It’s time once again to Use Me and Abuse Me! This is a virtual blog party where you can come and meet my friends. Bring a link from your blog, paste it in my comment section and then click on a few. Mingle with my friends by leaving comments. Check out their place Make sure to tell them, “Susie sent me,” and they should click back to yours. Maybe you’ll even pick up a few new subscribers.
If you’re going to leave a link, be sure to click on some while you’re here. You wouldn’t go to a party, take a few bottles of wine and go home. This party is all about the bloggingcommunity. We don’t have websites. We have blogs. It is a great place to make real friends. The more you click, the more friends you’ll make!
Only leaveONE LINK! Two will put you in my spam filter and that is always so embarrassing.
My daughter Courtney had a tonsil and adenoidectomy today. OUCH! Her outpatient surgery was accomplished with a laser in less than an hour! Her tonsils were cauterised with the burning, so she doesn’t have stitches. Recovery time will be cut in half compared to traditional surgery.
Oh yes. I know about the traditional kind. I had mine out in the 5th grade and had an overnight stay in the hospital. The priest came to my room and said a prayer before I went under the much heavier general anesthetic of the day. I awoke disoriented and in terrible pain. There were several adults in the post-operative room and they all appeared DEAD! I screamed or tried to scream. A nurse yelled, “Sit down and shut up!” This was back in the day when “shut up” was a naughty word. I begged for water, but only got a cup of ice chips. When I let them melt in my mouth before swallowing, I puked. It was horrible.
I do remember returning home where I recuperated for a couple of weeks while my mom took great care of me. I ate my weight in Popsicles. My classmates wrote get well cards. Of course there was the card I received from that special boy which looked like all the rest, but was cherished by me.
Courtney is in pain, but is very stoic about it. We’re staying on top of the “good medications,” Percocet, along with a doctor-prescribed magical lollipop. After sucking on it for 15 seconds every two hours, it has the amazing ability to numb her entire throat.
She is twenty-two years old and won’t be receiving cards from her classmates, but she has been getting all kinds of good wishes through Snapchat and Facebook. She chose to have this procedure done over spring break. In two weeks, she’ll be back to snowboarding on the weekends.
The Prize – The winner’s caption will be added to the photo and displayed on the right side of my blog until next month’s contest. The photo will be linked to your blog. Woohoo!
It’s time to vote!
If you are one of the finalists, this is a big deal! Email the link to your friends and family. Blog about it and ask your followers to vote. Post the link on Facebook and Twitter. Have fun and good luck!
The poll closes at 8:00 AM on Tuesday, April 1st!
The next Use Me and Abuse Me blog party starts this Saturday, March, 29th. Be sure to stop by with a link and click on a few. Everyone goes home with new friends. I love it when my friends meet each other!
Courtney created a new blog for a business class and needs 600 views! Help her out and click HERE 600 times…
That’s all for now. I think I heard Courtney call out for another Popsicle…
Last summer was WILD! After my double mastectomy, I had restrictions and limitations. My doctors expedited the process so my husband Danny and I could fly to Barcelona, Spain. We picked up our daughter Courtney from her Study Abroad program and drove to France.
While in Paris, we took a bike tour through the heart of the city. Courtney had traveled there with her friends a few weekends earlier and found the tour to be the highlight of her visit.
The fact that I took these photographs outside the Louvre weeks after major surgery reflects the power each body has to heal itself. They also remind me of the courage and strength of my daughter.
While studying in Spain, Courtney contracted tonsillitis. That weekend, the rest of the students in her apartment traveled to the South of France. She stayed home with a high fever, a painful sore throat and wasn’t able to keep any food down. Of course, I was freaking out from thousands of miles away. She dressed and hailed a taxi to the nearest doctor’s office. Without speaking Catalon, the doctor examined her and wrote a prescription. She found a pharmacy, taxied back home and took care of herself. Continue reading →
Last Saturday, Danny and I rode the chairlift with a friendly gentleman. We commented on the the fine weather and fresh snow and noticed his accent. This started a guessing game. He removed his goggles and squinted into the bright sunshine as Danny and I tried to guess his nationality. After naming 8 or 9 countries, we gave up. He said, “I’m Ukrainian.”
We continued talking after we arrived at the top. Then he wanted to guess my heritage. He asked me to take off my goggles and look at him straight on and then in profile. “Irish,” he said, “Your nose gave it away! It’s the same one they drew on Leprechaun’s in books and cartoons back in the day.”
My father always claimed he was full-blooded Irish. Then out of the blue a couple of years ago, he mentioned a Scottish great grandmother who came to live with them for a while. “What?” My mother asked with skepticism and just about fell over.
Knowing that I’m more than 75% Irish (maybe closer to 70% with this recent revelation), always put a spring in my Irish step this time of year. Another part of that spring comes from nostalgic memories.
I grew up in a creative household. My dad was one of the original Madmen and my mom was always whipping something up in the kitchen or on the sewing machine. They started a new and unique tradition. Every year, on St. Patrick’s Day Eve, the Leprechauns visited our house. They were a messy lot and would spill their chocolate filled coins all over the house while we slept. My sister and I searched high and low for the little fellas, but we never found them. Later, my brother joined in the shenanigans.
My mother would bake an apple pie while corned beef, carrots and cabbage simmered all afternoon on the stove top. The scent was heavenly. As if that weren’t enough, she baked soda bread. After my dad returned from work, we would sit down to an authentic Irish feast while traditional music played from my dad’s record player.
I continued this tradition with my own family. For my son Kelly, this is one of his favorite holidays. Every year, he makes an Irish feast for his friends. I am still working on an invitation.
So when I look in the mirror at my pug Irish nose, I smile. I wouldn’t trade for anything in the world, even for a glimpse of those elusive Leprechauns.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day!
To watch Danny and I dance an Irish jig – Click HERE!
For the more about my family’s fun with Leprechaun’s – Click HERE!
Impulse and risky choices have taken me on all kinds of adventures. This story epitomizes who I am.
After graduating from college, I struggled to find illustration jobs. Every month or two, I drew promotional advertisements for an upscale women’s clothing store where I worked selling clothes. The intermittent opportunities paid a meager wage. I made more money selling clothes than drawing them.
Then, I had a brilliant idea. Madison, Wisconsin is only a few hours away from Chicago, so I took the Van Galder Bus to the Merchandise Mart. I hoped to find a few businesses willing to pay me to draw their clothing and accessories.
With an art portfolio held tight in my hand, I knocked on doors all day, but only found one interested company. I showed the owner my drawings and paintings. She picked a purse from a pile on a table and said, “Draw this one.” She handed me a #2 pencil, a piece of typing paper and escorted me to her desk. She and her staff watched as I drew. Perspiration dripped from every pore on my body. Somehow, I managed to finish. She smiled and paid me $10.00. It covered less than half of my bus fare.
I took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped into the chilly spring air. After reorienting myself, I made my way to the bus stop. I thought about my career choice and if it would be worth it to travel to Chicago again.
While I stood shivering on the curb with my back against the Lake Michigan wind, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned and a thirty-something, unshaven man in a light jacket and jeans asked, “Are you waiting for the bus back to Madison?” Continue reading →
This Sunday, March 9th, marks the beginning of Daylight Saving Time or what I like to call, “You Ripped Off an Hour of My Precious Sleeping Time.” We lose an hour at 2:00 AM when time springs ahead to 3:00 AM. Dawn will break an hour later and the sun won’t slide behind our mountains until 7:02 PM. It will be one of those groggy days which will oddly resemble jet lag. It will creep into Monday morning with an increase in traffic accidents and heart attacks.
I love when it ends in November and I have a whole extra hour to play, but the start-up is killer. I can’t believe one little hour can mess with our heads so much.
I wonder if anyone has ever screwed with time in order to win a war. I can imagine the enemy sneaking into camp and setting all the clocks ahead by one hour. Just think of the mayhem, friendly fire, and subsequent heart attacks.
Did you know that Ben Franklin is responsible for our abrupt and jarring time change? In 1784, he spent some time in Paris and came up with an idea to save on the cost of candles. It’s always about money and sometimes about the cost of wax.
The good news:
Here in Boulder, day lengthens by 2 minutes and 37-38 seconds every 24 hours. For all of you still in the eye of the Polar Vortex, spring will arrive on Thursday, March 20th, whether Weather likes it or not. The 4th of July is less than four months away. How can that be? Time is precise and controlled. It ticks on and on, with concise rhythm and constant meter. Weather is obstinate and unpredictable. It throws tantrums without warning. It has its way, always. It doesn’t care about Time or the season. It’s an emotional monster, a willful child, and a hormonal teenager.
On Sunday morning, when you set your clocks ahead, you’ll be one hour closer to spring. The days will lengthen, temperatures will rise, and snow will melt.
But don’t mention anything to Weather. We don’t want it to become a hot mess.
I reached a milestone with the post, “I Had a Little Adventure While You Were Dancing!” Since I scheduled it for 7:00 AM, I never got the satisfaction of seeing, “You published your 300th post.” Being a “gold star” person, I have strived to earn them since I was a little kid. I wondered if WordPress had added a golden trophy to my virtual case, so I clicked “Awards” at the bottom of the list located on the left side of my notifications. Nope. I surpassed 3,000 WordPress blog followers, but didn’t receive a trophy for that accomplishment or for my 200oth.
Butthere is a trophy in my case with a number so peculiar, I scratched my head. I earned it when I acquired my 1337th follower. Why 1337? After FSOG, Five Seconds On Google, a list of results appeared.
Our dog Roxy has a friend. Squirrel hangs out in our oak trees or on the roof and waits for her to come out into the yard. He chirps and chatters and makes a ruckus. He acts like this is HIS yard. Roxy knows better. A showdown occurs every day. I wouldn’t mind except our petite 15 pound Bichon has an enormous set of lungs. When she starts barking, it echoes off the Rocky Mountains. It sets off car alarms. The coyotes start howling out in the open space. I can’t stand it!
After a few years of this relationship, I’ve learned squirrel doesn’t like the smell of vinegar. I sprayed in his general direction a couple of times when I was trying to get Roxy’s attention. Now all I have to do is step outside and Squirrel bolts. He flies through the air from the roof or from the tops of our trees all the way to the ground. I’ve finally earned some respect.
You should check out my Hawaiian friend’s blog and be sure to click on his surfing video on the side bar. It is waaaay too cool! You’ll see a few sexy photos since he posted a picture of discretely (barely), covered boobs every day in October for breast cancer awareness. They are his top posts!
My favorite Kippfu post is Yoga Fire. It is hilarious.
Warning. This is an explicit post about sex, aging and surviving breast cancer for August McLaughlin’s Beauty of a Woman Blogfest, Girl Boner Edition. Do NOT read it out loud to your child while he or she sits on your lap.
Image from Wikimedia
Twenty years ago, I ran into Cybill Shepherd in the entrance of a New York restaurant. I never had the opportunity to say more than hello, but I’m sure we’d be besties. She impressed me as tall and very comfortable in her own skin since she wore very little make-up and a mink coat over a sweater, jeans, and gym shoes. A decade later, she was quoted that sex gets better with age. She’s telling the truth! Continue reading →