Fallout (or "Betty, where aaare you?")

Yes, folks. I am still in the land of the living--barely. My life has been filled with more than incidental events as of late--but I've still managed to find escapist time to play Fallout, a PC game involving saving my little community residing in a fallout shelter during post-apocalyptic tomorrow. During my tours in Never-Never Land, I came to two conclusions (1) there is no way to successfully complete an adventure without incidental carnage, (2) there is no way to save the world without loyal friends (a radioactive mutt in my case), and (3) the best-laid plans go radioactive when faced with Deathclaws . Strangely enough, life imitates avatar (minus the grizzly bits).

I can only thank the amazing resiliency of the human condition and blind fate that I am here writing to all ten of my readers today.

I returned to work after spending a week in Colorado. My 94-year-old grandmother's health was declining, and I went home to spend time with her and my father. I might call myself a cowgirl, but she was the real deal. She spent most of her life in the Texas Panhandle, and lived through the Great Dust Bowl, the Great Depression, and WWII. She saw the Soviet Empire rise and fall and heard Orison Welles's War of the Worlds. She was courted by a cad, only to find out he visited that "widow who lived by the train depot," whenever his manly urges required professional attention. She declined to marry my grandfather because he hadn't enough money to support them--until he said he would join up and fight the Nazis if they didn't get hitched. She vainly tried to control my adolescent father's occasional fits of dancing. She also went to the beauty shop to get her hair set every week for 70 years.

We visited for an hour for the first couple of days I was at the nursing home. (My grandmother's hip broke in March, and moved from her assisted-living home to a nursing home after her recovery. We initially hoped she would bounce back--as it was hard to imagine the old cowgirl would ever die.) The following days, when we walked the two blocks from my family home to the nursing home, grandma could barely stay awake. I would comb her hair, we would hold her hands and make some chit chat. Mostly, we exchanged smiles as my grandmother fought to keep her eyes open. She enjoyed company, getting her hair set, and having her hair brushed. But eating--even chocolate ice cream--held little pleasure. The ritual of "supper" was no longer a joy but a painful chore.

On the day before I flew back, I told my grandmother I was returning to Albany. Grandma frowned and sighed, and said she was glad she could see me and I said I was glad to visit with her too. She told me to come back to visit soon--I smiled and lied to her. I said I would see her as soon as I could. I knew it would be the last time. My grandmother died the next day as I was waiting for my connecting flight in Detroit. My parents were there as she passed. Her heart finally gave out.

I wish I could see her again. But life held no more enjoyment for her anymore. It wasn't worth the bother.

I returned to work today, only to be sent home by my boss. While I was gone, she arranged everything so I wouldn't need to return for the rest of the week. She asked me why I came in. I told her the jackhammers across the street of my apartment made cold comfort, and I wanted to get back to work. One of my coworkers suggested I go see a movie by myself, a cheesy chick flick or a ribald comedy. It sounded nice to me at the time. I made my check-ins with my foster parents, and all was as it was before--filled with the usual back and forth pull of heartstrings and mania. I headed out at noon and drove home . . .

. . . only to get into an accident with a car that cut in front of me to make a left turn. I'm fine, and my trusty mare Norma Jean will need some plastic surgery, but didn't seem to suffer any internal damage. The couple riding in the car were startled, sheepishly embarrassed, and no worse for ware.

When I got out of the car, I was shocked to see the driver and the passenger who cut me off. They reminded me of my grandparents. The wife looked like she had her hair set every week. The husband (and driver) had ears that hung to his shoulders. All my anger disappeared--still flustered--I asked "are you OK?"

I had to repeat it a couple of times--the driver wore a hearing aid the size of a lime. The passenger said "We are fine dear. Are you? My husband and I were returning from the V.A. in Albany. They were running some of the usual bloodtests, and he said he was tired and just wanted to go home."

Folks came by and asked if all was well and if we needed any further assistance. We repeatedly assured we were free of bodily injuries. The local police came by, information was exchanged, and a report was filed. The fallout, as I've discovered was that no adventure can take place with incidental heartache, loyal friends and family, and crumbling of best-laid plans. That's what makes life so wonderful and so painful at the same time.

So, that's how my day went. It's been the theme for the past couple of months. How's everything with you?

P.S. Fracas, 70s, TnB, DP, and all the other cowfolk out there--all is well. I really will have a Condiment of the Week by the end of the weekend! I really promise, and this time I mean it!!

She's Ba-aaack (Well--Somewhat)

Well, all. This is my first post in a while. Things have been busy at Case De Chaos. First, we were marooned by the unknown captain of our pirated internet. We haven't invested yet in legitimate wireless access, so I have been--well--less prolific in my postings. (I am drinking a white mocha and accessing the wifi at a coffeehouse.) Most of my postings are based on "I have no internet. Life has been filled with busy nothings. I'm currently coughing up small, furry creatures calling themselves Hal. The weather sucks." as of late.

Of course, this posting is much of the same.

The weather has improved and Hun and I have rejoiced in the few sunny days sprinkled in between "wintry mix" days. This winter is hanging like a horny bitch. But I have faith, spring soon shall triumph.

I've spied a few groundhogs trundling across country roads, wild turkeys pecking in the fields, fancy free-range chickens dodging traffic, and a few bald eagles taking advantage of the seasonal roadkill. Spring is at the ready.

Hun and I met my mother in Washington D.C. We had a good time and wandered around the National Mall. We saw the Air and Space Museum--featuring the Spirit of St. Louis and Apollo 11. We also saw the National Gallery and a small exhibit of the collection from the American History Museum.

In one exhausting evening, we covered the Jefferson Memorial, the FDR Memorial, and the Lincoln Memorial. D.C.'s famous cherry trees were quivering with blossoms ready to burst forth. We hiked along each monument as sun burst through the clouds, dipped to the horizon--turning the sky a cool pink, and vanished as the Lincoln Memorial took over the night.

As wonderful as it was to visit with my mother and the seat of our nation, I missed my father. Although I am my mother's favorite daughter, I'm also my daddy's little girl. I've never lived so far away from home, and being a lonely only, I grew up heavily relying on my parents for emotional support. I hope to see my father soon, and Hun and I plan a trip to Colorado this summer--if I don't travel sooner.

My dad, who originally planned on joining us, had to cancel. My grandmother needed emergency surgery because she broke her hip. My grandmother--who is 94 and stubborn--is doing just fine, thank you. We were worried for her at the time. But like the hearty Texas gal we know and love, she made it through surgery like a trooper, and is eating her favorite KitKats.

My father had to make sure she was fine for the surgery and set up a place for her to stay while she is in recovery. It's been a hard road for her and for my father, but he is a good man and has received a lot of support from close friends.

On a happier note, one of my best friends is about to give birth. I am hoping for an April 11th birthday, and she will name the kid Betty (even if it's a boy--to put hair on his chest). I plan on visiting her in late June in sunny (more so than Albany) California. It's strange. I knew her from high school. She had a tough time in college and her share of not-so-right guys. But I've never seen her quite so happy as now.

I am still working in foster care. As per usual, work is work. Lately, I've been training a new family the art of picking battles with your 8-year-old ward, and mediating heated negotiations between foster parents and natural parents on the Geneva Balance of Sippy Cup Holdings. If I do my job right, everyone is pissed off at me by the end of the day--spank you very much.

Well, that's all folk. Until next time. I promise to post a Condiment of the Week. I'll give you a hint--it's all American.

Well yes, I haven't posted in a while . . .

. . . and I might have some difficulty posting in the next couple of weeks. Hun and I are having trouble with our wireless connection. I also have been spending some interesting nights in the ER with emotionally unstable children. Once our internet is up and running I promise, promise to write the next Condiment of the Week and Sunday List, as well as a couple of usual moans and groans about Upstate New York. For the ten (0r two) friends who regularly read my blog, please don't give up on me yet . . . I shall prevail!


Right now I snagged a computer at Hun's school, and I thought I would write off a quick note before running back to our abode to make green chili and potato soup (oh, and vacuum the carpet).

I am also feeling 100 percent better. Thanks for all the medical advice and messages of concern. I felt the love--and it's nice to be reminded that a lot of folks out there care if I am coughing up a lung.

Adios, amigos (and amigas) and may the wind be at your back while riding the trail!

Condiment of the Week: Honey

I'm a cantankerous sort. I've been sick for a week since braving an ice storm to make sure a foster kid didn't have serious intentions of burning down his house. Despite my downing hot Tang, eating green chili, and resting my voice (after losing it Friday morning), I still wasn't feeling any better.

Granted, I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. (When you're constantly exposed to kid germs like I am, you'd want to wear a bubble suit too.) I also secretly enjoy putting on campy horror movies to lull me to sleep. But I was sick of being sick. Comatose states bore me quickly, and all I wanted in the world was to finally feel better.

I even dragged into work on Tuesday in hopes that I would be distracted into wellness and to catch up on all my cases. (Time flies when you work in foster care. Cases can change directions quickly when you aren't aware of current ins and outs.) My coworkers didn't even tease me about sounding like Marge Simpson, instead they ran away when they heard me hacking around the corner. By the end of the day, I talked myself horse.

I succumbed Wednesday and scheduled a doctor's appointment. The doctor (who looked younger than me--ouch) said all I suffered from was a cold and recommended I continue to take massive amounts of cough suppresant and suggested a home remedy: honey.

Great, I though, I am now 25 dollars poorer, and I've been told about the medical benefits of honey. Then a second thought came to mind: my Honey (a.k.a. Hun). Hun was at my side all last weekend--listening to me gripe, forcing cough syrup on me, nagging me to get more sleep, and remaining patient and supportive--despite not getting a decent night's rest himself. I've been snotty, greasy, highly unattractive, and definitely less than charming. Hun was also smart enough to recommend getting more rest instead of going to the doctor, because there wasn't a miracle pill to fix what I had--despite my hopes to the contrary. I suppose, in my own way, I got the doctor's advice already.

I alternated peppermint tea with honey to my hot Tang regimen the rest of the afternoon and slept through more camp horror. By the next morning, I felt considerably better (although I still sound like Marge Simpson). I owe most of it to my daily dose of Hun.

So I'm designating this week's condiment of the week to honey. Take time to think of all the little things you daily dose of honey does each day--be he/she a parent, kiddo, lovemuffin, or life-supporting friend.

I've Been Memed by the Book Guy

. . . I guess I deserve it for not finishing what I started . . . ; )

According to the esteemed Rotus of I'll Never Forget the Day I Read a Book!, I owe him one for tagging him on another meme. Not to forgo a comeuppance or a challenge, I took on the Book Meme. According to Rotus, the rules are simple:

1. Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people.

(1) Pick up the nearest book ( of at least 123 pages). The nearest book on hand wore a fine patina of dust while waiting patiently for me to lift it off my bookshelf. I blindly grappled for it and behold! I grabbed I, Claudius by Robert Graves. I, Claudius was smirking at me a bit. Like any good historic novel, it's scandalous, sensually descriptive, and lots of fun. (I cheated a touch. The first book I picked wasn't 123 pages long. What does that say about me? I like comic books and self-help workbooks, I guess.) I read the book only once, but kept a hold of it in great plans of cracking open the pages again.

(2) Open the book to page 123. Page 123? Done.

(3) Find the fifth sentence. One. . .two . . . (Hmm, three lines per sentence, this will be interesting) . . . three . . . four . . . aha! I have it! This made Livy really furious.

(4) Post the next three sentences. Alright, here goes:

This made Livy really furious. He said, "Polio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family and friends but I didn't agree with the general verdict until to-day. You're welcome to your disciple. . .

To add some context, the blurb is about a couple of philosophers discussing the best way to record history. Polio prefers writing the literal truth, without adding modern context. Livy prefers to add a modern slant, to persuade men to virtue. Claudius is underestimated by his August family as being dull-witted. When Claudius is asked for his preference, he diplomatically sees the strengths in both versions of history. Livy, in a huff, accuses Claudius of being dull--along with Polio. Hence the double entendre of dullness and dull-witted. Polio then advises Claudius to continue with appearing half-witted, exaggerating his stutter, and increasing his limp to be safely underestimated until it is his time for greatness.

(5) Tag five more people. Hmmm. . . I shall tag (1) Shinade of the Painted Veil for tagging me in Blogger's Amnesty Day-, (2) Rybu at File Under Misc. after de-tagging him on the Big Bang Meme, (3) my mother and fellow book-a-holic at Heifer's Hideaway, (4) 70's Teen to find out what nostalgia she can pull out of her bonnet, and (5) tNb at Atomic Dogma to find out what else is on her bookshelf . . . It's up to y'all if you chose to partake--no worries if you're disinclined.

Wew! I'm tuckered. I think I'm off to a nap!

Someone's been sneakin' around these parts . . .

Howdy folk! I found out something interesting about the joys of the web. I found out that someone is linking back to my little ol' blog here in Upstate New York. It's a blog all about Colorado and the surrounding parts. Apparently, they've been linking back to a few of my blogs. According to the blog, Drew Epperly is the writer for my site. I beg to differ. I am not Drew, I am Betty.

Not only that, but I think Drew doesn't always read my posts before he uses them as his own, since my blog has very little content about Colorado, and is mostly about Upstate New York. Perhaps I'm a bit reactionary, and should be flattered--but my word, who is this hooligan?!

Drew also seems to write a lot about soccer--my question is how much did he actually write? Perhaps I am being a bit kneejerk, and dear old Drew is just posting snippets of his favorite blogs to share. But there's a sneaking suspicion a sneak and a thief is amongst us . . .

Update: It looks like Drew is another victim of this site that posts RSS feeds at www.colorado.thesourcesnowboards.com. It's rather bizarre, and somehow, they got my name mixed up with his. There is also a "Cowgirl Betty" who writes various collegiate sports articles--which I also didn't write. According to Drew (you can see in the comments section), he has tried to get the group to stop running his articles on their site, but to no avail.

Falling off the Wagon

Howdy folks! Just wanted to let y'all know I've been a bit under the weather lately, explaining why I haven't been posting as often. I also have been fighting some flu-like symptoms, attempting to work at my job six days a week, and struggling with my internet being down at home. What can I say? It's been a rocky trail lately.

Well, after taking an oncall until about midnight--braving an ice storm to and from the foster home--my body told me enough is enough. I am now laid up, and I am writing this during one of my few moments of consciousness. Luckily the internet is back up!

I promise, promise to pick back up with Condiment of the Week and my various laments when I get back in the saddle (hopefully sometime next week).