Today The Teenager and her uncle built a cat tunnel

As the threat of rain descends upon on, the Ackerman household has an announcement:

The Teenager and her uncle built our indoor cats a cat tunnel to the outdoor cat cage.

My food dairy

8 p.m. last night: about 15 ounces water that kept me up peeing until almost 1 a.m.
6:30 a.m.: tried to brew 26 ounces of Supercoffee with about 1 tablespoon of cacao with maca powder. Think I brewed the coffee super strong. Served with half and half
8:15 a.m. poured second cup of coffee, realized I hadn’t had any water yet, poured 12 ounces.
9 a.m. ordered an iced tea for my daughter and “had to try” the new 200 calorie coconut macaroon iced coffee at dunking (but I got decaf) and the new chicken and roasted pepper wrap.
9:15 another 8 ounces of water; dunkin arrives, coffee made with coconut milk. It’s too sweet it’s going in the fridge.
12:20 15 ounces unsweetened earl grey iced tea
3 p.m. trying to drink the decaf coffee from dunkin (finished it)– two everything bagel tortilla, avocado, roasted pepper and kale, vegan meat slices and nutritional yeast.

5 p.m. we went to Dairy Queen for an ice cream cake for the Teenager’s birthday. We got it through the drive through — and they didn’t have eight inch so we got a discounted 10 inch Oreo Blizzard Cake.

Imagine our surprise when we arrived home and the dog— whom we had not crated— had let herself (and two of the cats) into the backyard.

I think I’ve eaten two thousand calories of ice cream cake— and I gotta say I’m impressed. DQ makes really good ice cream cakes.

Chicky… and a puckle schmear, and a visit to Miller’s Hardware

Yesterday was a gorgeous Saturday morning and my coupon to Dairy Queen to get buy one, get one free Blizzards for my birthday was set to expire. The Teenager asked me if I would accompany her to the hardware store, and I said sure, if she would force me to go to Aldi for half and half, and she said, “Sure, then I can get more creamsicles with the popsicle outsides.”

It was 9:30 a.m.– The Teenager was on a morning break between pet sitting clients. She wanted to visit our neighborhood hardware store, Piscitello’s Home Center, for our first visit since the store changed hands. But first… I suggested we visit the other local hardware store in the small town a mile away from us, West Easton.

Now if you’re local to the Lehigh Valley of Pa., you might already know where I wanted to take her. You see the Teenager loves hardware stores, tools, doo-dads, mops and sponges. The Teenager took woodshop, engineering, and home repair in high school, all the hands-on, doing useful things kind of skills that she did not inherit from her father and I.

When she was about six, my brother had gotten a chain stuck on the pick up truck and Poppop on the Mountain was crawling around on the gravel parking lot trying to remove it. The Teenager– then the Wee One– crawled under the truck and gave it a yank with everything she had. Poppop laughed, and gruffly made the comment, “there’s my grandson.”

My father told that story, with such pride, at least once a year.

The Teenager doesn’t hesitate to tackle household projects so it was time to take her someplace special: Miller’s Hardware. It’s been around for more than 100 years, and our local television station even did a feature on it, click here. Most of us in the borough (Wilson) and in West Easton have homes that are 75 to 100 years old. So, to think that this little slice of living history with the bits and pieces we need to do things around our homes still exists is amazing.

They didn’t seem to take credit cards, and the cash register was very old, and Mr. Miller, whose grandfather started the business on Butler Street in Wilson and had been known for the in-house chickens, is a thin man who seems a tad slowed by age though he moves about the cluttered maze of rooms with precision.

I found some cash in my wallet that I keep for emergencies, and The Teenager bought a pair of safety googles, one of those long mixer drill attachments and some double stick carpet tape will dust glued to the box and graphic design that screamed of last century. I honestly encouraged her to buy it because of the box. The total came to $17.50.

We’re not sure how Mr. Miller did his math, but I think he sets the prices when he acquires the inventory and doesn’t increase them with inflation, because many of the prices were drawn on with marker and seemed way too low. But if it’s been on the shelf for twenty years, I think the merchandise is paid for.

I sent a photo of the tape to Gayle and asked her to give a guess when this product was made.

“1970s,” she said.

So is this double-stick carpet tape as old as I am?

Miller’s Hardware is an overwhelming and amazing gem.

But then we did have to go to the new Piscitello’s, where at one point, the Teenager almost had a part-time job if only she hadn’t worried about it conflicting with marching band season. We got a new hose, a hose splitter, some new hose nozzles and even some hose gaskets.

And then we went to Dairy Queen for blizzards. Now, with my recent health issues, I pee a lot. And even though I peed before we left the house, I had to go again already. So, The Teenager pulled over to Wawa and ate her blizzard while I ran in to use the restroom. Here is what we learned: Getting ice cream at Dairy Queen and people watching in the parking lot of Wawa might be our new favorite hobby.

And then on the way home, on the side street, right by our house, there was a turkey vulture in the middle of the road with a dead possum. And he made it quite clear, dragging that carcass around, that it was his and he was keeping it. We didn’t want to disturb him, so we sat and watched for a while, afraid to scare him away. But others didn’t share our special consideration for the vulture.

We made a video:

We did, by the way, get the half and half and popsicles so all is right with the world.

And today, The Teenager was chatting with me about her sudden appreciation for plain, old yellow mustard to which I said, “best thing on a hot dog, mustard and a puckle schmear.”

I really want my brain fog to lift. And then I offered her a piece of “chicky” because apparently my half-brain thinks chicken is too fancy a word.

Have you ever had brain surgery before?

Today I received a paycheck. I haven’t had one of those in two months. I have been keeping my house afloat on $900 in disability payments (and denied the last $450 I was entitled to because the absence management company keeps losing the fax), savings and credit cards.

In two hours I will be leaving to drive over to my hand specialist/orthopedic surgeon about my sprained pinky. Despite the therapy, despite the time that has elapsed, it’s still tender, doesn’t bend all the way and has a rather distorted knuckle. Monday is my first appointment with my cardiologist.

My heart rate has been normal most of this week. But yesterday was a little rough– heart rate variations and fatigue throughout the day. I had a lot of muscular pain in my right hip, which extended into my back and quad, and worked overtime at the Bizzy Hizzy. So, I ate a lot of snacks, took ibuprofen, drank a lot of water, and ate my sorrow in the form of about 2,000 calories of burger, onion rings and blizzard at Dairy Queen.

My boss asked me if anything had changed to cause my discomfort. And as usual, Angel hadn’t changed one thing but several. I had worked hard the day before and perhaps I overdid it, because I had been behind in my numbers. Then, I went to the chiropractor, and when she touched me, it felt different. She often has to do things to my legs I don’t understand, but that right hip often feels like my pelvic bone is at the wrong angle. And when she touched it, the way she does every week, it burned instead of ached.

After the chiropractor, I went to the gym. And Andrew subjected me to leg-and-core day. Because he loves me.

I had a nice dinner after that of kale, potatoes and chicken. And I was in bed by 8 p.m. (Don’t judge me! I wake at 4 a.m.) At a minute or two before 9, I had to use the bathroom. And these days, I can’t take my chances. For some reason, I can’t always hold it. I have some retrolisthesis, and there is some theorizing that it might press on a nerve occasionally that interrupts that signal.

I stumbled from my bed, entered the bathroom, and next thing I knew I was kissing my ceramic tile and my Apple Watch was having a tantrum on my wrist. The Teenager ran up the stairs.

“Mom, are you okay?”

The shower shelf had started to fall off the wall earlier in the day. I had decided to be proactive and I removed it. I set it against the bathroom wall to rehang. In my evening stupor, I did not have my glasses on. The pale silver shelf blended in with the beige tile and I stepped right on the damn thing.

“Mom?” the Teenager said. “Why is your watch freaking out?”

Apple Fall Detection has received some mixed reviews. But this time it nailed it. My watch progressively buzzed until I looked at the screen and responded to it.

“It looks like you have taken a hard fall.”

And there were two options. “I’m okay.” And a big red emergency button. I hit “I’m okay.”

That’s how I went from 50 days without a fall to one. Sigh.

In the last of the medical update, I’ve been receiving a lot of repeated phone calls that never leave messages. So, I answered one yesterday that looked like an important phone number. And it was 11:22, so close enough to work lunch that I could step off the floor if I needed to,

It was the neurosurgeon. My neurologist had told me she was going to refer me to neurovascular to have my aneurysm checked. Apparently, they call you and ask your symptoms so the doctor can decide if your head is going to explode and if he needs to see you tomorrow versus in a couple months. So, I answered her questions.

“Have you ever had brain surgery before?”

Oh, I don’t intend to have brain surgery at all, I think. “No.”

“Do you have any allergies to the dye used in MRIs or CTs?”

“No,” I said. “I just had my first CT with contrast and tolerated the dye well. But I have a tooth implant, so an MRI might be out of the question.”

(Which is a shame as I would love to see my brain via an fMRI.)

Questions about my symptoms. Headaches? Yes. Vision trouble? Not really. Weak arms? No. But I have a tingling pinky no one can explain. Lightheadedness or dizziness? Yes, but we attributed that to low blood pressure and side effects of the beta blocker. Slurring words? Not slurring, but completely losing. But I have a history of anemia. Incontinence? Lately, yes.

“Do you have difficulty walking?”

I chuckled. “That’s loaded question. I have cerebral palsy.”

“Oh, let me write that down for the doctor.”

“Spastic diplegia if you want to be specific,” I told her.

“When did your symptoms start?”

“Well…”

I told her they found the aneurysm after a CT scan meant to check if blood wasn’t getting to my brain properly after my second fall in March landed me in the hospital. And here we are.

I need this weekend. Badly. And I’ll be taking Nan, my blind friend the space nerd, to Lehigh Valley Space Fest on Sunday.

Dairy Queen Decadence

A while ago, The Teenager and I decided we wanted to try a Dairy Queen banana split. That we’d share one. And we decided tonight was the night.

We ordered one using the app, and when we arrived we were faced with two new ice cream options: the churro dipped cone and the end of the rainbow shake.

The banana split was delicious. Their strawberry topping was our favorite and it looked like they put two whole bananas in there.

But then The Teenager wanted to try the Rainbow Shake because it looked like it had the crunchies she loved from the cotton candy Blizzard.

So, she went into the Dairy Queen and ordered one. And the churro-dipped cone.

The shake was strawberry flavored and those crunchies tasted like sugary breakfast cereal.

Meanwhile, the ice cream cone tasted like the bastard child of Dairy Queen and Taco Bell, like someone had taken those cinnamon cream cheese balls they have right now and stuffed them with ice cream instead of whatever that cheesy stuff actually is.

Spending time with friends to spruce up mental health

I have faced challenges recently unlike the previous difficult times in my life. I no longer live with my husband. My father passed away a year ago this past Thursday. I don’t hear much from members of my family. The health issues that come from aging with a chronic condition like cerebral palsy, while my prognosis is static, present their own difficulties. My cerebral palsy will never change, or get worse, but the complications from having spastic muscles, scissoring legs, years of toe walking and leg bones that don’t sit where leg bones were designed to sit are very real.

This week, for many reasons ranging from family stress to communication difficulties and new and old volunteer commitments, pressed my mental health beyond the point I like to go. I watched a lot of TV.

I also spent much time cuddled into my new Stitch Fix zipper hoodie. But I did peel it off to wash it today, and put it right back on my body.

And my curls came out nicely today. Thank you, curls.

Television viewing

I caught up on The Good Doctor (and while YES! Audrey Lim decided to accept her disability rather than go through a risky surgery, at the midseason episode now the team decides she has recovered some movement on her own and a new less risky surgical plan might restore her mobility. Even her new boyfriend in a wheelchair says she has to do it, and he proposes, to prove to her he’s there whether she can walk or not. The episode ends with her in surgery. If the surgery succeeds, I will be pissed. Will they then feature an interabled relationship? Why must she walk again? Why can’t we have an able-bodied fancy surgeon become a wheelchair user and excel at it? It’s ridiculous that mainstream television starts to show an able-bodied person accepting a serious disability and then again reverts to the idea that she must walk again. And disabled people know, no one complains louder, no one takes adjusting harder than an able-bodied person suddenly rendered less able.)

Wow. I didn’t expect that tangent.

With that caught up, I tried Little Women: LA and a few episodes of Little Women: Atlanta. I learned some of the varieties of dwarfism, and was forced to thing about discrimination in hiring, but as with most reality series, the focus seemed to be on drama. The Atlanta spin-off really heightened the drama. Within two episodes, we had a pregnancy with an indifferent father and jealousy and cat-fights in the clubs. Because if you use Little Women: Atlanta as a source (which I would not) apparently stripping is a great way to make a living and still collect your disability checks. I was not born with that kind of disability.

I heard a podcast featuring Randall Park and thought I would try his Netflix series, Blockbuster. That was also a disappointment. The humor fell flat for me, and I struggled with the concept. There is one Blockbuster video store still in existence, in Bend, Oregon, and USA Today wrote an article comparing the fictional last Blockbuster and the real one and honestly that just confused me more.

So, I went for Hoarders season one on Hulu. It’s amazing after having binge-watched later seasons during previous times of emotional crisis to see how unpolished the initial season is. You can see the crew determining what works and what doesn’t. The cinematography is more dramatic, but the professional only have two days to clean massive hoards and they slowly tack on more time.

At this point, I renewed my Motor Trend streaming service and will stick with Mike Brewer and Marc “Elvis” Priestley on Wheeler Dealers.

Rocking New Boots

I finally got to wear my new Marc Fisher over-the-knee boots! The Teenager worried about me leaving the house in higher-than-usual heels. They were so much fun to wear and didn’t feel any more uncomfortable than other boots.

I left my house around noon. I had promised to bring Maryann some books as her tavern is featured on the cover of The Death of Big Butch. I delivered her copies, visited for a moment (but not as long as I thought I would because the traffic and road closures in downtown Easton made it impossible to drive the three miles to her. It took FORTY minutes.), and heading for my lunch with Bill Prystauk, the author of the Kink Noir series and a long-time writing friend.

We had a lovely meal at Gap Diner in Wind Gap, Pa., a midpoint we select between his location in Stroudsburg and mine in Easton. He had a spinach and feta omelet where the rye toast had this perfect dark line around the edge but the bread remained flexible. The potatoes were also picture perfect. They had this crisp outside and looked soft on the other side. I had pepperpot soup and the buffalo chicken Caesar salad. I was a tiny tiny bit disappointed that the chicken was chicken fingers cut into bite sized pieces but honestly, the beauty of the shredded romaine and its luscious green color won me over.

It was a good eating day as the Teenager brought home fresh bagels from the bagel deli and I had had a salt bagel with piles of kale and spinach and hummus for breakfast, an iced coffee for an afternoon treat, and a dinner of heaps of vegetables (kale, squash, potatoes, sweet potatoes, cauliflower and zucchini), a vegan chicken tender and a token amount of pork.

Much better than yesterday when I ate a double steakhouse cheeseburger from DQ, cheese curds, pretzel sticks with queso and a blizzard (snickers/brownie) so large in came in a medium soda cup.

Visiting her Ladyship Maxine

From Wind Gap, I traveled out to Point Phillip through some scenic roads to visit photographer Joan and deliver her copies of Big Butch, which apparently I would trade for celery and pears. Joan and I are often trading edibles.

I met the younger stepson, the grandson, and even got to pet the adorable Maxine, a striking cat of great renown. As soon as she heard that I was the one who alerted her people to the existence of Tiki Cat cat food with shrimp, she sniffed and rubbed against my boots providing me with the ultimate blessing.

And Joan gave The Teenager, myself and her own self a Yule present: a game called Ransom Notes, basically Cards against Humanity but with magnetic word stickers. The Teenager cannot wait to play.

All in all, I think I put 50 miles on the car.

I received a phone call from a journalist trying to convince his editor to write a story on Big Butch. And I participated in a speaker phone call with The Teenager and her grandmother (my mother-in-law). She revealed that she would be having fried chicken and potato salad among the offerings on Christmas Eve so I may now have a social obligation that night. I love my mother-in-law’s fried chicken and potato salad.

Moldy cabbage & DQ Blizzards: Happy Birthday to Nan

I have been trying to cook a cabbage for weeks. I envisioned fried cabbage and this fancy edamame and rice ramen I had in the cupboard from a past Hungryroot shipment.

The cabbage was bigger than my head and had a bit of mold on it, so the teenager said I couldn’t eat it. I cut a huge chunk out of the side and sautéed it anyway.

“Mom,” the teenager said, “that doesn’t solve the problem.”

I wanted cabbage. I’m the one allergic to penicillin and molds. So if I’m willing to eat it, I’ll live.

But I was not willing to feed it to Nan. I called her up to tell her the story, and I knew I’d either missed her birthday or it was coming up in the next few days and I had to ask.

I’m terrible with birthdays.

It turns out it’s today. Happy 69th, Nan! You’re still my coolest blind friend (and my only blind friend).

The teenager and I hopped in her Nissan Rogue and took Nan out to DQ for blizzards— we offered to take her for fancy ice cream but she wanted Dairy Queen.

It turned out the teenager had Avenue Q in the compact disc player and Nan had never heard it, so we listened a while and now Nan plans to look up the rest on Spotify.

Wait. What? The teenager is using discs and the old lady is using Alexa to stream music on Spotify?

In other news, I’m 85% done with my service dog application. I’m about 85% certain I want to do it. Several people have expressed support whom I did not expect.

Halloween 2021

As I write this, I am mourning the loss of having finished The Night Shift on Netflix. I am imbibing some generic strawberry lemonade energy drinks strongly laced with too much gin. I am craving potato chips, cuddling my cat Fog, and nursing my injuries from the day.

But perhaps I need to back up…

The photos above summarize my Halloween.

At 11 a.m., we had an appointment for Danu and her babies from the Celtic Pride— Aîné, Baile and Brigid and our newest foster, Georgie, to meet our foster cat godmother for shots, flea treatment, dewormer and microchip and OH MY GOODNESS was Georgie dramatic.

Then the teenager had a commitment to walk in the local Halloween parade and she asked me yesterday to walk with her as she paraded in costume. I will do anything my daughter asks.

And half way through the parade, I fell flat on my face to the collective gasp of the crowd. I rise, keep walking, hip and knee in pain. But I keep going.

#f*ckcerebralpalsy.

I finished the parade. Outside the teenager’s high school. Her father and herself know that the fact that I finished the parade did not mean I was okay as I have been known to do things like walk a Chinese buffet with a broken ankle.

My knee is swollen. I tripped over a mirror late in the day that struck me in the tender parts.

My back hurts.

I am craving potato chips as my body adjusts to the Mirena.

My princess, the male cat I jokingly named Fog, is curled up next to me. He is my baby.

The teenager’s dad came over and they carved pumpkins and I typed some of a manuscript for the identity anthology. We handed out candy and even the dog got to enjoy trick-or-treat.

I ordered Wawa for dinner— the teenager’s favorite ranch Mac and cheese, chicken Caesar salad and pierogie quesadilla and Blizzards from Dairy Queen for dessert.

Tomorrow the teenager is consulting a cleaning woman to take some of the stress off me.

Sheetz Shenanigans

Tonight, the teenagers had their last competition recording and end of year review concert for marching band. Saturday is the last football game— I have a much coveted ticket.

Teenager #1 earned her varsity letter tonight. Teenager #2 earned a pin.

Proud of these two

After the performance, the teenager wanted her dad to take her for ice cream but he’d had some alcohol so he asked me to take her.

But I dilly-dallied over the menu too much and Dairy Queen closed before we got there.

I salvaged the evening by offering a trip to Sheetz. We all got milkshakes— Teenager #1 got the Monster Mash and all she would say was “mmmmm” over and over; teenager #2 got a custom chocolate caramel milkshake with brownie bits. I redeemed some rewards points (which turned out to be a fairly complex process) for the pucker shake. I’m not even sure what it really was but it was a blue milkshake with lots of sour patch kid pieces. I loved it.

Though Sheetz really could give the milkshakes a wider straw.

I ordered an appetizer sampler of boneless wings, jalapeño poppers and Wisconsin cheese curds. I already knew I loved Sheetz’s jalapeño poppers, but their cheese curds are beyond amazing. The boneless wings were dry and disappointing.

Dairy Queen retains the title for best chicken.

Meanwhile, the sugar from that milkshake left me feeling super hyped and more inebriated than an alcoholic beverage.

Drumstick Blizzard

This is a review of the new drumstick blizzard.

But at the end of the post, there will be a bit of bad news explaining why I had said blizzard. But let’s focus on the good. Because that’s how I roll.

The teenager and I skipped breakfast and went to Dairy Queen for lunch with Nala, the Goffin’s Cockatoo.

The Drumstick Blizzard

The latest blizzard creation from Dairy Queen is the drumstick blizzard with chunks of deep fried chicken in ice cream. Just kidding.

In reality…

They crushed up bits of Drumstick ice cream cones and peanuts! So good. Very similar to a Snickers Blizzard but not as chewy. The ice cream cone pieces were crunchy and tasty.

And Nala enjoyed her French fries.

So now I have 503 reward points at DQ which is enough for a free 4 piece chicken strip basket.

What I struggle to understand is what is this super bendy straw for?

So, now the bad news… I was informed today that my last day with the non-profit agency where I work will be July 10. That’s why I had a Blizzard.

Here’s to the next chapter. I had a great time learning a lot of new skills in a field that was brand new to me. I had a lot of good experiences and made a lot of new friends and new connections. I look forward to finishing out next week with the team, and I wish the agency the best in the future.

Lavender retrospective

I’ve tried to incorporate the spirit of my “staycation” two weeks ago into my everyday life. I have tried to embrace a more carefree joie de vivre.

I think to some extent it is working.

Scrolling through my blog feed, I see lots of random home-cooked meals, even more pizzas and fast food… I mean, what crazy mood swing prompted me to eat TWO blizzards from DQ in one night???

My dental work on Wednesday was a huge success and has prompted such a physical and emotional relief— because when you’re slowly paying off more than a thousand dollars in dental bills and something is not right, it drains you.

It reminds me, as life often does, that our struggles never really end. The only destination in this journey is death, regardless of what milestones we try to hit along the way.

Some days it’s harder to get out of bed than others, but hopefully there is something for all of us to appreciate and something we can do for the world.

I opened my Lock Keeper Gin from County Seat Spirits last night. Mixed a shot of so with equal parts carbonated water and a light French lavender soda.

Gin by itself has a clean but bitter taste, in my opinion, with the Lock Keeper Gin bursting with a strong citrus aftertaste. The light blend of lavender gave the gin just enough sweetness to be undetectable in my cocktail. I find gin way smoother and easy to mix than vodka, which I know is an unpopular opinion.