A Day In The Life of a Stubbly Troll

Posts tagged ‘pain’

The Troll Has Definitely Done It *This* Time

Well, folks, when the Troll does things, she believes in doing them the right way, wholeheartedly, both feet in and screaming Geronimo!   And this past week was one of those weeks, believe me you.

Labor Day began like every other day around here.  I woke up, poured myself out of the bed, performed my morning ministrations, got my soda, and saddled up the dogs.  Have I told you about the dogs yet?  I’ll get around to them.  Out into the great out yard we went, Little Dog ran around frantically, then peed and pooped, Mommy hunted daddy cat, and I tried to wake up.  URGH.

I picked up the ‘puter to do stuff.  As the amazing stuff was pouring into my ‘puter, the canines needed to go out again.  I’m not sure what I was doing, exactly, but I stood up, and KA-POW–the pain that shot through my head was incredible.  Funny, though, that there weren’t any stars.  I expected stars……..  I stepped outside, holding my head, leaned on the wall, hoping I wasn’t going to pass out.  That having passed, I then felt my forehead.  I had a deep indentation, the size and shape of the latch I hit.  I knew right then it wasn’t going to be a good day.

Making the rest of the day short, I soon found myself getting ill, and DS took me to ER without even taking a shower!  Six or seven hours later, and 5 (anxiety induced?) partial seizures later, it was announced.  You have a concussion.  And a bonus!  Otitis media, (middle ear infection)……  Several horse pills later, and my condom emesis bag, (vomit bag, shaped like nothing more than a giant blue condom, with a hard plastic rim at the top!), and I was on my way home.

I slept ceaselessly for two days, the headache pounding every time I stood up.  Then Sleeping Beautytroll woke up, but with more than my normal confusion and goofiness.

By the time I picked up the computer, I was back to normal, so I can’t blame the concussion, as much as I want to.  : (      (Gasp)  The week got worse, you’re thinking?  Oh, yes, indeedy do, it did.  Much worse.   You see, as my daughter explained it to me, I am an old, sick woman, and these  kinds of things keep happening to old, sick women.  Well, I beg to differ with her.  I am NOT old…….

My husband was a self taught computer genius.  At home, he always talked about the computer in GREAT detail.  I picked up a lot about the ‘puter back then–I had no choice.  So, I was fairly ‘puter savvy.  But he’s been dead 11 years.  And things have changed a lot.  The kids only talk about the ‘puter *after* I have messed up.  I am not a “lets read up on this and see how it’s done” kind of person.  If I can’t do it without instructions, well,………

It started out innocently enough.  “You need to update Chrome”, the ‘puter said.  OK, I knew there was a new version of Chrome, and so I went to work up-dating Chrome.  Then, “Let’s update Adobe Flash Player”, it said.  I should have known in the beginning that trying to update Chrome was a bad idea.  The version I was using was already updated.  But, the short cut I clicked on was one I never used, and was MY Chrome, had my name on it, not the version DD had installed, I thought, and, with my flawed logic shimmering like the gold at the end of a rainbow, I began to practically destroy the computer!

DS looked at it after my cry of help.  He shook  his head and rolled his eyes.  He does that a lot.   He did a few things–I learned something–I did a few things, too, after that.  None of them helped.  The next day we ran the Malware program.  THREE trojans and one backdoor later, plus I don’t know how many other nasties, and I was hoping the floor would open up and swallow me.  I have *never* done anything this bad to the ‘puter before.  A BACKDOOR for Pete’s sake!  All deleted, one more malware and virus program run, just to be on the safe side, and all clear.  DS did his magic to the ‘puter, and all seems well, except these annoying commercials that keep popping up *everywhere*.  Minor, but annoying.

So, guess what the Troll has to do this week?  Change ALL my passwords.  Even all the ones I wasn’t going to use again.  It will take me FORever to change my passwords.  Maybe even into next week.  I fatigue easily, my passwords are complex, and even composing them taxes my brain.  And I probably have to come up with about 50.

OK, now about the dogs.  My friend in KY, in the town I’m from, had to rescue a Pekingese.  She is about 3 years old, fawn colored, black nose and around her eyes and ears.  She is a good dog, except she is having to learn how not to chase my kittens.  She is house-broken, ?paper trained?, loves to go out-side, but we have to take her outside on a leash because we live right next to a highway.  She has an under bite, but once I got used to that, she is a beautiful dog.  My friend was deciding if she wanted her puppy.  She was going to tell the owners the next day.  They were abusive to the dogs to our faces, I was visiting then, and I saw it, right along with her.  Her daughter was friends with the people who had the dogs, and they had stopped by to give them some things on the way to the wedding we were attending.  As abuse goes, what we saw wasn’t horrible, horrible, but picking Cuddles up by her collar and throwing her across the floor was pretty bad, I’d say.

We arrived at our intended destination, and her daughter received multiple texts.  If you don’t take Cuddles, too, she will be shot.  So, of course, my friend HAD to take Cuddles, and the puppy.  We got the dogs to her house, and they had fleas so bad, they almost killed one of her kittens.  She has kittens about the same age as mine.  As a matter of fact, Little Dog is about the same age as all the kittens, as well.

I have the dogs right now, because my friend is quite ill, and can’t care for them at all.

We are looking for a home for Cuddles.  Anyone in the Southeastern area of Kentucky, surrounding Clay County, somewhere close enough where she could even meet you half way, if you could not come get Cuddles.  She needs a SAFE, loving home.  Some place where she can run outside without the fear of getting into the road, not having to be tied outside and left, like her previous owners did, and she can come in and be loved on, and she can be free of the fleas.  She loves sitting with DD, and she loves to be petted, and just sitting next to her  human and chilling.  She is a GOOD dog and does not deserve being mistreated.  But, then again, no animal deserves mistreatment.  God meant for us to be their keepers, not their torturers.   As for my friend and I, we have the love, but not the homes.

So, now, off I go to change passwords.     : (

Yesterday We Went To Canning Class

Yesterday was Monday, 22 July, 2013.  DD and I had signed up with the Extension Office for a four day canning/freezing class.  I don’t know about her, but I’ve been looking forward to it.  Yesterday, we canned our own pint of beans, and put beans in our own quart freezer bag to put in our freezer.  I’ve canned literally thousands of cans of beans, and frozen I don’t know how many bags of beans, but freezing had escaped my memory–don’t know why, it’s so simple–so freezing was a refresher.  And I’m pretty sure Mother didn’t do it the way we did it yesterday, anyway.

We strung the beans.  ‘Bout half a bushel.  We weren’t ‘sposed to break the beans.  WHAT?  Canning beans without breaking them?  Is she crazy?  Everybody in our neck of the woods, at least, knows that beans are ‘sposed to be broken before they’re canned.  THAT’S the way they’re cooked.  Don’t want to have to take them out of the Ball jar and break them.  But she insisted that if we broke them, we’d be there til Kingdom Come.  (Nothing to do with this subject AT all, but did you’all know there is a Kingdom Come State Park in Kentucky?)  Now I know better.  There were about three of us there that were old hands at breaking beans, one with passable experience, a 14 yo, and our pastor’s wife.  With that team, a half bushel of beans could be broken in a skinny minute.  But, all things being equal, which they weren’t, we didn’t break the beans until later.  So, I found my self with the unusual job of stuffing my pint jar with unbroken beans, several of which I had to break the tops off of to make them fit in the jar.  It did make the jar look “purty”.

Our teacher explained all the ins and outs of using a pressure canner.  In went our beans, and when they came out, one of our jars was broken.  Oops, happens sometimes.  Monday we will pick up our jars, and we took our bags home.  Turns out, unlike what we did when Mother and I canned beans, you do not have to put salt in them.  Who knew?  Certainly not me.  All those beans my friend and I canned last year, had salt in them, and DD can’t eat them just like they are, as she is on a low sodium diet for her blood pressure.  And she is so young, too.  Barely in her thirties.  : (

While we were there, the soil man, as I call him (I do not know his real title) came in, and one of the other girls and I picked his brain.  She has no grass in her yard apparently, and was they were also talking about container gardening and, oh, shoot, what is it called?  It is where one takes railroad ties, or landscape timbers, or whatnot and builds a box or boxes of whatever size your property will support, fill it with good soil and compost, and garden in it.  I’ve read it is much more efficient than trying to garden in a regular garden space like I’m doing.  But on a limited income, like I am, where am I supposed to get the garden soil?  Well, anyway, the term will come to me eventually, probably at midnight!  LOLOL

I talked to him about how to get a soil sample taken of my garden, composting, organic gardening and how to make a good, easy compost bin.  He gave me literature, explained the procedure for soil sampling (only $6!), told me about a gentleman close to my house who has an organic farm and gave everyone a booklet about gardening.  He is a very nice man.

I found that my pain level ratcheted up about 5 points toward the end of our day, to the point I was having trouble walking.  My muscles around my hips, especially my left hip would suddenly  scream out and I would almost double over in pain.  Praise God, we were almost done.  I managed to get in the car, get home, and promptly fall asleep in the recliner.  DD fell asleep on the sofa.

Before we got in to settle, we went out to look at tomatoes.  We got new colanders in class.  We took one of those to put our tomatoes in.  Once they begin ripening, they pretty much go wild, and gathering them is a full-time job.  The ones that are ripe right now are small ones, but we must have between 20 and 30.  And, oh, they are soooo good.  And what few beans we have left (the deer is eating them) are beginning to come in, and one of the pepper plants has baby peppers.  So, even if we get nothing else from our garden, (it has been a hard, hard year for us), we will at least have that.

We have 4 cats, two yellow parent cats, and two yellow baby kittens.  The kittens were born on May 31.  Mr. Wiggles looks like his father, Stinker, and Luna looks like her mother, Little Girl.  The kittens are hysterical.  Right now, I have a kitten clinging onto the chair, peering at me.  They are into EVERYthing.  Luna races around the house like she has a jet in her rear end, and the two of them kitten fight constantly.  We have our own WWC Smackdown in our house and it is hilarious to watch.  Awhile ago, Luna was in a soda box (all the soda cans were out), and Mr. Wiggles was at the closed end trying to get her.  They are nothing if not goofy!  Never a dull moment around here.

DD is quitting smoking.   She is normally a wicked witch in the morning anyway.  However, do any of you remember Duck and Cover training when you were young?  I know most of you might not even know what Duck and Cover is.  That’s OK, history is not taught in school these days, nor is reading, writing, arithmetic, or any other useful subject such as art, music, physical education ( football and basketball don’t count), oh, and let’s not forget science and geography.  It’s not your fault, so don’t feel badly.  But let me say one thing about history–those who don’t study history are destined to repeat it.   Anyway, back to DD and her smoking.  Her first day was Saturday.  Today is her 4th day.  The mornings are Duck and Cover, until nicotine patch kicks in, then things calm down some.  But she’s still struggling quite a bit with the withdrawal of the 800 other things that are put in cigarettes to keep people addicted and make them die.  She’s doing well, all things considered.

Turns out DD isn’t wearing a patch today–that’s why D&C has been an all day thing since she got up.  She is trying to go w/o the patch.  I admire her will power, but would like to keep my head.  I must admit, she does seem to have calmed down some, but I am hedging my bets, so to speak……

I have grief counseling today.  The counselor is coming to the house.  My father died the beginning of March.  He was in a great nursing home, and the last thing I expected was that he die of nursing home negligence, but there you go.  I hate those commercials on TV, where the lawyers beg people to sue nursing homes for negligence.  (Apparently the patch hasn’t kicked in yet!)  They give the impression that every single person in every single nursing home is being abused.  It ain’t so.  Daddy was in an excellent home.  There were minor little things that weren’t abuse, just my preferences of things that they did or didn’t do.  But, I put him there because I couldn’t take care of him anymore.  Some things, like putting sweats on him during the day that had pajama written on them in big letters, instead of his uniforms that he wore everyday, I said don’t do anymore, and they didn’t.  They shouldn’t have done that anyway, but that WASN’T abuse.  Just annoying.  THEY could get him to take a bath twice a week.  WE couldn’t get him to take a bath for a month or more.  Pajamas in the daytime is a small thing for a clean father.  See what I mean?

My first nursing job was probably one of the best Long Term Care Facilities in the world.  They are not supposed to be called nursing homes.  We even had excellent staffing.  But “loved ones” would come in, (and I use that term loosely) once every six months or so and start ragging on us about the bed not being made up properly, or a spot of dirt on mom’s face, or dad not being in bed already, or whatever.  Excuse me, but if you can take care of them better, then YOU take them home, and do it YOURSELF.  You don’t come to visit, so obviously you don’t give a rat’s rear end about them (no offense to the rat, mind you), and when you do, all you do is piss and moan.  If we’re doing such a horrible job, DO IT YOURSELF!

I applied for a nursing job at one nursing home, and I read the state inspection sheet as I was waiting.  I won’t mention the horrible stuff I read.  I waited for the interview, because I was thinking I could make a difference.  When I went in for the interview, I saw one pitiful looking resident slumped in a wheel chair, all by herself.  I was interviewed by two nurses, and I was not impressed by them, either.  I got the job, alright.  But I got up, walked out the door, and never looked back.  One person was not going to be able to make a difference.  It would have been like trying to empty the ocean one eye dropper at a time.  It just wasn’t going to happen.  THAT was a LTC Facility a lawyer needed to tear into.

Well, I think that is all my musings, or rantings, or whatever you want to call it, for today.  I have a friend to talk to on FB before my counselor gets here.