Last week this lefty carried a handful of swollen fingers to my health care provider. The index finger, especially begged for attention and so did I.
After careful examination, a blood draw and the results, an anti-inflammatory drug is now in my system. I hope that the medicine will ease my pain or at least keep it under control.
My maternal grandmother, Edith Siner suffered from osteoarthritis. The metabolic bone disorder touched on every joint in her body. She was an invalid for the last fifteen years of her life.
I don't believe that I should point this crooked finger at heredity, entirely. It has been a very long time since anyone called me a spring chicken.
Paul's brief vacation is nearly over. This week he has an appointment with his dermatologist at the VA in Indianapolis. Skin cancers are an on-going problem for him.
Several weeks ago, I wrote about icicles. I mentioned that we heard something hit the little blue house at the end of the road one evening, around the first of the year, while we were watching TV.
My hero went outside to investigate. Armed with a flashlight, he found a large icicle lying on the snow covered ground in pieces, on the west side of the structure. The little fighter that lives here took down several more of the unarmed enemy.
Well folks, like someone-sided wars, those icicles might have gotten a bad rap, tap and slap, needlessly.
While taking inventory of my closet, I discovered what could have been the thud heard on that night.
I noticed an empty space in the corner of a high shelf, along the west wall where a beautiful touch lamp was stored.
I found the conversation piece lying on the floor behind several boxes of fashion boots and summer shoes. Shards of frosted glass were everywhere. A bag of cedar balls lay scattered amid the ruins.
Two boxes of vintage Christmas tree ornaments fell to the floor as well. Several shattered.
Now I wonder; why did that ghost do that? Another thing, she or he had better not mess with my Wii Play!
Today city workers pruned limbs and removed the associated debris from the north fence line of Restlawn Cemetery.
I am especially grateful to them, because we own the adjoining property.
We began working on both side of the fence in the fall and plan to continue our project in the spring.
Now the stones, upright and flat, belonging to folks long forgotten and of those more recently set are visible.
Several folks buried along that old rusty wrought iron north fence of Rest lawn were family friends.
All were loved ones of someone and all are very special neighbors to us.
Come springtime the peonies and well-established Iris will have plenty of elbowroom to spread their wings and bloom.
The honeysuckle vine's trumpet-like blooms will welcome the beautiful birds, busy bees, flitting butterflies, and a variety of happy insects. The yucca plant's showy panicle of white blossoms will unfold.
Maybe a cottontail that I met back a season or more will dig in beside little Rosie's stone and birth another litter of four.
The peaceful graveyard will awaken and be teeming with new life and the grass, lush and green.
Maybe I will make clover chains, again, this spring, for sentimental reasons- for old time's sake. Mother would like that.
Again, I say, "Thank you!" We appreciate all that you do, for the city owned cemeteries and parks and all, in your keep, in and around the City of Brazil.
Now I must go. Tootsie Mae is waiting patiently for a treat, her singing lesson and a second treat, if she yodels and hit is the puppy pad on a high note.
I can be reached by phone at 446-4852 or by email at firstname.lastname@example.org.