so, even to the correct positioning of the dust ruffle on Madame's bed. Beautiful home, lovely furniture, expensive carpet, drapes, bedspreads and spotless kitchen.
The reason for this is that several years ago the stress of coping with her husband got her so depressed that the family was quite worried about her. They got the dog from the pound to hopefully cheer her up and it did work. She loves it dearly and pets and fusses over her "Baby" continually so the therapy worked and that is worth putting up with the dog's bad habits.
She evidently had lost the will to live, but now dotes on the dog, so it is good for her.
The V A sends a nurse caretaker to their house every afternoon to see after him and she did a good job of getting the bite wound healed up. She also keeps watch to check him for vitals and helps with adjusting his leg if it gets out of kilter.
I am still getting used to being on my feet much more than I used to be so when I get home around one thirty in the afternoon I spent about three hours on the couch either reading or napping.
Quite a change for me from the demands of an all day and half the night drive to get a load delivered that the receiver didn't know was coming, forgot he ordered, didn't want it anyway and is thoroughly pissed at having to get it unloaded the same day it got there.
I am still having some problems with my fallen metatarsal on my left foot . Guess that is old age creeping up on me. Drat! had hoped to hide behind the door from it but it is worming it's way into my life in spite of my trying to laugh at it.
Oh well, might as well laugh, doesn't do any good to cry...just makes more wrinkles.

Another exciting week at retirement

Started the new job last Monday taking care of an elderly couple just a little more elderly than myself.
The blind leading the blind.
Kids back for the weekend all full of their new adventure with tales of pentecostal women chasing dogs with a borrowed stun gun & the Grandkid being so bored that she took down all the ceiling light globes in their new home and cleaned them. Unusual seventeen-year old.
The Grandkid in Iraq called and sounds lonesome. He is letting his sister(the globe cleaner)
borrow his pickup truck for his duration so she can have something to drive to College this fall. Pretty great set of kids if I do say so myself.
They are trying this weekend to plug the holes in the fences that the goats have been leaking out of and gather a few more things to move. Had planned to move some furniture but an all day sideways rainstorm persisted so those plans were shelved.
Sunday school lesson this morning was about contentment and the question was asked if anyone had ever been in real need or actually went hungry. One lady asserted that none of us present had ever experienced real deprivation. She was wrong.
It reminded me of the first Christmas Don and I spent after our marriage when we both lost our jobs. Some days all we had to eat were white radishes from the garden wrapped in a piece of bread.
We were reduced to eating Don's brood does from his rabbitry and eating fish from a previous trip he had taken with his buddies at work.
It really chapped him when I packed him green bean sandwiches in his lunchbox. Couldn't blame him one bit.
On Christmas eve that year we were invited to a friend's cabin up the canyon who were eating goat chili. I had never before or have never since tasted chili that tasted that good after a week of radish sandwiches. It was goat chili and if these resident escape artists we are harboring don't stop tearing up fences with their little sharp horns, I may look up the recipe.
Of course they are adorable pets and the littlest one, like the others will almost climb my pantsleg to be picked up and petted. Other times, she acts like I am the grim reaper and tries to scatter herself to the wind, leaping, twisting and turning flips like a maniac.
They are cute and the owners (my Daughter & Granddaughter) keep saying they are going to start selling them soon but if all the cooing and cuddling they are doing with this last one is any indication, we are going to be up to our behinds in goats this time next year.
Oops. They'rebaaaaack!

Whirlwind Week

Whew...spent this last week cleaning house & fixing up for the reception we had at home for Crystal's graduation, all the while packing to move them to Bismark, Ar for the new home and job and the graduate to attend College.
I began a new job today also, caring for an elderly couple in their home. It is part time so I had time to come home this afternoon & check on goats, pick ticks off the dog and put my feet up for awhile.
Beautiful weather today and yesterday. Finally looks like the rest of the week will be nice. I know we will be looking for rain next month but sunshine looks good today.
Found our recently neutered male cat eating a little rabbit this morning. His name was Boo but after the big slice, we now call him Boo Hoo. He usually lolls about the place with no interest in much of anything, especially catching mice.
Three cats around here, one in the house and its like Garfield's place. The mice are impudently leaving tracks (!) everywhere and the house cat pays no attention.
The one party I ever give(the reception) in my house and some insolent, inconsiderate mouse decides to die behind the kitchen sink just at the moment when all is hectic and can't be retrieved in time for the guests to arrive.
So that job is being lined up for this week...meantime pine sol helped. Hmmm...wonder if I leave it long enough, will it will mummify? Kidding!
On another note, I have learned never to have sympathy for a goat. Once when I was about five years old, my brother brought home a goat and since our place wasn't fenced, he had to stake it out to graze.
Now... goat on a rope and the tangle factor has no equal.
Being the kind-hearted little soul that I was, I found one day that said goat could no longer reach the water tub so I went out to unwrap his chain so he could reach it. While I was bent over engaged in this task, the ungrateful goat butted me head over heels.
Picking up a nearby two by four, I began bashing the idiot between his horns. The next door neighbor, working in his avocado grove called to me to stop lest I kill the animal. Still whacking, I gritted my teeth and replied that that was exactly what I was aiming to do.
Another time another goat chased me up upon the roof of a small chicken house and was trying to butt me off when my Mother rescued me. She had come out of the house thinking that the air raid sirens were going off. Luckily she discovered just in time(for me) what the noise was all about.
Additionally, the huge(to me) mean Rhode Island Red rooster, who always chased me as well was waiting on the ground for the goat to butt me off. I am convinced to this day they conspired in that little escapade.
My forays into the yard at that time were seldom without incident as regarding the animals.

I Had to just interrupt this session to go put our varmit goats back in for they are adept at their favorite sport of breaking down, under or over the paltry fence we have out there. More fun.

Time for supper and I can hardly wait since I just finished the afternoon snack.

Explanation

It comes to mind that an explanation for the label of this inane rambling is in order.

Once upon a time there was a episode of debate with a gentleman of my acqaintance who after a quite spirited repartee match, exclaimed in exasperation that I had a venomous tongue. I considered this a rather unique, but appropriate compliment.
So when I began using a citizen's band radio in my work as a long haul truck driver, I cast about for an amusing or different "cb handle". It was customary among truckers to try to think up something related to the individual or just to be outrageous as possible in some cases.
I remember a Foxy Lady, a short stroke, a poppa smurf, a double d, a double A, a here comes trouble, a kalico and many more x-rated ones not worth repeating.
I had recently seen the really funny 1944 movie "Arsenic And Old Lace" starring Cary Grant and thought it would be amusing to use the name Arsenic as my cb handle. As expected, it always provoked a good deal of comment when I allowed it to be known.
I never talked much on the cb unless I was traveling with someone as we often did and talked to pass the long boring hours on the road. This was especially helpful if it was a night run and helped us to stay alert and informed of possible hazardous road conditions or traffic tie ups.
Many people disparage the trucker's use of the radios to keep track of where the highway patrol
radar cars are located. To this it has to be said that too many truckers are guilty of using it to break the law and drive too fast. However, the majority of the operators of commerical trucks are family people deeply concerned with their own as well as the public safety and are struggling in these hard times to make a decent living just like everyone else.
It is a proven fact cited in extensive studies that a large number of truck wrecks are caused by irresponsible auto drivers who whip through traffic like turpentined cats unheedful of the distance it takes to stop the eighty thousand pound monster they have just cutoff.
But...I digress.
So back to the explanation. Now that I am of the age that the two maiden Aunts of Cary Grant's character in the movie were, it seems that old lace might be called for. But, its a different age now, so most of us old bats are no longer tendin' to our knittin', plus rockin' the grandbabies with one hand and shellin' peas with the other while kickin' the pigs & puppies off the porch, not to mention the goats.
We are bikers, truckers, road hands, roughnecks, pilots, engineers, soldiers, doctors, lawyers, indian chiefs, university officials, lusty old bimbos, and just about anything else the mind can imagine. I hardly think that lace is called for in some of these grimy, dusty and dangerous occupations.
That is left to the pleasant times of romance or the lot lizards who slither at night through the truck stops, plying the oldest profession in the world.
Ergo...old face.
Different subject: Had the back-a-laur-iate (too lazy to look it up) service tonight at Church for the graduating seniors, one of which is the resident grandkid around here so...went and was deeply touched by it. Nuff said.
Bedtime has slipped up on me again. No lace on my nightie. ZZZ

This N' That

A little sunshine today but not much. I don't remember moving to Seattle but with all the rain we have had around here lately, it seems more like it every day.
The newest little goat survived the night. We were worried because she seemed so weak and disoriented. Ha...I guess she was.
When one gets dropped rudely into sticky straw upon one's head no less, that's enough to make anyone a little woozy. Both her outlets were working this morning so maybe she'll be ok. I was dreading having to carry a shovel out there.
After that little chore I decided to attack the numerous fire ant hills in my yard. The little varmits took up residence here while I was on the road and have made themselves quite at home. After firing up my weedburner, I spent a good while testing it. It was almost like popping corn. Since it has been so wet, I can't put out the bait to get rid of them so I probably bar-b-Q'd
several thousand of them. And, we are expecting more rain tonight.
I know it won't get rid of them but at least they will have something to report on their evening news broadcasts. If they are like us, there will be investigations, recriminations and firings galore, with plenty of blame to go around.
Plus, new laws to watch the horizon better for giant rubber booted attackers will be passed and endless bureaucracies created to deal with the problem. Which won't.
Meanwhile the survivors will have double work salvaging the upperworks I destroyed. Probably will have it all rebuilt by morning...hmmm...wonder if I can get my little propane bottles refilled
tonight.
On a different note, changes are coming to our household. The baby birds are fixin' to fly again and the nest is a wreck, what with Avon stuff everywhere and preparations for the big move in full swing. I am no slouch in the clutter-the-place up department but I have met my match.
Seriously, the kids are looking forward to a new phase in their lives and we hope all will go well.
I am a little earlier with this today so I can stay up a little longer tonight. Whoopee. Retirement is so engaging, I am underwhelmed.

Rosa is a Grandma.

Another exciting day in in retirement and I can hardly wait to see what tomorrow brings. Today brought us another little female fainting goat, at which her Granny, Rosa fainted and stuck her legs up in the air.
Probably the thought of babysitting overwhelmed her. She is still barely nursing her twins when they can corner her somewhere. They attack her from both sides and when I see her rump being goosed into the air repeatedly, I know they are getting their proper nourishment.
This usually only lasts a few moments til Rosa manages to drag her behind away from the little suckers.
They (the twins) are not fainters and streak here & there madly at which Rosa keels over nearly every time they come charging at her.
The Daddy of this new little darling is named Apache. I like to tweek the kids by calling him Alfonse, Alpacka or Attaboy. This way they are not sure if I am joking or if they are seeing the first signs of ALS. I get less argument that way. Anyhow, I know his name is Ah-patchy.
For a goat, he is pretty nice, not nearly so smelly as most, and very docile tho he does engage in goaty type behavior sometimes and when I catch him at it, he just looks at me like he is shrugging a uninterested "so what".
I am trying to put in a garden between chasing fence-breaking goats and logging porch-sitting time. I am very industrious. I work for perhaps 10-15 minutes, then sit down with coffee alait or mint tea for an hour.
At other times in this fun filled existence, I read. My 17-year old granddaughter just dared me to read the C.S. Lewis book "Screwtape Letters". I was surprised that both she and another teenage friend of hers were both quite taken with the theme and grasped the significance of the content in relationship to what they see around them everyday.
It is somewhat amusing that each generation believes they are the first discoverers of knowledge. I thought so too when I was young, but unlike these kids, I was scared spitless to speak my mind and had no confidence in my abilities at all, even tho I was sure I knew more than I did. These kids are confident and optimistic. Good!
It is ironic that now that I have a great deal of confidence in what I can do and am at ease with myself and others, I am in my dotage so it's like I don't exist anymore in the eyes of the kid bagging groceries, the checker at the gas station and people flowing around me at Walmart.
I do get noticed tho when some speedster comes boiling around me at the posted speed limit giving me that exasperated look reserved for stepping in a cowpile and whizzes on down the road. It is quite satisfying to pass THEM with a smile as I go by where they are entertaining an interestingly decorated car parked just behind them. I think the flashing lights reflect off my teeth . They don't know I've driven this road many many times and know where those bugger bears hang out.
Anyway the goats like me...they always frisk me just in case I have a treat but if not they are tolerant.
So far I am not missing the road too much though ever so often I catch myself mentally going down a certain road and trying to remember just where in this country that particular piece of scenery is located.
Oops! Bedtime...can't be late for that.

Where have I been?