Da Goddess

Memories from last year.

GmaB passed away yesterday morning.

It wasn’t an unanticipated event. We knew it was imminent.

Without going into detail, she declined rather quickly over the past couple weeks. With the most rapid changes occurring this last week.

As much as we all hoped for a last minute rally, it was more wishful thinking and we all knew it.

All the caregivers pretty much held it together as a team. It helped that we all loved GmaB and liked one another. I think we would have found a way to get through it no matter what, but our closeness made these last weeks (and months, if I’m being honest) more bearable.

We entertained GmaB and ourselves as we attempted to keep spirits high for her, for the family, for her friends, for all of us.

I would gladly take 1,000 more sleepless nights and long days to have even another month of GmaB in this world. She became a friend and confidante, a source of immeasurable contentment and joy. We laughed and sometimes we cried. Sometimes we did both simultaneously.

During one particularly trying stretch of time, she got so frustrated with me telling her how we had to do something, she looked up at me with a level of disdain I don’t think I’ve ever seen before. She stared right into my eyes and said, “you’re a crabby old lady, aren’t you?” I gotta tell you, I laughed. Despite both of us not having slept for a couple of days, we found humor in our frustrations and exhaustion. All I could so was hug her while I laughed and told her I was going to have to get a t-shirt with “crabby old lady” emblazoned across the front. I earned it!

In many ways, GmaB reminded me of my mom. They were just a couple years apart in age. They were both down-to-earth. The art they produced was simply beautiful. Their humor was similar, though my mom’s was a little more wicked from time to time. Mom swore more, and she drank and smoked, which GmaB never did, although in one of her moments of delirium, she all but demanded her son bring her some whiskey and wine. She told me to take her to the store for cigarettes.

Sigh.

We’d had a pact. She owed me three 2.5 inch square paintings. She was supposed to be my Independence Day date. I guess she still was, even if she was asleep. And she also swore to me she wouldn’t die in July because she knew that’s when Mom died. Oh well. I guess Heaven amd her husband needed her more. I also know she was ready.

Many days later: The morning she died, the sheep had stayed as close to the house as they could. For several days before she died, an owl sat in one of the many trees her husband had planted for her decades ago. At night, the owl would swoop down close to the house. I don’t know if I heard it as much as I felt it, but I know it got very close a few times. It was a comfort more than anything.

The actual morning of her death, I was cleaning her mouth and teeth, chatting away as if she was actively participating in the conversation. This was how we always began our day. The only difference this time was that she wasn’t opening her eyes. She was still with me. Her mouth occasionally gave a wry half smile. She bit down on the sponge applicators I was using a time or two. And, then in the time it took for me to set the basin and towels on the bedside table and go to brush her hair off her face, she was gone.

I checked for a pulse in multiple places, check for breathing. I found neither. I just held her hand, gently stroked her face, and told her goodbye. That was all I could do. I called hospice to let them know. I called her son who was there in under a minute. I let him call his brother. I called my friend to let her know her grandma was gone. And I texted the other caregivers. One dropped everything and headed over.

As we sat outside talking about GmaB, she gently nudged me and said I should look behind us. A hummingbird sat on the table just watching us. It didn’t move other than to tilt its head and occasionally wiggle a wing.

The sheep were, at this point standing at the fence while watching us intently.

And then, as we went inside, we glanced out the living room window and saw the bison. They were gathered together, crowding the fence. Facing the house. The Big Guy was focused and only temporarily looked away to stop the others from scuffling amongst themselves as they all seemed to want to be in front. When the Big Guy corrected them, they all stilled. They watched.

The funeral home driver arrived. He glanced at the bison and then back at the house. He gave no indication that this was surprising. He rolled his gurney in, I led him back to the room, and my friend and I waited. Then, as he wheeled GmaB out, the bison shifted a bit, pressing against the fence with all their combined weight. It moved a little, but it was built to withstand whatever bison activity would occur.

As the van turned around, the animals shifted, and then they walked the length of the fenceline alongside the van, as if escorting GmaB away. They were stopped only by the fence, and they remained there for quite a while that day. After the others dispersed, the Big Guy remained. He barely moved. The lone sentry. The sentinel. He just kept watch.

My friend and I watched, holding hands, tears rolling down our cheeks. GmaB’s son, daughter-in-law, and one of her grandchildren watched from the porch. And then we all looked at one another as if to say, “did that just happen? Did we just see the bison act as honor guard?”

I texted that moment to my friend, her dad, and the other caregivers. I texted Mojo and my sisters.

It was one of the most beautiful and profound moments I’ve ever witnessed. It was something you’d read in a book or see in a movie and chalk up to dramatic license. And we witnessed it! I could scarcely believe it had happened. But, as a group, the five of us saw it. The driver saw it. It happened!

Over the course of the next two weeks, the Big Guy and the other bison spent a lot of time near the corner of the fence where they last saw GmaB. The Big Guy in particular. He was often lying down, practically motionless. I worried about him. Usually, you just called his name and he’d amble over to you. No longer. He was on watch, I guess. He did eventually get up and resume his normal activities, but I feel like there was less energy behind his movements. My caregiver friend said the same thing. (She was kindly helping me pack up my things for storage as I prepared to move.)

Leaving the farm was so much more difficult than I anticipated. I had fallen deeply in love with the family who built it from the ground up, who nurtured the land and the animals, and who had lived, loved, laughed, cried, and even died there. I loved GmaB. I loved her vision of the farm. I loved the whole thing! It broke my heart to leave.

It was particularly difficult to leave the animals. I had come to love and respect them and their beauty, their part of the history of the farm, and their part in the history of the West.

So, here I am, just over a year after the events of my last day with GmaB and that magical experience with the animals. I will never forget that day. It will remain a core memory for the rest of my life.

The doctor survived the suture and drain removal!

Don’t laugh. It was a close one.

I won’t lie. The drain removal hurt like a mofo. I cried a tiny bit. Then I swore…just a wee bit. Times three. I hyperventilated a big bit. I clenched up my entire body a huge bit. And I spontaneously blathered odd animal facts an enormous bit. So, the doctor survived. As did I.

My incision looks good. The drain area will close in a day or two. And I shall never Never NEVER need a trauma surgeon ever again. I hope.

Good God, I’m glad that’s over.

I did it! Finally!

I lost my virginity.

Silly thing for a mom of two to write, but hear me out.

Craig Ferguson took my virginity. True. Fucking. Story.

October 7, 2023, is a day that will live in infamy for it was the day I finally got to go see Craig Ferguson on tour with his stand-up act. Not only that, but I met him, got a hug, he touched one of my tattoos (neener neener, wouldn’t you like to know which one!), and…and…and…it was all perfection. Mostly.

Yes, I’d been to tapings of his show many times over his ten year run as host of The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. Yes, I’d been mere feet away from him. Yes, I laughed myself silly. But I hadn’t seen his stand-up show before.

I’d envied those I knew who had been many, Many, MANY times. They had met him. They got their picture taken with him. They…touched…him. I was happy for those people. But I stewed in my own bitter juices of jealousy in private. I feared I’d never get my moment with THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. But I did. It happened. And now my life is (mostly) complete. I say “(mostly) complete” because there was just one teeny weeny little problem with our conversation (okay, two teeny weeny little problems) (maybe three teeny weeny little problems, but definitely not more than three). Main problem the first: I’d forgotten to ask if he remembered a sketch from the show where a particular name was used. Why would it matter almost 20 years later? Because I was author of that name! Well, the author of half the name. And I wanted him to sign one of his books for me using that name. Big problem the second: I forgot to bring the book. Don’t look at me in that tone of voice! I know what I did and I know how stupid that was. Look, it’d already been a very long, hot day full of emotion* before I even left to make the journey out to the middle of nowhere to see him. I couldn’t possibly be expected to remember VERY IMPORTANT items I almost desperately wanted signed by THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD! It’s like you don’t know me at all, people! Have you fallen so out of love with me your blog reading that you’ve forgotten all my (very) charming (and occasionally frustrating) quirks?

Le sigh.

I’m disappointed enough in myself, I don’t need your help in that department.

Problem the third: I also forgot to ask about his kids. Oh, the stories he told about his kids! So funny! So absolutely charming! So clever! The only kids I knew who were as funny and charming and clever as his kids were mine. Truly. I wanted to know if they continued to be funny, charming, and clever…like mine. Because: parents. IYKYK, right? Right.

All said and done, it was a beautiful day punctuated with the most magical evening of laughter and absolute joy. If I ever figure out how to post photos here again, I’ll post the pic of me beside THE GREATEST, FUNNIEST, AND MOST HANDSOME SCOTTISH LATE NIGHT TALK SHOW HOST AND COMEDIAN IN THE WORLD. And you will once more envy my glamorous life. (Glamorous in that I had one night away from GmaB and the farm, but it still counts!)

And that’s the story of how Craig Ferguson took my virginity.

* My best friend got married and I photographed her wedding. She was completely stunning! She looked so happy! And the latter part is and was the most important part of the equation. I really want her to be happy.

The sunsets here are incredible. Every night, I’m treated to the most brilliant display of gorgeousness. It’d be boring if they weren’t so spectacular.

Can I share one here? Apparently not. I no longer see a way to do so. Oh well. Close your eyes and imagine the vibrant green of the lawn, the purples and greens of the alfalfa, the silhouettes of 50yr old trees and a windmill, all against the pinks, oranges, blues, and purples of a sleepy, warm sky. Maybe throw in the silhouette of a heron or egret while you’re at it. That’s what I suffer through each and every night. It’s torture. Pure torture. And I love it.

I fell deeply in love at first sight this morning. So did Crackerjack.

She came to get me from her grandmother’s house so I could move some of my belongings over (I’m staying here overnight now because Grandma B’s dementia is getting worse). We stopped at Dollar General, which is out all-around favorite place to stop for Red Bulls. As we walked up to the door, this beautiful mini border collie came up (she was ignoring a man who was smooch calling her — is there another word for this?) and I asked her to sit, which she did immediately. She gazed up at me and I was instantly besotted. I mean, absolutely, positively, flat-out in love. I apologized to the man once he drew up to us. I said I figured it was better to have her sit and wait for him and I complimented him on what a VERY GOOD GIRL his dog was. And gorgeous, too! He then explained she wasn’t his dog, but was just running around loose and had been for a couple weeks. Crackerjack and I looked at each other as if to say, “we’ll take her until her owners are found!” Of course, that really wouldn’t be a possibility because the other dogs at the house would likely attack her. Instead, the man said his wife runs a rescue and she was on her way over to scan the dog for a chip and if there wasn’t one, they’d take her in.

While that was great news for the dog, my heart kind of broke into a million little pieces. I was so captivated by this petite pup, I had — in less than 20 seconds — already adopted her and trained her to herd cattle out here on the dairy ranch (it’s more of a farm now and they don’t do the dairy part as much, I guess???), where she could live her bestest life. I know, I know, my imagination overfloweth. The other scenario was that she would turn out to be more of a couch potato and want to spend all her time beside her new grandma and grandma’s caregiver. (A girl can dream, can’t she?)

Anyhow, Crackerjack and I reluctantly left the dog with the very nice man and went on to do what we’d set out to do: get Red Bull and move shit. We did that…two trips, in fact, with more to come.

In between the first and second trips, I asked if we could swing by the store to make sure the dog wasn’t still there. I’d been thinking about her the entire time I was packing and loading. She was gone. I was relieved because I couldn’t stand the thought that she was left in the lurch once again. I still don’t understand how she was just hanging around the store for two weeks without anyone coming to claim her or anyone calling a shelter to get her off the street. Apparently, she’d been seen on both sides of the (busy) road and, even worse, both sides of the freeway! Ugh! WHAT IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE? How is there this gorgeous girl running loose with no one looking for her?

So, there you have it: my tale (tail) of instant love and almost instant heartbreak in a kind of wordy nutshell.

The hedgehogs have been arguing a lot lately. I’m not sure what they’re arguing about most of the time, but I know what tonight’s beef was: Spike pooed in their house and Ash was having none of it.

I arrived on the scene just as Ash was chasing Spike out and telling him to get lost. She was mad! Spike was squealing like he was snakebit, but it was just him being dramatic. He pushed back a couple times, to no avail. Ash is simply bigger and more assertive.

When Ash went for a nosh, Spike ran back in the house and tried to keep her from getting in. More squabbling, hissing, and skittering about. Guess who prevailed?

After an emergency counseling session (I’m charging double next time), they both returned home and snuggled in close.

Honestly, I wonder about them. Will true love prevail? Or will Spike’s predilection for shitting in their house, in their food bowls, ON their house tear them asunder?

Answers to these questions and more on the next episode of “Soap”.

I am currently filled with hate. I’m not proud of this; it’s just a fact. A painful, loathesome fact.

We have mice.

We had mice in Texas. For the most part, they were never seen. Arizona mice, however, are everywhere. They rarely even run when they see us now. We’ve become their bitches.

I hate them.

We’ve released 7 into the wild, including a pinkie*. We’ve opted for humane traps, though I’m beginning to resent this as what they’re doing to us is akin to torture. I can’t even sit on the toilet in peace without the occasional mouse running over my slippered foot and then hiding on a shelf behind supplies. This is one of the only times these mice run upon contact with us. Apparently, they’re shocked to see us and get so discombobulated they scurry about. To that I say, “what the fuck did you expect? You’re in a HOUSE! People live in houses. Don’t like us? Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

We don’t set the cats or the snake out after the mice. 1.) The cats are healthy, well-fed, lazy, and don’t need to pick up anything that would be detrimental to Crackerjack’s or the baby’s health, and 2.) live rodents and captive snakes aren’t really a match made in heaven. In fact, live rodents can be dangerous for captive snakes. They can scratch or bite the snakes and that can lead to infections. Plus, I don’t know how we’d get Sneaky Snek back after she went on her rodent-seeking mission.

I’d post pics of the little shits, but I’m still experiencing issues with the “how” of it. Just trust me when I say the mice aren’t as cute as those found in children’s books or even those you see in the wild. To me, when I see mice indoors, all I see are vectors of disease and destruction. Hence, Get. Out.

*Pinkies are babies without fur.

I’m so exhausted from doctor appointments and packing that I’ve completely forgotten to post music and other updates.

My study is officially over here in Lubbock, but the docs have found me another study close to where I’m moving! (Note: call sis with update tomorrow before it gets late!!!)

There are a few lingering issues that are concerning enough for the docs to want me to continue on with various therapies. Since their study only deals with a specific period of time following the initial Covid infection and the early stages of long Covid, it was imperative they find something to continue monitoring and testing me for the next (minimum of) 90 days.

I wasn’t sure if I was really going to make the move to Phoenix, but the timing of the the study availability, location, and a freakily timed call from my friend means that everything is happening. Very. Quickly.

I leave Friday.

I’m almost done with all the packing. I better be! I have to ship boxes tomorrow afternoon. I’m checking one suitcase and taking one carry-on, plus my purse. It’s not exactly inexpensive, but needs must. It would cost more to pay for extra baggage than to just ship the stuff, so that’s what I’m doing.

I’m both excited and a bit terrified. I’m excited to see my dear JK again, to meet her man, and to finally meet her girls! There are also a bunch of animals, including a huge tortoise, an emu (squee! I love emus), a snake, and two hedgehogs. There are many more, but those are my top four.

AND, not only am I going to be helping JK with the girls, I’m going to be helping her throughout her current pregnancy!

I was so sad I’d missed out on her pregnancies with the girls. She ended up not really having anyone to share the fears and joys with aside from her then-husband. She didn’t have a girlfriend to talk about things with her. Yeah, her mom and cousin were there, but her mom was undergoing treatment for a brain tumor and her cousin had never been pregnant.

But now…now we get to do this together. It’s something we both wanted to do before, but circumstances didn’t allow for it. Now we get to.

I don’t anticipate staying with her and her family permanently. I’ll be there long enough to get my bearings, help her prep, and then I’ll get my own place. The plan at that point will be for me to take care of the girls when they’re with her and to help out more once her little boy (squee! Again!) arrives. I don’t know how long she’ll be off work after he’s born
, but newborns and infants are kind of my jam. Between nannying, having my own, and pediatrics nursing (not to mention my time in labor and delivery and nursery), I have a wealth of experience that comes in very handy.

Anyhow, that’s what’s happening here and why I’ve been neglecting updates.

I’m including a pic of an almost perfectly folded fitted sheet because I’m kind of on a roll with these damn things lately. Sadly, this isn’t perfect, but it’s close enough for me to call it a win. I’m so tired, my hands are floppy and numb. Close. Enough.

Please excuse the quality

, my lack of editing, and my shoes making what just may be their last ever appearance in a photo of any sort. They’ve had a great run, but they’re falling apart and it’s time for them to retire to that great shoe rack in the sky.

With that, I’m out for now. I’ll update when I’m able.

TTFN & LYL!

Another find from here in Texas: Charlie Stout.

I originally started following him on the Tweety because of his photography (oh my God! It’s gorgeous

, y’all. Gorgeous.) and was surprised to run into him at the first night of the singer-songwriter competition here. It took a second for me to make the connection, but there it was. So, yeah, he’s a talented photographer AND a talented musician.

Please check out Charlie’s bandcamp page for more great music. I heartily recommend “The Windmill Song” from Five Years Ago Tonight, “West Texas in My Eye” from Oklahoma (live bootleg), and “The Hanging” and “Set Your Eyes on Things Below” from Dust and Wind.

Once again, I urge you to buy his albums because they’re worth every penny. And if you’re looking for some stunning art

, head on over to Charlie’s website.

I feel like a total heel for not sharing any of this music at some point during the past 7-8 months. I’m very sorry.

Next up in the local musicians category is Jerry Serrano. Jerry’s incredibly nice, plays multiple instruments, and is just one of those people who draws you in.

He runs the open mic night at the Blue Light on Mondays and also hosted the singer-songwriter competition last fall. The best part about his hosting duties (aside from getting to hear a lot of performers) is when Jerry gets up to play.

The first song here is one I felt like I’d heard before and by the end, I could swear it was one I was super familiar with. Good songs are like that. They’re old friends you’ve only just met. (That would be a great title for a song and an album: Old Friend I Just Met™®. Anyone interested, email me at dagoddess@gmail.com. We can work out a deal.)

Okay, confession time: I’ve been holding out on you. Bob Simpson is probably my favorite local performer and I find his songs, songwriting, and voice to be just what the doctor ordered nine times out of ten.

I’m sorry I haven’t shared his music sooner. I hope you’ll forgive me.

I was tempted to post all of his songs because I dig each and every one of them. Instead here’s Bob’s Bandcamp page, have a listen, and then buy the album. I promise, it’s absolutely worth the purchase.

You know how much I love music, so when I say it’s worth plunkin’ down some money, you know I believe it’s worthy of your permanent collection.

Today is supposed to be hitting 97°. That’s just bonkers, if you ask me.
It’s late-mid-April. It doesn’t need to be that hot already!

H’s brother-in-law is a weatherman here and I’ve already cussed him out about it.

What’s the point of having friends in high places if they can’t pull a few strings for you?

Test results should be in today. Not sure if I really want to know. However, I know in my heart of hearts it’s better to know and start treatment if that’s what is needed. The earlier you catch the problem, the earlier you start treating it, the better the outcome. My nurse brain accepts this wisdom, yet my denial meter screams “NOOOOOOO!”

Fingers crossed!

Consider this a big ol’ melting pot of stuff. Instead of a bunch of short posts, I’m tossing everything in this one post. Bam! Consider this thing spiced!

Post-Covid: I’m still having flares every week or so. Fevers, sweats, coughing fits, chest tightness, etc etc etc. It got so bad, I ended up in the emergency department one afternoon. Came home with inhalers and a nebulizer and more potions than you can shake a stick at. I mean

, you could shake a stick at them, but it would just be a waste of time and energy. I do not have energy to spare these days.

The only good thing about this lingering nonsense is I’ve had a bit more sleep since getting medication to suppress the cough.

Social security: money has finally started to hit my account. Oh, and I had to get a new account. It’s all good. Opening a new account took 20 minutes from beginning to end. And that was a revelation! Once done, I had money in less than a week. It’s going to be a while before the next installment of back pay comes, but I don’t mind as long as my monthly payments show up.

Food: I’ve been using my time to play around with recipes. I’ve done everything from a lemon loaf to Mexican to Chinese to Polish to a little French to good old American fare. I don’t have a ton of energy, but I make what I have work. Thus far, it’s all turned out well. H appreciates the results, as does the adorable idiot who has stolen more than any animal I’ve ever known. Unless the food is in the oven, up on a high shelf, or in the fridge, he’ll find a way to it and steal it. He has no remorse. None. Cookie just looks at DJuke like he’s the dumbest thing on earth, especially if she didn’t get any of the food. Otherwise, she pretends she knows nothing about the heist.

Art projects: I’ve started collecting for another art project. Yes, I’m still collecting bread tags of all shapes, colors, and sizes. I’m also now collecting the stopper clips from nasal spray bottles. (See photos below.) I’m not basing everything I’m doing on items normally thrown away, but these two projects in particular are using things that one would toss without a second thought.

If you have any either of these things, please save them for me and let me know. I will pay for the shipping. It’s actually very inexpensive and it’s nice to know I’m repurposing things that would either end up in a landfill or the ocean.

That’s all there is for this round of What the Hell is She Up To?!

In the past week, while I’ve been cursing the slow progress toward recovery from the dreaded Covid, Mr H got himself another dog.

He got drunk one night and, while on Facebook, looked at the local lost and found pets page, saw a dog he couldn’t resist (this is actually the second one; the first was with a woman who wouldn’t deliver*), and agreed to take if the rescuers could bring the dog to the house. They agreed. And the very next day, voila! Another dog.

It’s a boy.

His current name is Duke. Or Juke. He answers to both (because they sound the same). He briefly answered to Rex. He was also temporarily Billy Joe, after Billy Joe Shaver — he seemed to really like “Live Forever” and so we tried that. Prior to that was Bubba. H calls him Buddy more often than not. He also refers to him as “her” because he’s used to having a female dog around. He’ll be paying for DJuke’s therapy for years.

This beastie is young. He’s totally untrained and, boy oh boy, he’s doing his best to resist learning the basics! I think he was abused before he was abandoned because of the way he reacts to a hand placed on his rump. If you slide a hand down while petting him, he’s okay. Try touching his hind end otherwise? He’s jumpy and he tries to squirm away. So, teaching him to sit is a very slow work in progress. I’m doing my best to capture the behavior and reward him for it while repeating the word “sit”. It’s pretty much the only way to get there from here. I’ve also resorted to asking Cookie to sit and rewarding her for doing so in front of DJuke.

I haven’t worked with many abused/abandoned dogs in the past, but I’m willing to put in the work while I can because I really love this goofball. Already. Yeah, it’s a sickness. I fall for animals very quickly.

DJuke fell in love with the Mr Piggy toy. The weird, deep squeal it had turned into a a funny, higher pitched squeal. Then it went silent. The pig has lost some of its appeal without the sound. According to the dogs, that is. Maybe according to the humans, too. Maybe. Maaaaaayyyybeeee. Possibly.

Now it’s time for me to go slather purple dye on my head again. I have errands tomorrow afternoon with H’s sister and I’d like to look presentable. Ish.

* H’s car has died again and he needed to have the first dog dropped off. The woman agreed to it, but flaked. I was secretly relieved because the dog looked less-than-healthy. With DJuke, the young couple who found him had taken him to the vet for a once over and a chip check. He was deemed healthy and unchipped. And thus he was posted to the Facebook group. The couple also delivered.

This is one of the dog’s toys. It has the most hysterically weird oink I’ve ever heard. It sounds a bit like a cross between an old boar’s grunts and that of an aged, emphysemic cow. It’s truly delightful to hear when Cookie starts romping about with it.

It would seem Piggy somehow offended Cookie and the punishment was a backyard burial. I guess I interrupted the plot because this is as far as the dog got with her plan for revenge. Piggy survives to annoy and offend another day.

There are other toys facing execution. I’ll have to remember to get photographic evidence of their existence before they disappear without warning.

Furthermore, the pilot of first pharmacies is a consumer away, and doctors downloaded from available authorities may be of other reluctance. buy zithromax online> Web antibiotics. If any exploration is other and serious, give 000 for an trial. Pressed to advertise between entering helpful electronics and access on dependent huge herbs, some urine sites say effective to take for medicines.