I saw online today that Demi Lovato’s $8 million home is in danger of sliding down a cliff.
And Rob Lowe is looking for a personal assistant to make sure his jacuzzi is turned on and that he has coffee all day, among other things. Salary is $70K plus benefits.
I spent an hour this morning looking for a soup spoon we must have mistakenly thrown in the trash.
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My husband has always liked to tease me over the fact that I am a few years older than him. Kidding aside, though, I have had more aches and pains lately and I feel bad that he also has to endure them through association.
He hurt his back this weekend and his personal drugstore was open for business. Advil, muscle relaxers, Bengay, heating pad and pain meds were all available to him. Although I certainly don’t want him to be hurting I was glad, for a change, to be playing nurse instead of patient.
I didn’t try to collect a co-pay for services rendered. As long as we’ve been married, we’ve both met our deductible . . . and then some.
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Monday morning I woke up with a sore eyelid and with the help of my physician, Dr. Google, the diagnosis was a stye.
It’s much better now and last night I dreamt that I woke up, the stye was gone, but my sight was not. I had full vision back and although it made no sense even in my REM-sleep state, I knew that somehow the stye had brought back my full visual perception.
The dream woke me up and I was euphoric. But one look at the clock on the nightstand brought me immediately crashing back to reality. In that instant I was crushed, followed by anger at myself for not knowing better, even in the hours between night and day, when anything seems possible.
I was awake for the next two hours, trying to erase the dream from my mind. It’s been a long time since I imagined in sleep that my sight had come back and I had hoped those nocturnal fairy tales had returned to Neverland for good. I prefer to do my “visualizing” fully conscious and fully in control. A nightmare is defined as a frightening or unpleasant dream, but sometimes the nightmare occurs when we wake.
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While choking on a mini Tootsie Roll today
I wondered for a second, is it gonna end this way?
And what would my friends and family think
That I should have had water and taken a drink?
I would hope that they know that I love them so
And agree when I say, “it’s the perfect way to go.”
Leave a commentWe have become, if not the, then a Windy City. Having lived here all my life I can say definitively that in recent years we have had extremely blustery days no matter the season. It’s not unusual to have to bring in garden flags and porch signs so they don’t blow down . . . and away.
It’s commonplace to hear people commenting on the gusts and it’s clear that although it has been occurring for awhile now, we are all still surprised by it. Recently I heard someone say, “We’d be alright without the wind” referring to whatever the current temperature without the unforgiving blasts of air. In that statement I recognized an analogy for life. When things are gong well we are sailing along on smooth waters, the warm sun on our faces. It is a beautiful thing. But when the wind starts roaring, we are tossed and battered, rattled and shaken, unable to get our bearings, unable to catch our breath. We are tery-eyed and exhausted.
Yes, we’d be alright without the wind.
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Meet my personal trainer. It doesn’t get much more personal than climbing all over you while you do your ab work. He is one tough bird whose bird’s eye view is perfect for communicating “GIMME TEN MORE!!!” Piper’s Beak Camp is serious business.
Some of you may have a trainer of your own but I’ve got to proclaim mine takes the cracker as the Most Merciless. After all, does your trainer sometimes poop on you?
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A week before Christmas, on December 19th, our home heater died. We knew we were on borrowed time with it, but the serviceman who came out to get it ready for the approaching cold months thought we could get through one more winter. Two months in to the “Brrrrrr” its long reign of warmth was over.
Aside from the obvious financial and chilly repercussions for my husband and I, we needed to make sure Piper kept warm. Friends and family generously and sincerely offered for us to come stay with them, but when I tell you the gear required for a 90-gram bird is ridiculous I am downplaying it. We decided that remaining home was our best option. And so we enlisted a neighbor’s space heater and one of our own to keep the living room, where our little parrot resides, as close to its usual temperature as possible. Because we didn’t want to leave the space heaters running without one of us with them, we took turns sleeping on the couch and made sure one of us was always home. Since I can’t drive, I was pretty much grounded. Even though my husband was off from work for over a week due to the holiday, we were home almost the whole time. Together. For two weeks. Primarily in one room. The fact that this happened one month ago today and I am only now able to write about it should tell you something.
Despite all that was going on within our arctic home, a little event called Christmas was also occurring in the world. Santa waits for no one and it is a credit to my Type A/Planner/Anal Retentiveness that I had all gifts purchased, halls decked and cards done before the sh*t hit the heater. And, yes, I am tooting my own French horn.
The new heater was installed on December 30th. I am happy to report that during our Twelve Days Of Coldmas Piper stayed toasty and seemed completely nonplussed by neither the holidays nor the activity brought on by our heater’s final blow. As for my husband and I, we bundled up in layers and blankets. You haven’t really lived until you’ve slept with your hoodie tied so tight only your nose is uncovered.
We now have heat and my husband returned to work after the new year arrived. We really do take the luxuries for granted, not even realizing these everyday features that keep us comfortable are, indeed, extravagances we have come to expect. Until you’re running around with heavy-duty extension cords, checking your bird’s feet to make sure they are warm and living in very close quarters with your spouse of 25 years. If that’s not a Christmas story, I don’t know what is. Hallmark Channel: call me.
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Reptilian-like feet. Prehistoric even. Two toes in front, toe toes in back. Zygodactyl they call it. Dinosaur-like. Both feet and hands. Standing on one while the other holds food. Perching on one to sleep, the other tucked up into the breast feathers. So warm when it’s put back down.
These feet do a lot and it all adds up to this: He’s got me completely wrapped around his little zygodactyls.
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