The Piggy That Went To Market…..

……And Never Came Home

Purple

What do you get for the person who has everything? A gift card? Flowers? Fruit of the month membership?

How about for the person who has just casually lost a toe at home like it was no big deal (Yep..I said toe..no awkward auto correct here). A get well card? New socks?

I mean, at least for baby teeth, you just DM the Tooth Fairy, she drops a dollar or two under the pillow and you call it a day. —Side note, what are kids making these days for teeth? I imagine with inflation the whole exchange is worth more now than it was 25 years when I last cashed in on that ‘savings bond’.

Before you answer the real question at hand, I feel like I must explain my situation just a bit. If you are squeamish…move along..trust me..

It all started with an ant bite. Yep, you read that right, an ant bite. If you are a long time follower of my blog, you know that 1. I already hate ants (read here) and 2.  I take care of my mom who is in ‘end stage renal failure’.

My mom, who is freezing even when its 90* outside (side effect of Dialysis), has turned my garage into a little living room complete with T.V. , fridge, recliner and microwave (sounds weird but I promise you, a lot of people do that around here..).

One day the ants went marching one by one (hooh rah..hooh rah..) and decided to make a picnic of my moms foot while she was napping post dialysis. These ants weren’t just black ants, by the way, these were Texas Fire Ants. Other wise known as ‘satan’s little gardeners’.

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This situation all took place last summer. Since then, she has had two surgery’s. One to remove her big toe (buh bye..) and the second surgery to try to save the another one (spoiler alert..second surgery didn’t work)…Now we have a long-standing appointment every Wednesday to see her podiatrist/wound care specialist in an attempt to help her body fight off an infection where every one else would just rub some cream on it, grab some gasoline to light the ant mound on fire and then call it a day.

Now, to say I’m squeamish, is an understatement. With that in mind, my mom often excludes me from graphic discussions about what is going on underneath 30lbs of gauze and bandages on her foot. Until one day, I walked in on my mom and her home nurse re doing the dressing on her foot. It was then that I noticed that she was down half a toe. As you can imagine, I had some questions and a lot of statements. Mom and the nurse laughed as they realized I was pretty much clueless to what was going on. Apparently, they have been anxiously awaiting for the toe to drop off. Just wating…like you wait for pizza rolls to cook in the microwave. Ding..its done or gone. (Andddd I just ruined pizza rolls for myself…)

So, here we are one month, post-toe and I have yet to present my mom with an adequate gift to commemorate such a ‘special’ occasion…here are some of the leading ideas suggested by friends, family and the Dr. himself….

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In Memory of Rowdy Shidler

If you read Tuesdays “300 Writing Prompt” entry (read it here), you will know that we recently had to put our beloved cat Rowdy to sleep. Today I share his obituary that is every bit as sassy  and silly as he was.

Rowdy Roo Shidler

Spring 2010 – December 17, 2018

Rowdy Roo Shidler, 10, of Nolanville Texas, drifted peacefully into eternal sleep on December 17, 2018 while surrounded by his family. Rowdy was born in Terre Haute Indiana in the early spring of 2010.

He was an aspiring medical helicopter pilot, but his dream was cut short when it was discovered he was a recovering catnip addict. He was later adopted in June 2010 by newlyweds Matthew and Jennifer Shidler. They survive.

Rowdy was a proud ‘spirited’ cat with a passion for attacking ankles unprovoked and hissing without being spoken to. He followed the typical cat rulebook to a T, never deviating from standard protocol once.

img_1112He was a loving and protective big brother to Mosby. The two could often be found rough housing, giving each other baths, chasing each other through the house at 3 a.m. and getting into other general mischief.

Rowdy was known by all to have a sophisticated pallet, often dinning on the finest hair ties, shoe laces and most exotic yarns he could get his paws on. If something didn’t meet his standards, he was not afraid to let you know, often at 3 a.m. and in the middle of a well-traveled pathway.

While never having the chance to be a father his self, (a major mix up at the veterinary

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office he always claimed) Rowdy took on the role of “Father Figure” with pride when his parents adopted two deformed and untrained cats, Lucy and Wrigley. He made it his personal mission to turn the two into functioning cats, but unfortunately never saw his dreams come to fruition.

Rowdy will be dearly missed but never forgotten. All that were blessed with the opportunity to feed him or with the rare opportunity to pet him un-harmed, know that their lives are forever changed.

Rowdy is survived by his loving parents, Matthew and Jennifer Shidler. Brothers, Mosby and Wrigley and little sister Lucy. Other family members include his Aunt Jonie Shidler, Estel & Cindy Shidler and Carla Kilburn.

A celebration of life was privately held at his residence December 24, 2018. Guests shared stories, pictures and passed around his favorite balls of yarn.

A GoFundMe has been created in Rowdy’s name to raise funds for Catnip for underprivileged inner city cats.

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300 Writing Prompts # 4: Write a Quick Love Story That Ends Badly

1 hour and 27 minutes. That is all that separated Abigale from pure bliss. Her shift at the bank had been maddening which only increased her desire to get home. While it wasn’t a busy day per say, keeping her mind on basic tasks had proved more than problematic. She would greet the guests as they would come into the bank and she engaged in small talk with her co-workers, but her thoughts were 100% dedicated to the events of last night.

She still couldn’t believe it. Their meeting had been completely un-planned and at a gas station of all places! Who meets the one you’ve been searching for at a gas station?  The supermarket yes, the Valero down by the bus stop, not so much. It had been years since she had felt like this. Sure, there had been others, but none as sweet, cool and charming as this. When she arranged for a second meeting tonight, she wondered what others would think. She decided she didn’t care. She was an adult and old enough to defend her actions, besides who was going to find out.

Thankfully Abigale was scheduled to be on the monthly budget call the last hour of her shift. Her forced participation was bound to not only get everything off her mind but make the time go by quicker.

With five minutes left in the conference call and her speaking part already done , she began shutting down her computer and packing up her desk for the weekend. The minute the conference was over she planned to be out that door and in her car. No time for idle chit chat on how “it was finally the weekend, or we survived another week.” She had big plans and wanted them to start as soon as possible.

She raced home. Weaving in and out of the three-lane highway leaving those driving at or below the speed limit safely behind her. She caught herself blushing as she replayed last night events in her head. Could this be what she had been looking for her whole life? Suddenly her craving and desire reached an all-time high. Their dinner would have to wait until later. This needed to come first.

She pulled into the drive and instantly the excitement and anticipation drained from her body. Her Husband was home. “How could this be” Abigale whispered to herself. “He said he wouldn’t be back from Omaha until Sunday night.”

Realizing her plans were ruined, Abigale sat in the car for two minutes thinking how she was going to explain the evidence of what happened last night to her husband. She betrayed him.

Slowly and quietly she walked up to the door and opened it. Just as she had suspected, he was in the kitchen, spoon in one hand and the container of the special edition Blue Bell Rocky Road ice cream that she had been pinning for all day, in the other.

“Where did you find this?” He asked excitedly with his mouth half full of the sweet chocolate ice cream. “I thought the news said every store was sold out?”

“The Valero down the street by the bus stop” Abigale replied, trying to mask her hunger and disappointment. “The clerk said it was the last carton, and I was lucky to get it.”

“Well, it sure was delicious” her husband said as he tossed the now empty container in the trash as if it meant nothing to him. “Aren’t you surprised to see me, you seem disappointed? He said coming towards her, arms out for a hug.

“Definitely surprised” Ann said, more convincingly. “I just had a lot on my mind at work today, I’ll be better after I eat.”

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300 Writing Prompts # 3: What Would You Buy Even If The Price Doubled?

Write about something you would still buy if it cost twice as much as it costs today.

There is something I’ve been hiding from my readers and some of my family and friends for a while now and this is just the question to finally bring everything out into the open. No more secrets, no more hiding.

I have an addiction. In the beginning it was under control. Everything was in moderation. I couldn’t go out and buy it myself, so I had to rely on others. I would wait until my mom went to bed and take a little off the top. Same thing at my friends houses. It was a careful and controlled addiction. But as soon as I got my first job, my own car, the whole thing just blew out of control. Soon I was on the hunt 2 or 3 times a week. In between classes, on my break at work. Tony, the guy down the street at the gas station would help me out sometimes too. He knew I didn’t need fuel and would let me know when fresh stuff would drop so I could get my pick before the others got their hands all over it. Sure it would cost me double, but it was close by and would work in a pinch. 1%, 2%, whole, it doesn’t matter. When I need a fix, that’s all I can think about.  I’ll drink whatever I can get my hands on (except skim…I’ve not hit rock bottom yet).

My name is Jennifer, and I’m addicted to milk. (Hi Jennifer).

In all seriousness I would pay double, even triple for this white gold, this nectar of the Gods. They say the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, mine is through the cows utter. Ok, too far. Just take my word for it, I love milk.  I’m so deep in this dairy dilemma that I can’t even tell you how much a gallon of milk is. I NEVER look at the price. I check the date and the color of the cap, put in my cart and run to the check out as fast as possible. It’s that serious.

So, I dare you to raise the price. I’ll still be here with my super strong bones and special milk cup and straw.

What is something you would pay twice as much for?

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A Christmas Poem…

The following poem is based on semi true events….

One day I’ll share the full story of what happened that fateful night, but only when my therapist gives me the ok. 

T’was the night before Christmas and all through the house, flour was everywhere, mostly down my blouse.

The pie crust was flung over the pan without care in hopes that salmonella would not be there.

The puppies had burrowed down deep in the chair, burying their noses from what smelled like burnt hair

And Matthew with the fire extinguisher and I with the water, while mom’s in the corner screaming “Why even bother!!”

When out of the alarm there arose annoying chatter, I hit it with the broom to shut it up faster

Away to the oven we flew like a flash, tore open the garbage pail, because this pies now trash

The smoke in the kitchen had begun to grow, just the cherry on top of this Christmas sh*t show

When, what to my watery eyes should I see, a pristine frozen pie baked by Sara Lee

With the oven still on I knew pretty quick, I could salvage this Christmas like a pig with lipstick

The pie was in one piece, who cares it’s not cherry, “just don’t burn it this time, this is our last Hail Mary”

The timer was set, I wound it myself, “if they want a fresh pie next year they can bake it their self.”

As the buzzer went off no one batted an eye, hope Santa doesn’t mind the taste of mincemeat pie.