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Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-14-2017

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Posted by Mummy Dearest on Aug-13-2010

I called Daddy last night.

In the triage of life, faced with the death of Oma, the bewildered state that this has left Opa in, the fact that Daddy nearly died has been rather…placed at a lower level of concern.

Just in general, absence, distance, whatever.

So I called him last night. He sounds just like Clint in *Gran Torino*, for when they put the * Trach* in, they nicked his vocal chords. This is interesting, my father sounds just like Clint Eastwood.

Because Wicked Step-Mother is so darn smart, I could never really quite figure out what was going on with Daddy, except that the Doctors did not think that he would make it. He gave me the Reader’s Digest version : two of the vertebrae in his neck collapsed ( I am tending to think that this is related to that fall he took a while ago, smacking his head on the kitchen table ) and a, uh, titanium rod was inserted.

He has given up attempting to walk, his myriad of million dollar artificial legs gathering dust. He has stopped trying to fly, for he sets off every control post around, all of that metal in his body. And airport controls really honk him off. Really. I think that he mentioned that he was tired of having to spread his cheeks every time he wanted to go somewhere. But I am most likely wrong, I age…

I sortof just scratch my head. And wonder why my hair is breaking off and know that I should add some color to the whisps left.

Latest news has it that Opa is getting a puppy. The reason that puppies and babies are so very cute is because we would all drown them within one week if they were not. Babies and puppies are a major pain in the ass.They whine, they cry, they make hideous messes, they destroy your treasures. But they are so darn cute that we forgive them and do a big old Kerouac *Awww!!!*.

Opa wants a Belgian Sheppard, one with *spunk*. Fine. Thank God that puppies are cute, for an 81 year old neat freak with a dog that has *spunk* could be a questionable road to walk down.

Keeping in it that Kerouac mode, here we go, down the road.

Wicked Stepmother

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-23-2010

I have always like Wicked Step- Mother. It took a year or so before I was informed of the nuptials. I have no idea why, Daddy was on the verge of doing an Ernest after my Mother died. Why would I not be happy for him ?

And Dad seemed to want to keep us apart, we could only talk when he went to take a whiz. And then we would speak very quickly.

But now, we have been talking on the phone. She still speaks very quickly, in a high, light voice. She has to be one of the most intelligent people that I have ever come across.

After I asked about Dad, I asked about her. How was she doing. And I told her to take care of herself.

She wants pictures of the kids. She had always been their Grandma.Since Day 1.

I can do this. I shall not whine about needing a new camera. A bad photo is better then none, after all.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-18-2010

I thought that The Boy knew my password, we have both used some variations of it. But well, he has free access to my computer. He logs in as me.

I am very weary of people taking me for granted.

Last night, I was thrashed back and forth because I had not planted the raspberry bushes, a gift. But a trench needs to be made… they need acidic soil and we have alkaline soil. And there are all of those dead Christmas trees there. And we do not have a shovel with a point.

During WWII a church steeple fell in our yard. If you dig, you hit bricks.

You need a good shovel. That is all that there is to it.

I think that I am sick. Of course, I shall never be able to compete with The Father´s illnesses, but there is something wrong with me.

I shall not go into details.

No one on this Earth wants to hear it.

Wicked Step Mother has actually been a comfort to me. Daddy had a blood clot in his brain and as well a, oh jeepers, a ruptured disc in one of his Cervical vertebra. She talks like that. I understand her. She is an extremely intelligent woman.

I called her. I told her that The Baby has decided that she is from Alabama. She was very pleased. I forgot to ask about the house. She said that we could come and stay at Granny´s house.

No airco. Alabama. Summer. No money. This is not going to happen.

She is a really nice woman.

And as a PS, I am not going to do anything for anyone unless they say …please… and then thank you.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-11-2010

Wicked Step Mother is really keeping me in the loop, so to say.

Apparently, the Doctors thought that he would die.

Hey, he is a Ranger. He is not going to die.

The Girl is very sick, as well as The Father.

I can do this, yes I can.

I am f*cking Bob The builder.

Sh*t F*ck Tired

Posted by Mummy Dearest on Jun-10-2010

I am so tired from this * ruptured disc* sh*t.

I am not going into details, but between not being able to make a sound in the kitchen and being frowned upon because * I do nothing*, Mummy is getting very angry.

And I miss listening to the BBC while I work in the kitchen.

I am really pissed off.

And I heard today that Daddy was really on the verge of death. All of the Doctors had written him off. I do not want to see him again, but I certainly do not want him to die.

The house in Alabama has someone who wants to buy it. It is a beautiful house, in nowhere, Alabama. Wicked Stepmother will be driving there to handle it, and guess who wants to go with her ? But she has a very strong *network* of family and friends who can help her.

I want the children to talk to her. But she told me that she wanted to stay out of our family problems, which is why she has stayed silent. But she is their Grandma. She always has been, despite my Father’s cantankerous nature.


Rock Tumbler

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-29-2010

As a child, I had a rock tumbler. You would put these filthy stones in it, it would rumble and rumble and rumble, and, suddenly, you had a hand full of jewels.

I suspect that a rock tumbler does not have a long life span.

Recently, I feel like I have been in a rock tumbler. I shall emerge as a stinkin´ jewel.

I will shine.


Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-28-2010

He is back. As cantankerous as ever, but he is back. When Wicked Step Mother called me, she was simply thrilled : he was watching TV. He loathes TV, unless it is the History Channel. This means that he can see once more, can hear.

The Father asked me what time I got the call. Uh, well, you were gone, I did the shopping, so I guess at about 11 am. Oh, so that means that it was about 3am in the morning, in Texas. I haven´t a clue. I never even paused to think about it.And in the end, who cares .

I am really swearing quite a bit these days. I suppose that I am simply a bit thin skinned right now. It happens.

The Father complained tonight about how I fed the dogs. Look at those words. Who fed the dogs.

My plate is full. That is all that there is to it. In 10 minutes the brownies will be done. Everyone loves those brownies. Except me. I cannot tolerate that fake vanilla. But this is good. This is Little House On The Prairie.

Chewing The Cud

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-28-2010

So, I have been told that if I show my face in Texas, Daddy will give up all hope.

What does this really mean . Does this mean that only hope is keeping him alive. How can we know what Mr. Potato Head is feeling, thinking. For all of his talk in the past, he is a Ranger. He is John Wayne, he is Clint Eastwood. He is the quintessential rags to riches American man. Eats babies and garlic for breakfast. And he has always had an absurd amount of charisma. An embarrassing amount of charisma.

I have to step back and let Wicked Step Mother decide what is best. She has kept him alive for years, since they whacked his leg off. She will know what is best.

Bob The Builder

Posted by Mummy Dearest on May-27-2010

I sound like Bob The Builder these days. I keep saying, I can´t do this, yes, I can, this is not a problem. And I keep asking for a f.cking break.

I keep asking for someone to help me. Many people have offered to help me, but no one really can. I have to do this myself. I can do this. This is not a problem. This is a piece of cake.

I simply have to put my emotions aside. I really have to stop crying ..oh, gosh, Little House on The Prairie was on and I simply fell to bits.

I have two days. I know what has to happen after two days.

Two days, why not 4 . Someone give me a f.cking break.