When I was a kid, my Great Aunt Laurabelle had one of these. The family was big into playing Canasta and everyone knows you have to have a card shuffler if you’re playing Canasta.
She was a fun, loving, generous Great Aunt, but she never let me touch her card shuffler.
As a woman in my 60’s, I was thrilled when I ordered my own from Amazon. (I ask you: do we ever grow up???)
Now that the Funny Grandson and I are playing hours of UNO, I brought out the card shuffler. He loves it! We ignore his father’s warnings about using it too much or breaking it. He can use it any time he wants and as much as he wants!
Yesterday we all piled in the car and headed south to Mystic, CT to the aquarium. So much fun!!!
Banjo Man was particularly taken with the African penguins. We could barely tear him away from watching the little guys.
The Funny Grandson loved it all, though he drew the line at petting the sting rays, which I’m sure don’t sting, but no one could convince him.
After a good time in the gift shop, we headed to Groton to a restaurant on the water called “Paul’s Pasta”. It’s an old house on the Thames River where they make their own pasta fresh every day. Every bite is delicious.
Pasta makes us happy.
Check out the FG. He absolutely loved Paul’s version of pizza.
The chef gave him free cookies to take home.
We all agreed to order the large-sized meals and take half of our lunch home with us for dinner, but no one was all that hungry by dinnertime. So tonight is when we’ll heat up our leftovers and enjoy them all over again.
Despite what you see on the blog, I really am resting a lot. It just about kills me not to be cooking meals and organizing food for everyone, but I haven’t lifted a finger (much to my frustration and everyone else’s relief). I take a nap every afternoon and in the evenings we all sit around the table and play UNO. We’ve walked on the beach a couple of times after dinner, but I have learned to pace myself as far as outside activities go. It doesn’t take much to wear me out.
I’ve started physical therapy in Providence due to something that happens once in a while after surgery called “cording”. It has to do with trauma to the lymph nodes under the arm. Cording is painful, I’m not gonna lie, but the therapy involved is pretty awful, too. Everyone assures me it can be fixed and I will feel better, but I’m still waiting.
I also do daily stretches to regain the full range of motion in my arm. Combine that with the cording pain and you have one cranky woman. But I try really hard to hide it.
Tomorrow will be three weeks since the surgery and I thought I would feel a hell of a lot better by now. Banjo Man says I’m making great progress, but I definitely don’t think progress is happening fast enough. I long to feel like myself again, but with chemo looming on the horizon–and radiation after that–it’s going to take a long time. And that makes me sad.
Sunday morning was the Rhode Island Donut Tasting Event, produced and planned by Party Grandma.
Aunt Nancy drove.
Thank you, Aunt Nancy.
First stop was a local little coffee shop that sold the state’s famous Allie’s Donuts. We bought six of them, all different kinds, but assumed we’d be testing chocolate, glazed and cake donuts from several shops.
Then our Wild Card: the pastry shelf of Cumberland Farms gas station.
On to Dunkin Donuts:
We didn’t choose our chill, but we did buy an assortment of Dunkin Donuts, Son #1’s personal favorite.
You can tell the Funny Grandson was excited.
Then we headed south to Westerly to hit Honey Dew. The Texans had never tried these donuts before, so the excitement really ramped up.
Score!!!!
And then we headed home, where the FG arranged the boxes for a photo shoot.
And now it was time to cut up little samples, taste them and vote. The results?
In the Glazed Doughnut Category, Allie’s was the winner but Honey Dew was a very close second.
Cake Doughnut: surprise winner was Cumberland Farms with its blueberry cake offering.
Chocolate: Allie’s won in the chocolate (cake) category, but Honey Dew had a delicious alternative.
Yesterday was the best medicine ever! Waking up to the Funny Grandson eating blueberry pancakes started the day off right.
And then a walk on the beach–5000 Fitbit steps!–followed by a trip to town for beach chairs and beach passes, and then a nap (me and my daughter-in-law), before heading to the library for a program on “animals”.
Uh-oh.
“Animals” meant turtles, snakes, an alligator and an albino hedgehog.
My grandson and I sat in the back row because, he explained, “I want to be in the last row in case anything escapes.” And we were also the people closest to the door.
This kid is smart.
I enjoyed seeing the various turtles, but I bailed once the boa constrictor came out. The FG lasted through the snakes, but the alligator was too much for him.
Banjo Man and Son #1 sat through the whole thing and whispered so many jokes to each other that they ended up in tears as they tried not to laugh out loud. My librarian daughter-in-law chose to enjoy some quiet time perusing the books and avoiding the wildlife completely.
Once home we cleaned the lobsters and then played UNO before it was time for bed.
I totally screwed up this blog post by writing it as a “page” and not a “post”.
Therefore you will find it underneath the header photo of the lake. It says “Lobster in the morning, why not”. Click on that and you’ll have what should have been this morning’s blog post.
I’ve tried to fix it, but frankly it’s beyond my brain power. And I’ve run out of time. The FG is arriving in three hours and I need to be ready to stand at the end of the escalator and wait for his smiling face to appear above me.
So for the latest cancer news and lobster photos, check it out.
Yesterday I started sewing 480 squares onto 240 peach rectangles. Normally this kind of sewing would have me itching with boredom, but this is the last step in a 2017 Bonnie Hunter mystery quilt. It’s going to take a while to finish these.
Before the surgery I made sure I cut out every little piece of fabric because I wasn’t sure how long it would take my arm to be in shape for rotary cutting.
That was a good decision.
The basic blocks. There are 30 of them.
Now I will confess that prescription medication contributed to my calm, Zen-like sewing state, but hey–whatever works, right?
These colors are interesting. I used Bonnie Hunter’s color suggestions and that has created a cheerful quilt. I’m not an “orange” person, but I do love the browns and the neutrals. Some day someone will love it, I hope, and it will find a good home.
Between episodes of “Wicked Tuna” and “Below Deck” (yes, I am addicted to reality tv and in a few months I’ll probably need an intervention, but until then I dare you to try to pry my old crooked fingers from the remote) I stopped to watch someone on a shopping network cook meals in this “Geek Chef 11-in-1” pressure cooker.
Banjo Man had just come upstairs to check on me and he was also fascinated. You see, Banjo Man loves to cook but his work schedule means that if he has decided to cook something for dinner, he doesn’t start until after 6 and we don’t end up eating until 7:30. This is not a good thing, despite his good intentions and adventurous online recipes.
We think we’ve found the answer. Chicken breasts cook in 20 minutes. Salmon even faster. And it’s easy to clean.
We were both mesmerized by all the possibilities. Plus the fact that this is something I can hopefully manage myself without risking burns (that’s an issue that has yet to be resolved so I’m staying away from my lovely new stove for the next few months).
So, my question is: do any of you own one of these? Love it or hate it? Used it once or ten times?
I’d like to hear your thoughts before I send Banjo Man to Walmart to get one.
*****
Yesterday’s blog post came straight from the heart and I really appreciate the support you sent afterwards. I don’t know how else to blog about what we’re going through except by being truthful.
I still don’t know how to decide what is “too much information” and what my friends and family need to understand. But I do hate the drama of it all.
So…I cannot talk on the phone because if I hear a loving voice I totally lose it. And that is very hard on me. So forgive me if you’ve called and had to leave a message. I know you care, I really do, but if I answered all you would get is a weeping mess and I would find that very embarrassing. Text and email all you can. I love the connection. I love the cards. I love to know that you are thinking of me. It means so much. And I shed private tears of gratitude every time you reach out.
It means so much to Banjo Man, too. I cannot say that enough.
Yesterday Amy, the lovely nurse practitioner up in Providence, supplied me with tissues and let me cry. I appreciated that, because I’d started crying the minute I entered the exam room and there was no way to stop. I am so easily overwhelmed. And I had a lot of fears. She listened and asked questions and came to the conclusion that I was not taking enough prescription pain medication. I was also suffering from anxiety (first time in my life) but she said it was totally justified after everything that had happened in such a short period of time. She gave me medication to reduce anxiety so that I could sleep at night. She recommended I see a therapist and gave me the name of a phone app for meditation. All good suggestions. She also thought that the botched surgery and aspiration disaster was the major source of the anxiety, which made perfect sense to me because that’s when my attitude changed and I turned into someone half-crazed and pessimistic and pissed off.
And then she pulled the drains out. OMG. The pain of that was totally worth it. Those suckers were huge.
That’s when I started crying from relief. Amy reassured me that everything looked fine and nothing was going wrong. It all looked perfect, she said. I decided to believe her.
So thirty minutes later the Percocet had kicked in, I’d stopped crying and things were looking up. We stopped at Dave’s, a local market, because they had beef tenderloins for sale and we wanted some for a family dinner next week. Then we went next door to Subway and I treated myself to a Spicy Italian sub which was the best sandwich I’d ever tasted in my life.
Seriously. It was. I ate it all the way home.
My appetite has been strange and unpredictable, especially since the surgery. But that sandwich came at the perfect time. With the drains no longer hurting every time I moved, the pain pill working its magic and the emotional release of a few thousand tears, I was experiencing Serious Subway Joy.
Banjo Man thought it was hilarious.
And I felt a little more like myself. And that was encouraging.
Brave? This is so not me. Not even close. I’m shaking in my boots 24/7. Since this whole thing began the information on this cancer has gone from bad to worse to pretty damn terrifying, along with the aborted surgery and yesterday’s emergency visit from the visiting nurse (pain and fainting are not a good combo, but Gatorade saved the day). I get my drains out this morning, which is a good thing, but in my present state of nervousness I assume that something–anything–will go wrong.
As I explained to Banjo Man last night, I’d decided weeks ago not to be brave or courageous dealing with this cancer. I don’t need the extra work of pretending “I got this” with a smile on my face and a reassuring wave to family and friends.
Nope. The thing is, I have no control over this disease or the processes by which it will be attacked. I have no control over how long chemo will last or how quickly I’ll lose my hair. Will I have radiation first? Be sick as a dog? Gain or lose weight from the drugs? Be able to go to Texas for Christmas (I frenetically bought the tickets on my phone the hour they were released from Southwest, between a cat scan and a bone scan)?
Clueless.
And as a friend reminded me, because I am such a “planner” this is especially difficult.
Rosemary the Visiting Nurse worriedly asked if I was a high anxiety kind of person. I did laugh at that. Uh, no, Rosemary. Just the opposite. Until I got cancer and had my breast sliced off!
So maybe in a year or two I’ll be spouting the benefits of green smoothies, running a marathon while wearing a pink tank top, and waving cheerfully to those folks cheering on the sidelines. It’s a pleasant vision, but for now–today–I’ll settle for a day with no surprises.
It’s a muggy and buggy New England morning, but we have the AC conditioners in the windows and we’re not putting up with humidity.
I love air conditioning.
So…greetings from Cancer Land.
We are fine. I am resting. I am not in much pain at all most of the time. Oh, things are awkward and uncomfortable, and stuff hurts, but it’s not horrible.
I love my couch. I love my bed. I love watching “Wicked Tuna” marathons on television. Banjo Man does not understand the appeal of “Wicked Tuna” or “Deadliest Catch”, but oh, do I love those shows.
I never, ever want to be on one of those boats. Fishing on the ocean is not on my bucket list. Not even at the bottom. But I love to watch the antics of the captains and crew.
“Deadliest Catch” has the best storms and the most danger. I worry about every person on every ship.
Oh, and let’s not forget “Below Deck”, about what goes on during yacht charters. Good stuff!
Poor Banjo Man. Yesterday he confessed that even after 49 years together he does not understand me and my love of these fishing shows.
One of our friends from our little thrice-yearly dinner group dropped off three casseroles yesterday. THREE!!! I felt like we’d won the lottery. I even cried. I should have prepared better for this post-surgery time, but as the weeks before surgery went on I became more and more tired and distracted.
Food is difficult to fix and reheat using only my left arm. Banjo Man does everything he can for me, but there are times when I am alone and just want to nibble on something. Or reheat something. My exhausted husband doesn’t need to be trying to put meals together either, so yesterday’s casserole bonanza will go a long way towards getting us through the next few days.
I am so grateful.
I will now head back to the couch. I am wallowing in the concept of “rest”. I should do nothing but rest. Imagine that! I can’t quite wrap my head around it. The visiting nurse who stopped in yesterday told me that I was exhausted from seven weeks of stress, pain, tests and worry, along with the surgery. That made sense, though I hadn’t thought of it like that.
She said to rest. And keep resting.
I find that amazing. It’s such a lovely idea!
Who knows? I might even become very, very good at it. I’m certainly going to practice.
Just a quick note tonight after a long day. The surgery went beautifully, as did the anesthesia this time. No one was taking chances on a repeat aspiration.
I confess to being a bit weepy and nervous about it. Banjo Man was not. He assured me that I was going to be treated like a queen and I was.
The man has been right a lot lately. I’m finding it a bit disconcerting.
I hope to go home tomorrow. With Percocet, despite the medical community worrying that I will become one of those sad people in the van on Season 5 of BOSCH.
is there any more pie? 