R.I.P. Spike
10/22/1914 - 4/30/2012
R.I.P. Spike
After a valiant 12-year battle with the 21st century, Vincenzo Giovanni Musso - aka Spike - passed away peacefully tonight. The day he saw this picture on my phone, just this past October, was the last time I heard him let out a real belly-laugh.
Don't you just love makeovers?
Well, maybe not this one. In response to Still Alive, as a Geminiacally typical "you think THAT's bad," I offer these before and after pix of Neko.
Ahh, Neko...we miss him.
What you can't visualize in those still shots is just how spastic he became as he aged. He drooled and snarfled and fell down a lot. After the stroke, of course, he wasn't able to get back up again. He died at the ripe old age of 21-1/2. (And boy, was he ripe!)
Ahh, Neko...we miss him.
| Before Neko at age 18 in 2003 | After Neko just prior to his stroke in 2007 |
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| Dig my stylin' glasses, yo. | Don't blame me! He had to be shaved because he just couldn't groom himself anymore! Frankly, he was more like a zombie at this point anyway. |
What you can't visualize in those still shots is just how spastic he became as he aged. He drooled and snarfled and fell down a lot. After the stroke, of course, he wasn't able to get back up again. He died at the ripe old age of 21-1/2. (And boy, was he ripe!)
President’s/Presidents/Presidents’ Day Trivia Quiz
Original painting "Callin' the Blue" by Andy Thomas
Which of the following statements is true?
(A) Jacqueline Kennedy, upon realizing her husband’s eye was wandering, discreetly contacted Marilyn Monroe and paid her to provide speech lessons so that she could woo back her husband’s affections with that same breathy, seductive quality for which Marilyn was famous.
(B) One 19th century president was a sworn enemy of the United States and has a grandson who is still alive today.
(C) While running for office along with vice-presidential candidate John Tyler, William Henry Harrison’s famous campaign slogan was derived from his nickname, Tippy Canoe. The nickname was given to him by his Yale college chums, teasing him for being the one man on the rowing team who always tipped the boat over in the water.
(D) George Washington was the first President of the United States.
Grandhog Day
Last weekend I took my three year old grandson to the science museum. The same place I had taken my son – his daddy – when he was three. The day was clear with a crisp chill in the air. Landon was wrapped in the same coat my son had worn. We walked the same nature trail and threw stones into the same pond. He climbed on the same playground equipment. We sat at the same picnic table, snacking on apples and cheese, just what his daddy liked at that age. Although nearly thirty years separated the two visits, it was as though no time at all had passed.
Queen's Decree, Addendum #1
| It is rude and unacceptable to listen to your MP3 player through your ear buds or to have a non-emergency or non-work-related conversation on your cell phone while spending time with The Queen. If you do so, your actions say nothing less than, "You are not important to me and I wish to exclude you from my consciousness." |   | ||
|---|---|---|---|
Back to Work...and other inane comments
Yesterday was my first day back to work. I'm so grateful they held my job for me and so happy to have an opportunity to be useful again. It's uplifting to discontinue my boneless lump impression. I must say I do look forward to retirement, though. Boneless lumps notwithstanding, I never did run out of projects around the house.
Day-before-yesterday was Independence Day and it was a lovely one for us. We sat out front and watched our neighbors light their fountains and sparklers, then retired to the back yard and sat in the dark enjoying the balmy evening, watching as other, unknown neighbors set off their unsafe and insane fireworks. In other words, the good kind.
And now, for no particular reason, for he needs no reason other than because he's just so stinkin' cute...
Day-before-yesterday was Independence Day and it was a lovely one for us. We sat out front and watched our neighbors light their fountains and sparklers, then retired to the back yard and sat in the dark enjoying the balmy evening, watching as other, unknown neighbors set off their unsafe and insane fireworks. In other words, the good kind.
And now, for no particular reason, for he needs no reason other than because he's just so stinkin' cute...
When I Am Queen
Service providers who address any group that includes a female as "you guys" shall be drawn and quartered.
People who wear hats indoors and/or sit sideways in a restaurant booth and people who fondle their electronic devices while dining or otherwise engaging in any encounter with humans will have their hat/legs/devices removed with a swift round-kick.
Anyone caught expectorating in public will get the hose.
Social etiquette will be a required course throughout a child's 12-year school career. Refresher courses required annually for adults.
Parents who speak rudely to their children and those who walk ahead of their child appearing to not give a rat's ass whether the child is still there, somewhere, behind them, will find the child gone. Gone. To Narnia.
People will be encouraged, not scolded, for addressing a woman as "ma'am." This is NOT an insulting term used to point out advanced age but rather a sign of respect, just as men may be addressed as "sir." Whoever decided otherwise is a buffoon.
Clothing companies will be required to adhere to strict sizing specifications for both men and women. No ambiguous "small-medium-large" sizing, and no vanity sizing. Simply state the length, width, and girth at the important points on a garment and let us not have to spend hours in a fitting room trying on more guilt and shame.
Got any peeves you'd like me to consider once I'm queen? Feel free to leave them in the comments and I will take them under consideration.
Now off with you.
Treading Results
A huge THANK YOU to each and every one of you who chose to cheer me on as I walked and exercised
my way through May and June. As a result of your support, not only was I able to spring back from my
treatments and regain my stamina, I was able to exceed my $500 goal and raise a total of
$578!
Treaders worldwide raised over $111,200 throughout May and June.
Those funds will be used by Love146 to continue their work in the abolition of child
sex trafficking by providing Prevention, Rescue, and Aftercare.
sex trafficking by providing Prevention, Rescue, and Aftercare.
On behalf of all the kids yet to be rescued, and all those who are regaining their lives and souls
because of your contributions and the efforts of people who care,
THANK YOU!
The Wai-ai-ting Is The Hardest Part
♫
Sorry for the delay in updating everyone but I’ve had Landon here for the last week and a half and the few quiet moments I get are spent crawling around the house looking under things, trying to collect my wits. Plus, I have a cold.
I saw the gyno-oncologist on the 16th. With apologies for the mental picture, I will tell you that he poked around a bit and said everything looks terrific. I told him I get that from all the boys.
I saw the radiation-oncologist yesterday. She too said everything seems to be a-ok.
No plans have been made for any scans. Gyno Guy says it’s too early for that due to the cumulative nature of the treatments. He says MAYbe a PET scan around the six month mark.
They both (allegedly without rehearsing their lines together) said I tolerated the treatments amazingly well and that I was a pleasure to work with. No kidding! In fact, Rad Doc said she has some really whiny patients right now and every time she has to see them she thinks, "I miss Mimi!"
I got through it all without radiation burns, baldness or barfies, and with precious little whining. While I attribute the latter to piss and vinegar, the former I only chalk up to dumb luck. And kick-ass anti-nausea drugs. Hurray for anti-nausea drugs!
While I remain 99% optimistic, nothing is called cured until one passes the five-year mark. I’ll see each of the oncologists at four-month intervals (Gyno Guy four months from now, Rad Doc four months after that, lather, rinse, repeat) for two years, then every six months for the following three years. If I accomplish five years cancer-free, I get to see them annually for the rest of my life. Good thing I like them both, huh.
The drive home from Gyno Guy was a pooky time for me. Evidently I was suffering a bit of denial and had forgotten about that whole five-year thing. I had gone there thinking there would be a big happy-clappy proclamation of renewed health with celebratory high-fives all around, glittery balloons dropping from the ceiling, a bubbly toast, and a whack at a piñata. Yeah, a piñata would have been nice. A tumor piñata. But, none of that happened. Instead, I got a guardedly optimistic thumbs up (no, not there!) along with a tactful but cautionary tale about how if the cancer didn't all get killed then blah blah something something. I kind of zoned out at that point, pining for the piñata that never was.
But then again, I did get cakes.
Sorry for the delay in updating everyone but I’ve had Landon here for the last week and a half and the few quiet moments I get are spent crawling around the house looking under things, trying to collect my wits. Plus, I have a cold.
I saw the gyno-oncologist on the 16th. With apologies for the mental picture, I will tell you that he poked around a bit and said everything looks terrific. I told him I get that from all the boys.
I saw the radiation-oncologist yesterday. She too said everything seems to be a-ok.
No plans have been made for any scans. Gyno Guy says it’s too early for that due to the cumulative nature of the treatments. He says MAYbe a PET scan around the six month mark.
They both (allegedly without rehearsing their lines together) said I tolerated the treatments amazingly well and that I was a pleasure to work with. No kidding! In fact, Rad Doc said she has some really whiny patients right now and every time she has to see them she thinks, "I miss Mimi!"
I got through it all without radiation burns, baldness or barfies, and with precious little whining. While I attribute the latter to piss and vinegar, the former I only chalk up to dumb luck. And kick-ass anti-nausea drugs. Hurray for anti-nausea drugs!
While I remain 99% optimistic, nothing is called cured until one passes the five-year mark. I’ll see each of the oncologists at four-month intervals (Gyno Guy four months from now, Rad Doc four months after that, lather, rinse, repeat) for two years, then every six months for the following three years. If I accomplish five years cancer-free, I get to see them annually for the rest of my life. Good thing I like them both, huh.
The drive home from Gyno Guy was a pooky time for me. Evidently I was suffering a bit of denial and had forgotten about that whole five-year thing. I had gone there thinking there would be a big happy-clappy proclamation of renewed health with celebratory high-fives all around, glittery balloons dropping from the ceiling, a bubbly toast, and a whack at a piñata. Yeah, a piñata would have been nice. A tumor piñata. But, none of that happened. Instead, I got a guardedly optimistic thumbs up (no, not there!) along with a tactful but cautionary tale about how if the cancer didn't all get killed then blah blah something something. I kind of zoned out at that point, pining for the piñata that never was.
But then again, I did get cakes.
And now, a word from our sponsor...
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| Everything's lookin' good from here, Gamma! |
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