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Author: nananoyz
I'm a semi-retired crazy person with one husband and two cats.
Diary of a Guilty Wife
Laugh out loud funny! Read more on Rachelwhims.wordpress.com
I heard Steven messing around in the kitchen. Dishes were clinking and water was splashing and then he was yelling, “What’s wrong with the sink?”
I yelled back, “I don’t know. What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s not draining!”
“It was fine a minute ago.”
“Well it ain’t fine now!”
I thought for a second and offered, “Is something covering the hole?”
I hear him sigh. It was an annoyed sigh that says, ‘of course nothing is covering the hole. The first thing I did was check the damn hole. I’m not an idiot.’
“No.”
Removing food and God-only-knows what from the hole is about the extent of my plumber-knowledge, so I say nothing back. After a few more minutes he yells again.
“I bet those kids put something down the garbage disposal again!”
“Yeah, probably!”
The kids are constantly shoving large quantities of food down the drain. I don’t know…
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Autumn on Tap
Written in response to the Daily Post’s daily prompt: Turn, Turn, Turn. Which season do you look forward to most?
Serve me a large mug of Autumn:
Oranges, golds, yellows, and
Browns
Fires on crisp October
Evenings.
Sweaters, hoodies, woolen
Socks
Broken-in blue jeans and a
Soft blue barn coat–
Flannel lined.
High school football,
After game party
Hay rack rides
S’mores cooked to perfection.
Delicious chill in the air
Tailor-made for cuddling.
Trick-or-treating and
Jack-o’lanterns
Hot apple ciders and chocolate
With marshmallows.
Fill my mug again.
Life’s Little Lessons #5
Be sure the pants or skirt you packed to travel home in after a week of dining on Texas’ finest cuisine have a bit of elastic in the waist. #cannotbreathe #fatandhappy.
Collections
there is a diverse cluster of angels
arranged in an vague approximation
of a semi-circle on the third shelf
of a bookcase in my living room.
the tallest among the collection,
a beautiful Isabel Blume piece
soars among her sisters, holding
high a pink ribbon of survival.
a gift from my daughter, the angel
commands and deserves center stage.
her siblings provide clues to
places visited by my friends and me.
a brightly colored fabric angel hails
from guatemala. she is plump and
comforting and is the only seraphim
I know who sports black pigtails.
two cherubim, one tiny and one merely
small, serenely smile, clutching plaster
lambs to their white plaster chests.
another guatemalan angel, created from
old, rolled sheet music soundlessly
sings praises to heaven above.
there are several others gathered there,
some sitting on books. i imagine they
read late into the night so from time
to time i rearrange them for variety.
one inexplicably holds a marble. i have
no idea where the marble came from, but
it seems appropriate in the angel’s hands.
Surviving a Fake Heart Attack
I could have sworn I’d written before about my near-fatal fake heart attack, but I could find no such post in my archives. Knowing me, I probably gave it some off-beat title like, “Only the Heart Knows” or “Deadbeat Heart” and now I’m unable to locate it. That shouldn’t be a problem with this post.
First, if one is going to have a heart attack a fake one is by far the best kind to experience. Chances are there will be a full recovery given enough time and plenty of TLC.
Studly Doright and I had recently moved into our temporary rental home on the northwest side of Tallahassee. Delighted by the pleasant February weather we decided to ride our bikes around our new neighborhood on that bright Sunday afternoon.
Having moved from Mahomet, Illinois, where February temperatures seldom climb into the 70’s, we pedaled about with abandon. The birds were singing, the sun was shining, the gentle hills of Tallahassee were beckoning.
We rode for thirty minutes or so. It certainly wasn’t a strenuous ride, or wouldn’t have been for someone used to the hills. Or to exercise. But I was neither.
When we returned to the house and I dismounted from my old green Schwinn, my heart was beating so hard I thought it would tear out of my chest. I wasn’t in pain, just embarrassed at being so out of shape. Finally it slowed its frantic bump-bump-bumping and we had a good laugh. I promised myself to begin doing some cardio so I could avoid this situation in the future.
I started dinner while Studly showered and that’s when the first Holy Cow pain hit my chest. I had to sit for a minute while the pain subsided. I knew it wasn’t good. Figured, in fact, that I was dying. When Studly found me sitting at a chair in the kitchen I told him just that.
“I’m dying.”
“No you aren’t.”
I returned to cooking, which in itself often seems enough to kill me. We had dinner and I poured myself a glass of wine and had my second Holy Cow pain. This time Studly witnessed it and we decided to go to the emergency room.
Of course we weren’t sure exactly where that was. Neither of us thought to use the GPS, instead we headed down Thomasville Road to where we thought we’d seen a hospital. Holy Cow pain number three hit just as we located Tallahassee Memorial Hospital’s emergency facility.
The facility was busy, but a suspected heart attack moved me to the front of the line, and I was in an exam room in under five minutes. Emergency staff began hooking me up to machines even as they took my information.
They were efficient and thorough and were about to send me home with a pat on the head and an admonition to take it easy on the exercise until I acclimated to the Tallahassee terrain when another pain hit and the EKG spiked. The young doctor on duty determined that I should have a stress test, but that their facility didn’t do those. With great earnestness he suggested I go to their hospital, spend the night on a monitor and have the stress test the next morning.
“You’ll be home by noon,” he said. I was then transported by ambulance to TMH’s hospital across town.
Noon he said. Ha! Two long days and countless tests later, my deductible for the year completely satisfied, I was told most likely a chest wall muscle was spasming, but that my heart was quite healthy.
Thank goodness for good health insurance. Apparently they pay for fake heart attacks just as well as for real ones. Studly makes a convincing argument that my hospital stay would have been considerably shorter had our insurance not been quite so good.
In case anyone wonders, I made a full recovery. The only lasting consequence is any time I have a pain of any intensity Studly is quick to remind me of the expense of a fake heart attack.
On a serious note–never ignore chest pains. Had this been a real heart attack these guys would have saved my life. I received excellent care, and I’m glad I had everything checked out.
Serious note number two: everyone deserves affordable health care.
Peace, people!
Aunt Nanna
Every child should have a favorite aunt. Growing up, mine was my mom’s younger sister, Nedra, or as I dubbed her early on, Aunt Nanna. Only when an elementary school friend teased me about her name (Aunt Banana!) did I begin calling her Aunt Nedra.
Beautiful, teen-aged Aunt Nedra spoiled me rotten. She was the softer, more lenient, counterpoint to my strict mom and when I was with her I got away with all sorts of mischief.
Of course once Nedra married and had children of her own our relationship changed. She had to act like a mom herself then, but her children were as close to me as my own siblings back in those days. We all lived in Floydada, Texas, and not much was off limits or out of bounds. My life was good.
Then life changed. Nedra’s bunch moved away and she went through a divorce. All of us grew up, married, lost loved ones. And now, not a single living member of my mom’s family lives in Floydada anymore.
My Aunt Nedra married a wonderful man, my Uncle Richard many years ago and they settled in Canyon, Texas. I hadn’t seen them since my dad’s funeral in 2006. Until today. And what a happy day!
My mother-in-law (Saint Helen) and I drove to Canyon to Nedra and Richard’s home. They knew we were coming, so Nedra was waiting at the door to welcome us. My Aunt Nanna. And there was Uncle Richard sitting in his favorite chair. Nedra had cooked lunch and we had a wonderful visit. It wasn’t nearly long enough, but two years’ worth of talk wouldn’t have sufficed.
We forget, I think, the important places in our hearts that have been claimed by these favorite aunts and uncles until we can see them and hug them and have all of those emotions and memories come rolling in and crashing over us. We have a shared history of family loved and lost, of experiences both profound and silly. Nothing can ever replace that. No one can ever replace these loved ones.
Love you Aunt Nanna and Uncle Richard.
Playground
sixes and sevens charged headlong,
vying for first place in an
imaginary race to the monkey bars,
and the seesaws, and the slide.
Texas panhandle playground, dirt-covered
unkind to bared legs on cold, windy days
while archaic dress codes demanded
dresses be worn by little girls.
disregarding weather, firm, yet kind
educators shepherded their charges into
stinging maelstroms of gravelly sand.
it was for teachers’ sanity no doubt.
some days impromptu games of
following a self-appointed leader
consumed recess time, effectively
socially sorting first graders at play.
teeth were sometimes lost as children
clamored for a spot on the merry-go-round;
noggins often took bumps and lumps
slipping through monkey bars.
tears weren’t uncommon; neither was blood.
rules were simple: don’t push,
no tattling, leave the teachers alone.
tough, necessary playground lessons.
My Heart
When you call my name
my lonely heart holds its breath
afraid of loving.
So whisper the words
tell me you need me always
but don’t say my name.
for names hold power
as every lover knows
a twist in the gut.
Peace, people!
Cat On The Loose
I’m a bad ass cat
poised for adventure and fun.
watch me as I pounce!
Ill let you pet me
my bad self craves attention
man, just keep it real.
Don’t turn your back, Jack,
I’ll get you every time
I’m a bad ass cat.
Praying for Eyebrowz 