Friday, June 30, 2017


Sometimes it's harder to write a post on a day off, than it is when I work. 

I got up at 6 and hit the snooze alarm a couple of times.  Ron and I had planned to go to a new taqueria, as the old one seems to be shut down.  I really liked the old one, it had great prices, close to the house, great food.  My only problem is they served alcohol and Ron would order it sometimes (margarita, beer, etc.)

I decided to take my shower later, and to also do my God Time later.  I sat in front of the TV and rotted my brain with sci-fi reruns.  I put all my medication into my little portable pill holder and put that into my fannypack. 

Our driver picked us up on time and I asked him about his dog.  I was convinced he was the guy who has a pit bull he uses as a stud dog.  No, it wasn't him.  In fact, his dog had died a while ago.  I told him about BARC and raved about the adoption process, how the animal is already fixed, etc.  I didn't say this, but I personally think it is really important to adopt rather than shop, for pets.  He said he would think about it, in a way that suggested he actually would. 

He found the new place's location pretty easily, even though, in my opinion, it was a little tricky to find.  Like the old place, they hung Mexican blankets in the windows.  The décor was similar, too. 

We went in and found a table, but Ron was obsessed with finding out if they had an accessible bathroom.  I went and checked the ladies' room, it would have been awfully tight for him.  I went out again.  He was getting worried, he didn't need to go but sometimes, let's just say I told him "I am tired of your butt ruling our lives" and Ron agreed with me.  I asked the employees if the men's room was accessible, and they didn't know what that meant.  I asked if I could go look in the men's room "To see if his wheelchair will fit".  They said OK.  I went and looked.  The bathroom is larger than my computer room, has one toilet, and tons of space.  I went out and told Ron it was OK. 

Then I had to read him the menu.  Normally I don't mind but if we find a place with braille menus I will always get him one.  I told him they had (watch this, spellchecker) both chilaquiles and machacado.  He loves both. 

I decided to play it safe and get a quesadilla, and a couple of breakfast tacos.  Potato and egg sounds good, but I didn't like it.  I ate them anyway 'cause I need my protein.  Now I know.  Ron finally decided on chilaquiles, beef, with green sauce, but they don't put the green sauce on the food.  They give you a bottle of it on the side.  I guess a lot of people don't like the sauce. 

The old place had chicken only, and it was all cut up already and mixed in with the chicken, cheese, tortilla strips, eggs, and seasonings.  This place had a big chunk of meat and two fried eggs sitting on top of the "casserole".  I had to cut it up for him.  Ron loved it.  He especially liked the beans.  He liked it so much he went back for leftovers a couple hours after we got home.  Normally he doesn't do that. 

I saw a vapor shop in the parking lot.  One of my friends has very bad arthritis in her hands.  She takes cannabis oil.  She said you can get it at a vape shop.  I saw a neon sign that looked like an open sign.  It was not.  Oh, well, I'll have to try again later. 

My meal was uneventful except I got quesadilla grease on my chest, right above my heart.  It looked like I'd been shot.  Pretty funny. 

The same driver came back.  I told him the shelter had 207 adoptable dogs right now.  I told him when they closed.  He still seemed interested so I let it alone. 

We went home.  I went and checked the mail; I knew I'd be taking my shirt off to treat the grease stain, and wouldn't be going out again. 

We got a letter from his doctor, along with the radiology report.  Ron has severe to moderate arthritis at the base of his thumb joint, and one joint further out.  Doc suggests we see a hand specialist. 

Ron only has the one good hand.  He has what I would consider to be a very appropriate level of concern about any interventions done on that hand. 

It's the hand he uses to wipe his butt, you know?  Yike.  I really don't want to do that if I can avoid it. 

I really want to get him some cannabis oil.  It will either work, or it won't.  If it doesn't work I am only out the money.  It is legal in Texas.  It sure worked for Betty.  She went off all her RA medicine for her hands.  I will pray on this. 

In the meantime, I read the letter to Ron (they didn't find anything significantly wrong with his leg on X-ray), and took a nap. 

I was lonely, lying in my bed.  I called Torbie but she didn't come.  She's like that.  She's a cat, she'll take a message and get back to me.  I heard Biscuit come in the pet door, and, on a lark, I called him to get in my bed.  He did, stretched out, and we had a great nap. 

He's such a sweet cat.  I have a hard time seeing how someone could dump him in the woods to die.  Yes, he's pukey, but so what?  We had a great nap. 

I got up and did my God Time, watched some TV, did some cleaning.  I finally took my shower.  My thinking is, tomorrow morning I will be getting very sweaty before and at work.  It would be nice to take a shower when I get home tomorrow. 

I just hope I can get a nap (maybe with Biscuit!) after all that heavy lifting. 


Anonymous said...

I love your blogs they are so engaging and the kitty interjections are adorable, just wish the struggle with your husband wasn't so hard. But I guess in general life is hard. You have a great weekend . Do the kitties mind the fireworks ?
My dog sure does

Heather Knits said...

Well, generally they don't mind the fireworks. However, when they set off artillery shells Torbie doesn't like it. The first time they did it she hid for almost a whole day, the other night they did it while she was sleeping in my bed and she didn't even twitch. I guess they have to get used to them.

I am glad I keep them inside now because I would worry about them. Sick neighbors, smelling something right before it goes off. I remember one time Bubba cat almost gave me a heart attack: we were outside, and Ron lit the fuse on some firecrackers and threw them on the ground. Bubba walked up to the firecrackers and smelled the fuse as it burned down toward the crackers. I screamed at him to get away, he looked at me like, "What?" and moved away, then they went off. As Bubba got older he became scared of fireworks so we never did anything after that.

We have a veteran down the street who sets off enough fireworks to start a small war, or stage a show. We just listen to that and enjoy it.

Dogs really seem to have trouble with the fireworks. I've only met one person who said his dog didn't have an issue.

A trip to the hematologist

I slept OK but woke up really tired.  I hit the snooze alarm a few times, much to Biscuit's disgust.  But I'm getting ahead of mys...