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Whew, I feel like it's been ages since I wrote anything. Busy, trying to make this job work - money wise that is. And sort out all the relationship potholes. My favorite (not).
Back working after hours for The Dude, a.k.a. my realtor friend, making flyers and virtual tours online. It's fun. Want to see one of my favorites? Follow this link:

Anywoo, here I sit, on a hard bench as Lillie is in my chair, (a little bit of quiet is worth a sore butt in my opinion), with some raisin toast and a cup of black coffee since I forgot to get milk yesterday; trying to put something down you faithful few might find interesting.

Yesterday was our CSA box pick-up: eggs, broccoli, several kinds of lettuce and peas. For another $7 I picked up a couple of fat country style ribs (they look like chops). Waiting for the eggs to get a little older so they'll boil/peel better - been craving some egg salad.

Just hung some laundry on the drying rack in the bathroom and look what I found:

ANYWAY. (I do not have A.D.D. Really.)

Thursday I took some new shoes over to Mom. The doctor said her shoes seemed tight, so I had a date with DSW (alone, because when we went together it was a fiasco.)
She always thinks the stuff I bring is for me. Or maybe with opposite disorder, she means her but says me. Whatever.

We start the process:
Me: Mom, sit here. (motioning to the ottoman)
Mom: These are all here. (picking up one of the pillows that fill the chair, several of which are NOT hers)
Me: Great. Sit here please, [patting the ottoman], so we can try the shoes on.
Mom: Shoes? Are they yours?
Me: Nooooo...they're for you. You need to try them on.
Mom: Fry them around? (Walking over to the bag on the bed and peering inside.)
Me: TRY. Try them on to see if they're comfortable and you like them. Here, sit down.
Mom: (standing next to the ottoman but still unclear on the action)
Me: Put your tuchas here Cinderella.
Mom: (laughing) I know. (still not sitting down)
This goes on for another few interchanges, then she finally gets it and sits down.
She tries on the first pair.
Mom: These are anything anything anything?
Me: Ummmmm...I'm not sure? How do these feel?
Mom: Iggy.
Me: Oh great. Stop saying that. (knowing full well she knows not what she says) Do they feel good?

Mom: (walking around the room) I guess I can have some.
Me: oh god.
Mom: Iggy.
Me: Seriously, don't say that. Let's try on another pair.
Mom: For you?
Me: (sigh) No, for you, these are all for you.
Mom: Okay, then we can get going.
Me: I had a red one but the wheel fell off. (Soooooo mean)
Mom: I know.
We repeated the above three more times and settled on two pair of shoes. Then we paraded our new shoes (What new shoes?) out into the living room and then to the dining room for supper.
On the way a woman stopped us and asked where I was from. 
Oh, I thought you came from the laundry room.
I really didn't know how to respond to that. 
So we continued on.
In the dining room, after a three minute dance getting Mom seated (what's that about?), she unwrapped and wrapped her silverware.
That's where I left her, in her new shoes.


  1. Kim you are a saint the way you deal with your mom. She is so blessed to have you around. Loved the pet pictures,

  2. You are nominated for sainthood.
    And seriously, this is a really good book in the making.

  3. I agree with Nancy. This could be a compilation of "Iggy Stories...".

  4. Loved the link. Very nice!

  5. @ Pam - I LOVED that house.

  6. "From the laundry room." hahahahaha! anon cp