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Password

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jul-19-2012

If you want it, just ask.

I will hide your comment, your email and explain why there is a password here.

Protected: Home Alone

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-28-2014

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Protected: Letter…

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-27-2014

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Protected: Death by Injection

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-18-2014

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Elvis

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-16-2014

Elvis left the building yesterday.

Protected: Someone’s Bucket List

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-14-2014

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Protected: D Again

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-11-2014

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Protected: Dough

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Sep-6-2014

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Protected: The *D* word

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-30-2014

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Proust

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-30-2014

There are many things that I could and would like to write about, but my computer will not allow this to happen. I could write about seeing the garbage lady yet again, and chatting with a 30 kilo woman from *the socially challenged* place, about how we were both tired of dyeing our hair.

I have this tic about rubbish.

I went to my terras today, looking for something to throw out. I sat in the broken plastic chair, across from the chair that works.
There is a lot of moss in between the tiles. I have this wicker basket there, a few digitalis plants and some Lobelia, I have no idea where the Lobelia came from.

There was a bumble bee going from blue flower to blue flower.

I don’t really like bees, but I do know how important they are.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, I worked in a green house. Tomatoes. I loved that job, I kid you not. I took care of the plants, the heavy work was left to younger folk. Some of my best memories are from that time, tending the young plants, two kittens in my lap, as I went up and down the rows.

It was a BIG greenhouse, and our bees died one day. 3 or 4 of us had to take over the bees job. We had this thing that looked like a magicians wand, which vibrated, and we had to tickle each set of blossoms.

This really made me appreciate what bees do- it is a lot of work.

I also learned what Zyklon B smells like when I worked there: an over chlorinated swimming pool.

Scavenging

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jul-18-2014

I live at the top of one of the longest streets in the old city center. I have never gone down the whole street, the furthest ( farthest ?) I go is across the street from the big butt cathedral, where I dump my garbage in one of those underground containers, a privilege which is quite pricey, but they do have *garbage police* here, who sort out illegally dumped rubbish and there is quite a fine if you are caught.

I do know – rumor has it- that there is some sortof *residence* for the * socially challenged* members of the old city, somewhere wa-a-y down the street, far, far away from me. I live in an *A* location, she said smugly.

I still cannot walk very far at all without taking a short rest-the-foot break. I do very short term goals. I went to the supermarket today. Rest. Walk. Rest. Walk- you get the idea. On my third rest on the way home, I was looking around and saw this middle-aged, perhaps elderly woman rooting through a garbage bin. It is the sort of bin one finds in a city, aluminum colored, meant to scarf up used hankies and bubble gum wrappers. Not an atomic bin at all.

So I am sitting there, resting the foot, hiding behind my Jackie O glasses, and she is just rooting around in that bin. Then she found something and ate it ! It was across the street from a snack shop ( and also by where The Boy works). She was not gaunt. But I had rested the foot and was off to my next target. Once there, resting the foot, I saw her once again- rooting through another bin and finding a snack.

I saw her once more, doing the same. There is a bin really rather close to my door, I was tempted to hang out for a while,however it was really warm and I just opened my door and went upstairs.

Been There, Saw That.