Gingerbread Through the Years

I told you I could get into the Christmas spirit. One of the ways I used to do that was to make gingerbread houses. I made my first one for my niece, Baby Mac, from a pattern printed in the paper and decorated with the only candy I could find in tiny Ktown.

The houses evolved through the years. I made my own house patterns and made a permanent base that I wired with a little light so the house could be lit up from the inside. I made other things, too, as you shall see.

1982

Baby Mac with the 1983 edition

Also 1983. I made the mice and their house for Baby Mac

1984 - I broke away from the original pattern.

Here comes Santa Claus! 1985

Gingerbread Nativity, 1985

A whole farm! 1986

A dog in the dog house. 1986

Lit from within. 1987

Da Bears. 1987

1988

Detail, 1988

Cottages for sale, 1989

1989

House #1, 1990

House #2, 1990

Nativity, 1990

1992

No house was made in 1991 and I think 1992 was the end of the line. From the looks of things, taking a year off did not help my housebuilding skills. The 1992 versions sort of look like Norman Bates meets a 70's cartoon. Maybe I'll try one this year and we can see if a 15 year (FIFTEEN YEARS??? REALLY??) hiatus has destroyed whatever talent I may have once possessed.

Genetic Defeciencies

Last night I dreamed that I was watching wild animals cavorting outside my window. I remember seeing several elk, one bear and lots and lots of reindeer. I remember being worried about the bear. One of these things is not like the other. One of these things could kill happily frolicking ruminants.

Is this dream a Christmas nudge? Get ready, Christmas is coming! Deck the halls! Fa, la, la! Tick tock!

Or am I the bear, ready to kill to reindeer thereby stopping Christmas from coming?

I'm afraid it may be the latter for I am missing the Christmas gene. I am also missing the shopping gene prevalent in all other females. I am genetically deficient.

Before Thanksgiving I got stuck in line in Hobby Lobby behind 2 women who knew each other. Each had a young son stuffed in the cart among garish artificial yuletide decorations. "Are you ready for Christmas?" one asked. "I think so" replied the other.

Having to wait in line was torture enough. Having to listen to THAT almost made my eyes bleed. It wasn't even Thanksgiving yet and these women were "ready for Christmas". What the hell does that mean anyway? Did you re-mortgage your house to buy crap to give everyone you know? Do you have all this crap wrapped in expensive paper (good-bye, trees) that will be admired for 2 seconds before ending up in a landfill? Do you have your Christmas goose stuffed a month and a half in advance? Is your house lit up like a landing strip?

Don't get me wrong. At Christmas I like to see Christmas trees lit up in living rooms. I enjoy giving gifts to people I love. But does it have to be so much? And does it have to go on for so long? And don't your brats have enough useless crap already?

Irrefutable Evidence to the Contrary

A girl once told me I didn't have an athletic bone in my body. Here is my irrefutable evidence to the contrary. I AM AN ATHLETE!!

Digesting Turkey Dinner

My Thanksgiving plans changed several times. The last time they changed was at 9 on Thanksgiving morning when my brother called to tell me we were eating at 12:30 instead of 3:30.


I had to wait a few days to post about this because for days I was still filled with residual anger instead of the great familial love that has been warming the souls of other Americans.

So after dear brother called I shifted into high gear and headed off with a trunk laden with food. On the way there I had the thought that if I went in the ditch, I could have a Thanksgiving feast by myself in the car.

It was a gray and dreary day. It was snowing again.















Over the river and through the woods to .....














A bar of course. Not just any bar, either. A bar chock full of ambiance. A perfect setting.


































































My niece and some guy from Sweden.

The Day Before Thanksgiving

It snowed.






































But not as bad here as in Des Moines.













I baked.












































Tomorrow: more cooking, food hauling and feasting. In a bar. Not my idea.

Internet Inventor, Global Warming Watchdog and My Good Friend

I'm so glad I saved this. I have no idea how old it is.

Mitt vs Hill

(Willard) Mitt Romney has been airing ads in Iowa against Hillary Clinton. Should someone tell him that, for right now at least, Hillary is not his opponent?








I have mixed feelings about Hillary. I found this blog post which nails it on the head.

Box 'O Cat

Mouse, the cat.

Email Conversation

C left today. We took your vintage travel Scrabble game with us to play at the airport but we didn't even get a whole game in. Have you missed your travel Scrabble?

I have travel Scrabble?

She gave it to you for Christmas a few years ago. VINTAGE travel Scrabble that she probably fought tooth and nail for on Ebay. It's been in my table cloth drawer since.


man, am I excited now! It's like Christmas all over again.

Thanks for the laugh, kidlette!

MEAN MOMMY

No Good Deed Goes Unpunished

Or: Some People Never Learn

Several years ago I gave my folks my old computer when I upgraded. They were happy to have a computer with Windows 95 and a modem. They got set up for email. And I got called every time my mother or father could not figure out the simplest of things. It was annoying. More annoying were the calls for the non-simple things. I am not a geek. I am, however, occasionally lucky.

Eventually they got into their groove with the computer. I did get calls about their spam (sorry, can't help) and life went on. Then they got sick of spam, their monitor (they thought) was going out and they discontinued their internet service and rarely used the POS computer. And it was MY FAULT for giving them a POS that they were thrilled to get when they got it. Whatever.

Fast forward to this summer when a friend who works in IT at a Big Company told me they were upgrading and did I know anyone who wanted a computer with XP for $50. Sure, I said, and made the mistake of mentioning it to my folks. Mom wouldn't commit until Dad agreed to the $50 upgrade. I don't know why. All the money is hers. Whatever.

Dad had decided hell, yeah, he wanted a $50 computer. Then I was hounded about when it was coming. And oh, he NEEDED a new monitor, too. So I put out feelers and found, free of charge, (except for my free labor) a good used monitor.

Eventually, computer and monitor, time and opportunity all came together and I went to my folks to install the new system.

In my parent's eyes, being able to hook up the right connectors and plug in all the plugs on a desktop system qualifies one for geekdom. I was ready to ride in on my white horse (dark red Subaru), fulfill my duties and fade into the sunset victorious.

First: take out the old system. No prob! A big brother was there and my dad was waving his arms declaring it all JUNK so big bro hauled it out to a junk pile.

Second: install the new system. No prob! Except.... Dad wanted the tower on the desk next to the monitor so he didn't have to go through all the trouble of leaning over to push the button on the tower to turn it on. Fine. Only it didn't fit.

No prob! Get big brother to saw away at the bracing facing piece on the desk. Repeatedly. Until the tower fit. Very, very snugly. It made hooking up all the peripherals much more difficult (Mom, can you feed that cord up through that and find my hand?) but as long as Dad was happy....

Everything got hooked up but the phone line. One last thing and --- no dial-up modem. Of course not! This was a corporate computer! So big bro, could you bring the old tower (with the dial-up modem) in off the junk pile before it rains?

Their new system was humming nicely. Dad was happy to have the Microsoft games plus two Hoyle game systems I'd loaded on the machine. After everything was done, Dad said, "What about our pictures on the old computer?"

(Insert internal screaming and vile, vile swear words here.)

I took their old tower home. I hooked it up to my monitor and discovered it was NOT their monitor that was the problem, it was their video card. With freaky things appearing on my monitor I saved all their pictures and email addresses (and not without drama, either -- the cd burner didn't work and I had to unhook their system and hook up mine to save stuff on the only USB drive their computer would recognize, clean it, rehook up their tower to save their stuff to the newly clean USB - insert more screaming and swearing).

That done, I took the damn tower apart and pulled out the modem. I found a driver online and downloaded it and saved it to the USB. I went back to my folks and installed the new (old) modem and driver. My mother was SOOOOO impressed.

And then they started talking and thought that they would rather have the DSL.

(Insert more screaming and swearing, screaming and swearing.)

But, because their phone lines are shit, they may not be able to get DSL so maybe my efforts were not in vain.

They still haven't gotten around to getting any internet service, what with my dad's bypass surgery and all. Not that that's the end of "no good deed".

There is no sound on their computer. Not that they listen to music on their computer. My dad needs sound when he plays pinball.

I checked it out the day I delivered lasagna and as near as I can tell (did I tell you I AM NOT A GEEK?) it is the sound card.

(Insert more screaming and swearing, screaming and swearing.)

Good thing I still have their old tower. Which I took apart tonight and removed the sound card.

I AM NOT A GEEK!

Now I have to go searching for a driver.

Man's Best Friend My Ass

I read this story in the Des Moines Register this morning but lifted this from channel 8's website because I could not for the life of me find it on the Register's online site.

TAMA, Iowa -- A Tama man was injured when hunting dogs stepped on his gun.

Officials with the Iowa Department of Natural Resources said James Harris, 37, was pheasant hunting with a group about three miles north of Grinnell when the accident happened.

Officials said the group had shot a bird and when Harris went to retrieve it, he put his gun on the ground and crossed a fence. As he crossed the fence, hunting dogs stepped on his gun causing it to fire.

Harris was shot in the lower left leg.

He was treated at Grinnell Medical Center and later transferred by helicopter to University Hospitals in Iowa City. His condition has not been released.

The investigation is continuing.

Perhaps the pooches were perturbed at parading around in orange vests.

The Color of the Day

A loud bang this morning reminded me of what day it was. Actually Captain Crab beat my faulty memory to the punch. It is in some circles the most revered of days. In other circles (mine) it is the most dreaded. Today is the opening of pheasant season.














I took a pan of lasagna to my folks. I couldn't go a mile without seeing several trucks parked at the side of the road or out in the fields. The men were decked out in orange, hunting in packs, like wolves. Wolves with cell phones and GPS. People I met on the road were dressed in orange. A guy in a minivan (not the type of vehicle associated with such manly activity) was dressed in orange. I saw a dog wearing an orange vest, too, but didn't get his picture.










Over the river and through the woods to mother's house I went. I arrived without being mistaken for a pheasant.











My dad had bypass surgery last week. He's doing well, I guess. He is pretty content to be home and NOT have visitors so I didn't stay long.

Not everyone is hunting today. Some farmers are still in the fields combining corn. And then there are the people who have to deal with all that corn once it's out of the field. So add yellow to the color of the day.































At night when it's not cloudy, the harvest moon has been showing its orange face, now pale in the daylight.

Whatcha Got Cooking?

Me, I made lasagna. It's something I tackle once every couple of years or so because it is so labor intensive and so very messy.

Every time I make it I get confused. How do the layers go? I have it written down on my recipe but I do not trust it. So I did an internet search and discovered different layering techniques in different recipes. HUH?

I put the noodles on to boil and then read the box. They were no-cook noodles. So I shut the burner off and let them soak in hot water for a while. And then I wondered if I should use runnier sauce and half cooked noodles. How runny should the sauce be? Or should I just let the sauce thicken and the noodles cook? This box had a layering technique listed on the back but no recipe indicating how runny the sauce should be.

I decided just to wing it. I assembled an 8x8 pan for me and Captain Crab and a bread loaf pan for my parents. I ended up with a whole lot of cheese sauce and noodles left over. And I had to s-t-r-e-t-c-h the meat sauce to fit two little pans. What's up with that?

And in a couple of years when I make lasagna again, I will be walking down the same road, not trusting the signposts and stumbling along.

But right now I have one big mess to clean up.

Fungus Among Us

The old ash tree in the yard had a surprise for me this morning. Up in the branches was this:








And at the base of the tree was this:












How it looks close up:










This particular fungus has appeared on this tree before. But never 3 at once. They are quite beautiful in a weird sort of way.

My Whimsical Weekend

I went to a magical place called Possum Lodge.

















A dog named Lily lives there. She didn't really want to have her picture taken.
















She was camera shy but quite an animated tour guide. She showed me a hand-made canoe that was a showcase of wonderment.
























It has a duck head bow. With feathers!


















Out in the garden a gnome named Hermann was trying to drive away in a tractor.












A palm tree shades the patio. In Iowa! In October!


















I left Lily in the land of whimsy and headed back to real Iowa where farmers were busy in the fields. This combine had a big American flag mounted on it. Alas and alack, the magic was gone. The flag refused to show its face. Or maybe it was the fact that I was driving down the road at the time and lucky to even get the combine in the frame.

Things I've Been Meaning to Blog About But Haven't

Commercials I Hate Because They Are So Stupid

• The Burger King kung-fu chicken commercial.
• Domino's Oreo dessert pizza with the beard growing contest.
• Any Wendy's commercial with the guy wearing the red pig-tailed wig.
• Any commercial that takes a song from the 60's or 70's.

Products That I Like That No Longer Exist or Have Been "Improved" to the Point of Uselessness
There are too many too list. Charmin took one product I liked and turned it into two products I hate. Where is Secret Solid Unscented? Zact toothpaste? The jeans that fit me?

Life With Captain Crab
While he is chasing the Dread Pirate Roberts and making a name for himself in the world of sea-faring legends, I am in a porthole-less galley whipping up MLT's for the crew.

The Country Formerly Known as Burma
Is this like the artist formerly known as Prince? Every news report refers to "Myanmar, the country formerly known as Burma". I think we have it figured out now, thanks. Though I would appreciate any help you can give me regarding the names of any countries that were in the former USSR, including pronunciation and location. I am still stuck on Yugoslavia and Bulgaria, two countries I traveled through which no longer exist.

The Infiltration of Political Candidates in Iowa
They equal the number of hogs in the state. It's hard to know who is who, just like the generic cookie-cutter pigs raised in giant confinement facilities.

Corporations and Health Care
It's a nest of eels. It's hard to tell where one ends and the other begins, especially if you listen to the political candidates who want everyone to turn over their incomes to a corporation who will then "take care of your health".

Outsourcing and the Government
The government has joined the corporate bandwagon and is outsourcing military forces. Be very afraid.

The Current Administration
Don't get me started.

Bees and Butterflies

Summer is hanging on, amazingly enough. The sedum is in full bloom and attracting lots of attention.

The Pictures Are Here!

I know this saga of my wound has everyone on the edge of their seats. Well, maybe not now that you know the wound isn't going to kill me and I've graduated from the wound center.

I seem to have a narrow view on life, not being able to see farther than my leg. Really I think about other things and have very strong opinions on a number of subjects. Maybe now that I have some closure on this part of my life I can get on with the rest of it.

While I'm still harping on it, I want to tell you I've had lots of hits from far flung places. The search strings are very interesting. Some people are looking for cures for scabs on their rabbits. I want to tell those people right now that I have no idea what is wrong with their rabbits or how to make those scabs go away. But I've had more many more hits for salt in the wound. I can't figure out if those people want to inflict more pain or cleanse wounds.

If it is the latter, I will give you my recipe for saline: Boil 3 cups of water with 1 teaspoon of salt. Cover and let cool and pour into sterile containers. If it is the former: Just knock it off. Think happy thoughts. Go for a walk. Volunteer at a shelter. Just do something nice.

And now (drum roll please) here is what you've all been waiting for... (Well, Hannita has and that's enough for me)

THE PROGRESSIVE PICTURES OF MY WOUND

Hippo Birdie At Last

I got two diplomas this year. In May I got an AAS degree from a community college. Today I graduated from the wound center and have a piece of paper to prove it. It says, "CONGRATULATIONS! YOUR WOUND IS HEALED!"

Last week I went to the stupid lymphedema center at the stupid hospital and got fitted for a stupid compression stocking. The therapist Angie measured my leg and came back with a package of stockings that looked like they would fit a two year old. Just for fun she had me prove my strength by putting the stocking on my leg without any aids. I was beginning to doubt my strength but eventually got it on. (Huff, puff, tug, pull) Then she made me take it off which proved to be just as difficult. Then she wanted me to put it on again. I told her I wanted the Easy Slide cheater that the doctor prescribed. Ahh.... Much better.

After all that struggle she told me that wearing rubber gloves made it easier to pull the stocking on and smooth it out. Which pissed me off in a way. Why put me through all that BS? Why not just hand out Easy Slides and rubber gloves?

At the wound center today a nurse removed the stocking and took another picture of my lovely wound. Then I heard her outside my cubicle whispering my name. For the first time I let them know that their conversations were not private. "I can hear you talking about me! Are you planning my party?"

Soon in came Nurse Kelly, Young Perky Doctor and two nurses. Nurse Kelly was carrying a piece of cheesecake. They sang happy birthday to me. I whipped a camera out of my purse and took their picture, to be posted soon.

The doctor marveled at my wound. Then I whipped out my Easy Slide and rubber gloves and I impressed them with the speed and ease at which I donned my stocking. Then we gave each other a hard time for awhile, I signed some more papers, got handed my diploma and left.

They are going to miss me.

Hippo Birdie Redux

On my birthday I went to my first wound center appointment. I don't know how many different people I gave my birth date to didn't notice it happened to be the very day I was getting my leg reamed out. It was depressing!

On my second appointment I mentioned the horrible oversights to Nurse Kelly and Perky Young Doctor.

On the third appointment Nurse Kelly came into my cubicle and said "Happy Birthday a week late." Every appointment since (I've lost track), Nurse Kelly mentions my missed birthday. In two weeks I'll have what I hope is my last wound center appointment.

Nurse Diane told me long ago that you sort of "graduate" from the wound center. Today when Nurse Kelly was rubbing the missed birthday in I told her I expected a party on my last appointment. With cake.

Cake or not, I think I made an impression.

Walking Wounded

I went back to the wound center today. I got in right away (a first) and didn't wait too long for the doctor to show up (another first).

All were amazed at my progress: the nurse that led me in and undressed my leg; the doctor and her side-kick, Nurse Kelly; and Nurse Diane, the first nurse I met at the wound center (my favorite).

For the last two weeks I was supposed to go through the initial dressings but had graduated to a sensi-sock (for diabetics) to be covered from ankle to calf with a tightly wrapped Ace bandage. That happened for like one day before I cut the foot off my sock. And then, only on occasion, wrapped over that with the Ace bandage. The Very Special Fabric got left out during the last week because the wound was healing so well.

When Nurse Diane was dressing my leg after the doctor left I told her to leave off the Ace bandage. I'd worn the sensi-sock that didn't have the foot cut off to the appointment. But no way was I going to run my errands in Big Town wearing sandals and a footed sock on one foot. I promised her I would wrap the Ace around my leg after I switched socks. I didn't, but then I Ace when I feel like it. I love Nurse Diane for her complicity.

The most depressing things about the recent healing are that I have to (or rather, they think I'm going to) wear a compression stocking all winter and (the worst, worst part) I have to go into the hospital proper to some stupid place and get "fitted" for a stocking.

After getting the first piece of paper from the insurance company from my first wound center visit, I'm just not sure I want a bill from walking into the hospital, waiting for hours and having a nurse measure my leg. I'm sure it would be a cheap stocking! That I probably will not wear! I am working on a work-around on this. Does anyone know the compression ratio I should have for a post-wound stocking?

I have been trying to take pictures every day of my healing wound. I am making a Flash movie and will post it later. It will end will a really cool scar. Or a compression stocking.

The Hole Truth

The last picture I posted was old. It was taken before my second appointment and I had my third appointment last week. I'm a wound center old timer now. Anyway I photographed my wound when it was naked this morning and posted the two pics side by side so you could compare the difference. If you want to. Once again, no one is forcing you to look. This is your warning, Random Mindless Ramblings. It is gross, even if it is healing. Look or not.

Mmmmmmm..... Hamburger

I had my first follow up leg hole appointment last Wednesday. The nurses, and eventually the doctor, were very excited to see granulation tissue. The doctor told me the goal was to have the whole wound look like raw hamburger. And not that turkey hamburger,either. Here is a picture of my leg with granulation tissue before that appointment. Not for the squeamish and don't you dare email me about the grossness of it because THIS IS YOUR WARNING. I'm not the damn government. I can't protect you from yourself.

I had another appointment today but I did not want to go. Rain was threatening and we've just had enough of the stuff. We've had so much that you can not be sure that the road you want to drive on is drivable. For a couple of days it was impossible for me to go anywhere in my little car.



The storm approached and I left early so I could stock up on groceries before my appointment. The roads were fine and I made it to Big Town. But then I had to cross the swollen river. On the bridge that has the same flaws as the fallen Minneapolis bridge. Gulp.

I made it to the grocery store on the other side of town. When I came out with my cart full the skies were dark and lightning was striking. I just wanted to go home. Somehow I didn't die of a heart attack while screaming at the idiot drivers and the slow changing lights. I had to get out of the low part of town FAST.

I had to cross the possibly crumbling bridge again. At last I made it to the outpatient center at the back of the hospital. I was early so I sat and considered getting while the getting was good.



There were turkey buzzards drifting above the hospital but I didn't catch them in the frame. I thought they were a sign telling me to leave, leave, leave! But I toughed it out. Well, sort of. I went to my appointment and was left waiting a lot and I was constantly on the verge of screaming "I HAVE TO LEAVE NOW!"

The doctor and my treatment deserves its own post. Suffice to say, I am still alive, I still have a hole in my leg and the treatment goes on and on and on. Excuse me now. I have to obsess over the weather radar.

Hippo Birdie Two Ewes, Pets and Pharmacists

Yesterday was my birthday. My very special day started with an 8 a.m. appointment at the wound center. I checked my email before I left and I got a birthday greeting from a pet forum and an ecard from my cats, Felix and Mouse.

I arrived early and got sent to registration where the woman clicked tons of vital information into the computer. Including, of course, date of birth. Then I went to a waiting room and was soon ushered by Nurse Diane through a locked door into the wound center and sequestered in a cubicle. Where I was subjected to another hour of paper work. Including date of birth. Several times on several forms. I wanted to ask if the left hand ever talked to the right hand in that joint about the information that had already been tapped into the computer. And if anyone there knew what day it was. They didn't catch on that it was my birthday. And my birthday was being sucked away by paperwork.

After the paper work I was left alone to do sudokus for a half hour and wait for the doctor. I heard her outside my room looking at my new chart and berating the nurses who handled the paper work. "But I don't know this about the patient! What about blah, blah, blah?" I listened to her rant for 5 minutes. I almost left at that point. If she didn't have enough info, maybe I should spend my birthday somewhere else. Like a bar.

Eventually the very perky young doctor entered the room. She did doppler tests on my feet to see if I was getting blood to them. She tickled my toes with a filament to see if I had feeling. Then she dug out the hole in my leg with great gusto. She took measurements and recited numbers and medical words to an assistant who dutifully recorded them. The doctor really enjoyed the process. Twenty minutes after entering my room, she was done and gone.

Nurse Diane came back to give me a shopping list and teach me how to dress my wound. First protect the skin around the wound with extra protective ointment (vaseline). Then soak a strip Very Special Fabric in enzyme cream (and not that damn generic stuff I had been using). Then take the ends of the soaked strip and stuff them in the tunnels that have developed in the hole in my leg and wad the middle of the VSF up in the hole. Then cover the wound with a Very Special Piece of Gauze (gauze that is covered in vaseline). Then cover that with a large regular gauze pad. Then hold that all together by wrapping a conforming stretch bandage around and securing with Transpore tape. NO SELF STICKING STRETCH BANDAGES. NO PAPER TAPE. Then starting above the toes and ending below the knee, wrap Cast Padding snuggly and tape to hold. THEN wrap an elastic bandage over the cast padding and secure with tape. Then try in vain to get your sandal back on. Redress wound daily. Elevate leg for 30 minutes 5 or 6 times a day.

It was 10:30 before I got back to my car with my large leg and shopping list. Crab called. He finally remembered my birthday.

Since I was in Big Town, I went to the pharmacy Nurse Diane recommended, thinking I would be able to get everything I needed there. The only thing I walked out of the wound center with was an elastic bandage and what was left of the Very Special Fabric. Inside the recommended pharmacy I was greeted immediately by a pharmacy helper who took down my name, DOB, address and phone number. "Happy birthday!" She sent me to the window where the pharmacist started entering my info in the computer. "Happy birthday", he said.

My shopping list got handed to the other pharmacist who tried desparately to help me. Several problems. He'd never heard of this Very Special Fabric. Cast padding?? He didn't carry cast padding. He looked up the VSF and he could order it. Only $50 a box! I ended up leaving with what I could and VSF on order. The next pharmacy I stopped at didn't have cast padding either. Then I thought about it. What pharmacy would? Who sets their own broken arm and makes their own cast? I ended up at Hobby Lobby and bought a bag of low loft quilt batting and cut it into (sort of) 4" strips. It will have to do.

I finally got around to redressing my wound around 10:30 this morning. I was surprised that it did not hurt. I'm not so hot at the mummy wrap but I think I fulfilled all the requirements. Except for the 30 minutes of elevation 5 or 6 times a day. Does an hour and a half nap count?

And for those of you who are not squeamish, you can look at the hole in my leg here. I haven't photographed the hole in my head yet.

Happy birthday to me, a little late.