corrupted...

...by my favorite bad influence. I told her some time ago that she could lead me astray quicker than anyone else in my life, which she apparently took as a challenge. Nothing really major, but plenty of minor things: like chocolate, iced coffee that seems to be mostly cream and chocolate milk. Various and sundry meals that start with heavy cream.


There was a bag of candy corn. Forced upon me when I left Decatur to drive back to Columbus this afternoon. I looked at it several times on the ride, (apparently not smart enough to put it out of reach), but refused to open it and spend that ninety minutes digging into something that was surely nothing but sugar. Held out until I got to town, but then my will power seemed to evaporate.

As I opened the bag - just to do some quality control - I thought to myself: 'this stuff probably has some form of sugar listed as the first three ingredients'. When I got home and looked at the packaging: literally sugar, sugar and sugar. The printed info. on the front of the bag wants to make you think there is some nutrition in there by announcing it is Made With Real Honey. Hooey.

The list of ingredients, where the FDA requires they be noted in order of quantity of each item starts with sugar. The next is corn syrup, and the third listed in order of amount that is in the product is confectioner's glaze (shellac). Salt, Dextrose (another form of sugar), gelatin, sesame oil, flavor, then honey (meaning about two drops) and various colorings. So yeah: sugar sugar and sugar, about the same as eating a big pile of candy cotton - which is actually on my list of things I hope I never put in my mouth again. Why am I eating this stuff? I need to go put it in the trash can riiiight now! As soon as I eat a few  more....

two projects...

... that were in need of attention when I had the day off on Thursday. One was accomplished, the other not so much. You know how you feel as if you just looked the other way, and when you turn your head back around: clutter everywhere? It mysteriously accumulates when you fail to give your undivided attention. All the helpful hints want us to sort the mail when we walk in the door, and deliberately assign specific resting places for everything: car keys, hats, utility bags, tools. Good idea. Poorly implemented.

The space in my kitchen, designed as a desk, was piled up with clutter. I'd go to work, come home dragging my tail feathers, and add more to the assortment. Or leave the flotsam in my car, that often seems to serve the same purpose as a turtle's shell: portable housing. I'd been to the library book sale recently, purchasing a pile of used children's books for fifty cents each - with plans to wrap and mail to little people in my life. That was a big part of the mess - along with considerable set-aside mail, newspapers in need of reading, receipts, misc. and etc.

It looks quite tidy now: I moved all the clutter from my car into the house, sorted, trashed, filed. And then: moved some of it back into my car. The books are in padded envelopes, where I put them on Thursday afternoon to take to the post office. They did not get there. Still in my car. They are well traveled: been to Decatur, and South Carolina, and back to Decatur. Before finally, actually getting to the USPS today for delivery to VA and MT.

then going northeast to SC...

...which happened early on Friday morning. I know it is crazy, but have been doing it for so long, this odd behavior, it no longer seems bizarre. Getting up really early to leave home. When I had small children, and plans to travel, I would put them in the car before daybreak and drive for hours while they slept, hoping to arrive at our destination before they got fully awake and started the 'are we there yet?' song.

Friday was the trip to SC, with me thinking I could get out of town before everyone else, all six million commuters, got up and clogging the streets. It actually worked fairly well, when you factor in my desire to go in the opposite direction of those other folk who were heading into work when my little Toyota was leaving for the border. It's about a two hour drive, but I can turn it into a four hour excursion.

Upon my arrival at his house, he was MIA. With a note on the door saying he was at the doctor's office. I must have had a premonition, as I had my library book with me, so sat on the porch and waited. He had to get an x-ray done of his chest, after a diagnosis of possible pneumonia, so we went to radiology, (me with my book to sit and wait), then to lunch. Went to K-Mart to get his Rx filled and went back to the house to visit a bit.

Mr. Homer kept apologizing for all the unexpected things he had to do. I said I just came to see  him, and we would do whatever needed his attention together.  We had togetherness, talked about families and scrupulously avoided discussing politics. I left there at 3, headed back to ATL.

traveling north...

...from western most GA to the City on Thursday. As a result of finding myself with a couple of days off from work and time on my hands: no reason not to stay in  motion. I called my pen pal who lives up in Greenville, early in the week, to ask about coming up to visit on Friday. He agreed. Which allowed me to start planning my weekend: driving all over the state.

I continue to do this (mostly pointless) tutoring job on Thursday afternoons, going out to a huge church in a very rural area, that has an after school/daycare program. My 'student' is a second grade girl, who already knows it all, so it provides me with an excellent opportunity to practice my patience. Last week she claimed to have no homework, so we read books instead. This week we did some math problems, likely more challenging to my non-math brain than her. I never can remember those little sideways 'v' things: which means more than and which means less than?  Then practicing spelling words for Friday's test.

I was packed, and loaded, ready to head out for Decatur when we finished at 5:00. Off on an excursion along country roads, traveling amongst the falling leaves of deciduous trees, aiming towards the interstate. Traffic had thinned before I got to ATL, and into town to spend the night in Decatur.

it only hurts when...

... I try to get someplace besides where I am.

My foot was giving me some vague problems when I was at work on Wednesday. Bothering me enough that I thought to call for an appointment to see the foot doc. when I got home and could look at the calendar. For us to agree upon a date when they made me an offer about when to come in.

Lo and behold: that scheduler asked if I wanted to come in on Thursday morning at 8:45 a.m. I was completely unprepared to get there that soon. Hemming and hawing for a few minutes and fudging around, I finally said yes. Thoroughly not expecting to be offered the opportunity to present m weary feets within less than twenty four hours of making the call.

After agreeing that 'yes' I could get my person there bright and early on Thurs., I went out to do some watering of all the things that are panting and perishing in my yard during this months long drought. As I was walking out the door, and across the carport, I heard a small 'pop' that seemed to come from the general vicinity of my right extremity. The next step was extremely painful. Causing me to say out loud: 'I think I just broke my dang foot'.

I hopped and hobbled around for the rest of the day. Putting ice on it for a couple of hours last night, and trying to sleep with it propped up on a couple of pillows overnight. Which means I did not sleep very well. Getting up early to shower, and make myself presentable for that early a.m. appt.

Needless to say, I sat there in the cubicle for the better part of an hour. They took three x-rays of my foot. When the dr. came in, he said: "You have a stress fracture of the metatarsal". We talked a while and tried to suss out what had caused it, why it might have occurred. Who knows? Not me!

I have a boot with a bunch of velcro fasteners I am to wear to stabilize and support. The boot will help with keeping those tendons or ligaments, supporting things from flexing so much, to give the bone time to heal. I will get very tired of telling my story to everyone who sees me and asks: 'what happened to your foot?', but will try not to bite anyone's head off, but instead will refer them to the story on the blog.

about that amusing hat...

... that I would rent out if you can think of an appropriate place to wear it? It gets tiresome after a while, though not particularly weighty. Just awkward, going in and out of doors, plus not like some of the little feather-weight things your grandma wore when she went out with a tiny little veil that was no more than a  bit of fluff on top of her head.

It's really not all that heavy, considering size. But for someone who is unaccustomed to having such a large object sitting upon one's head, it takes some getting used to. Also takes some adjustment for any one you may encounter who would not be expecting such a remarkable display of noticeable headgear.

It is available for rent. Comes with a small light on the interior that glows attractively in the dark, to make the butterflies look even more festive. I would be really interested to know that there is another person on the planet who can think of some event where it might be appropriate to appear in such eye-catching garb.

clownin' around...

... in all  my festive attire. The store has a 'trick or treat' night on Halloween. For several years, it has fallen to me to be the person to run the game/give-away in the produce area. If you are gotta' do something silly, you might as well go all out...

I discovered after wearing that little red plastic nose on the elastic for about an hour, my real nose got really sweaty, so discontinued use before the event was over. And eventually got tired of wearing the hat that hits the door every time I go in and out, and nearly tips me over when I stoop to get the bean bags for the next contestant to play. So the head gear wore pretty thin before the evening came to an end.