Busy, Busy Day

As she writes this blog, Fiorella is sitting here with a "Help-I've-Fallen-And-I-Can't-Get-Up" amulet around her neck because she is alone in the house. Husband took a bad fall yesterday evening and has blood on the brain, which means he will be in the hospital until it dissipates or he is operated on.

Fio spent most of her morning in the Gtown ER and her afternoon in the Round Rock ER and hospital, then came home this evening to take the weekly trash up to the street, contact the kids, comfort a frantic mastiff, and try to catch up on everything she had planned to do for the day.

Oh well, there's always tomorrow.

Birthday Time!

Today is Husband's birthday, and we are going to celebrate whether he wants to or not. Minnesota son and Fio have arranged to pick up a chocolate cake from Papi's Pies and take it to the rehab hospital where Husband is recovering from knee-replacement. Then we will party, party, party. That's what birthdays are for.

Fiorella is a birthday nut. Her parents always recognized hers with gifts and joy, but she looked around and realized there could be more to it--like a decorated cake and a big party. Thus, when it came time for her own children's birthdays, she went all out. She did the same for everyone else's birthdays too, like those of her parents-in-law, who weren't big celebrators. But Fiorella wouldn't let them off the hook. Every birthday, the family drove over to their home with a decorated cake and sang "Happy Birthday" to them. One of the nicest--and saddest--things her mother-in-law ever said was "Fiorella taught us to enjoy birthdays."

Fio will get into heaven on that.

Waiting for Her Origins

Fiorella and Husband are doing the Ancestry.com thing, and his results have just come in. He's standard white bread, with 51 percent of his heritage from western Europe, 29 percent from Ireland, 12 percent from Great Britain, and the rest scattered in Scandinavia, Italy/Greece, Spain, and the European Jewish community.  There was also a miniscule salute, about 1/2 percent, to Asia, but Fiorella wants to know what happened to that Indian princess his mother wrote about in her family bio. Fio's also wondering if, when she gets her own results, the gypsy great-grandfather she's always heard about when she was growing up will meet the same fate. And what if it turns out that Fiorella, who has always touted her Slavic origins, is not as exotic and interesting as she's always hoped she is?

Oh well, one of her best friends, who grew up Jewish, did the Ancestry thing and turned out to be--surprise--half Irish. Maybe there's hope for Fiorella yet.

Tis the Season

Step four of Fio's Christmas decorating. She decked the driveway with strands of tinsel last weekend, got all the storage bins in during the week, and yesterday she put together the twenty-year-old family Christmas tree. Come afternoon, Austin son and his wife drove up from Bastrop to put up the lights and decorate the tree, which is a monumental undertaking because Fio has MOUNDS of ornaments. She posted a photo of the wonderful results on FB this morning, but she still has to roll her mother's embroidered tree skirt under the branches. Step four will be the swag along the staircase railing, which will take at least a day, and step five will be hanging the plastic snowflakes from the little tree out front, which Husband usually is kind enough to help with. Later will come the swags over the living room door jamb, the dining room door jamb, and the dining room window. By Christmas day, every shelf and surface in the house will be loaded with tinsel and Christmas what-nots. Yes, Fio is a decorating fool. ENJOY!

Yesterday's News

Fiorella had it all planned out. She woke up at 7:00 and packed all her stuff in a tote, then set off at 8:00 for her ophthamologist appointment in Austin at 9:20. The drive usually takes forty-five minutes, but Fio allowed for traffic slowdowns on the interstate. What she did not bargain for was almost three hours of claustrophobic inch-by-inch driving. She staggered into the doctor's office late, but the women at the desk understood and assured her they would be able to  fit her in within an hour, but Fio asked them to set the new appointment for 1:30 because she had another appointment at 11:30.

But the 11:30 appointment didn't work out. At loose ends, Fio picked up a Colonel Sanders lunch and drove around a little, then attended her 1:30 ophthamology appointment. As part of the exam, her eyes were dilated, so afterwards, so she waited about an hour until she thought the dilation had abated enough for her to drive. She  took off at about 3:00. Horror upon horror, she had trouble seeing the lane divides. Nothing to do but take the access roads, drive slowly, and pray. Needless to say, several drivers indicated their displeasure.

When Fio finally made it home and told Husband about her day, he wasn't at all sympathetic. In fact, he was horrified when she told him that after two hours of stand-still traffic, she had started screaming, banging her wheel, and honking her horn. For her part, Fio was not happy to see the house was in disarray and that, again, the front door had been left hanging open.

Husband went upstairs, and Fio heard a sound like someone falling hard. She ran up to the bedroom and found Husband face down, half on the bed, half on the floor, He told her that not only had he been dizzy for a couple of days, but he'd fallen earlier in the day when she was gone. With visions of a pneumonia relapse dancing in her head and getting angrier with every mile, Fiorella, still fighting left-over dilation, drove him to the emergency room. She already had enough on her plate, and now she was facing a repeat of the in-and-out horror of a couple of months ago. It was too much.

She threw a fit in the hospital, something she would have never believed herself capable of. She sees herself as the nice person, the one who keeps her head when all about were losing theirs. But the worm had turned. Enough was enough. She yelled. She cried, She cursed. She got escorted out by a security guard and a counselor.

The counselor talked with her as she sobbed her heart out. He was a nice guy who told her to be good to herself and relax, yada, yada, which is all well and good, but Fio, whose prime directive is action, doesn't want to relax. She wants to accomplish--to write books and paint pictures and learn languages. She wants, to save the world.

Is that too much to ask?

PS: The dilation left-over persisted and she had to drive all the way home  in the dark of night at a snail's pace, with every headlight, traffic light, and neon sign shattering into vibrant colors in front of her. Always have a designated driver with you when you go to the ophthamologist.

Yesterday's News

Fiorella had it all planned out. She woke up at 7:00 and packed all her stuff in a tote, then set off at 8:00 for her ophthamalogist appointment in Austin at 9:20. The drive usually takes forty-five minutes, but Fio allowed for traffic slowdowns on the interstate. What she did not bargain for was almost three hours of claustrophobic inch-by-inch driving. She staggered into the doctor's office late, but the women at the desk understood and assured her they would be able to  fit her in within an hour, but Fio asked them to set the new appointment for 1:30 because she had another appointment at 11:30.

But the 11:30 appointment didn't work out. At loose ends, Fio picked up a Colonel Sanders lunch and drove around a little, then attended her 1:30 appointment. As part of the exam, her eyes were dilated, and afterwards, she waited about an hour till she thought the dilation had abated enough for her to drive. She  took off at about 3:00, horror upon horror, had trouble seeing the lane divides. Nothing to do but take the access roads, drive slowly, and pray. Needless to say, several drivers indicated their displeasure.

When Fio finally made it home and told Husband about her day, he wasn't at all sympathetic. In fact, he was horrified that, an hour of stand-still traffic, she had started screaming, banging her wheel, and honking her horn. For her part, Fio was not happy to see the house was in disarray and discover that the front door was hanging open.

Husband went upstairs, and Fio heard a sound like someone falling hard. She ran up to the bedroom and found Husband face down, half on the bed, half on the floor and he told her that not only had he been dizzy for a couple of days, but he'd fallen earlier in the day when she was gone. With visions of a pneumonia relapse dancing in her head, Fiorella,  fighting left-over dilation the whole way, drove him lickity-split to the emergency room, getting angrier with every mile. She already had enough on her plate, and now she was facing a repeat of the in-and-out horror of a couple of months ago. It was too much.

She threw a fit in the hospital, something she would have never believed herself capable of--she'd always striven so hard to be a nice person, the one who kept her head when all about were losing theirs. But the worm had turned. Enough was enough. She yelled, cried, and cursed. She got escorted out by a security guard and a counselor.

The counselor stayed and talked with her as she sobbed her heart out. He told her to be good to herself and relax, yada, yada, which is all well and good, but Fio, whose inborn prime directive is action, doesn't want to relax. She wants to accomplish--to write books and paint pictures and learn languages, to walk into a neat, clean, organized house, and to save the world.

Is that too much to ask?

(PS: The dilation left-over persisted and she had to drive all the way home slowly, complete with honking cars, in the dark of night with every headlight, traffic light, and neon sign shattering into colors in front of her. And you wonder why she's tense.)

What Is This Thing Called "Normal?"

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa...the light at the end of the tunnel. Husband has been home from the hospital for a week now and seems to be genuinely on the mend this time.  Meanwhile Minnesota son has gotten the family electronics straightened out and helped with after-care and transportation, and Fiorella's monstrous list has been reduced to half a page.  Still a few things to go--like finding Husband's wallet--but all in all, sanity is returning to Casa Fiorella. She's planning to wash her hair today and has made arrangements to attend a romance writers' meeting tonight. And, wonder of wonders, she's soon going to have time to write again.

Fiorella Indominatable

With Husband in and out of the hospital, Fiorella has been burning the candle at both ends, taking care of everything at home, then running off to visit Husband with rolling suitcases and plastic bags of requested items. But today she took a vacation. Minnesota son has come down to Texas to help, and he gave Fio the day off. While he visited with his father, Fio took care of the dregs of the tax returns for 2015), cleaned up more of the den and bedroom, and arranged for appointments with all the medicos she had had to cancel for Husband and herself during this time of crisis. Lots more to do, but she's hoping to be able to start writing again at the end of the week. Wish her well.

Helpers

Fiorella loves people who help her, like the man at HEB who got the leche down from the top shelf in the dairy case for her yesterday and the checker who taught her the Spanish word for "bag"--bolsa. Like Patrick at Click Computer Repair, who unfroze her computadora and put an icon on its desktop so Fio could do the job herself in the future. Like our Chase Bank person who listened to Fio babble on about Husband's hospital stays and comforted her.

God is good. People are good. All will be well.

Continuing Saga

Husband is still in the hospital, but Daughter took off yesterday to help Fio.  In fact, she took over, which was great, accompanying Fiorella to the hospital, preparing a list of questions, and grilling the nurses, then taking Fio out to eat at Chili's. Afterwards she helped Fio gather what seemed like a fifty-pound weight of items Husband needed at his bedside, which Fio dutifully delivered after Daughter left.

This morning, Husband called Fio with all sorts of complaints about the nursing staff, so he must be getting better.

Good Thoughts Needed

Husband is back in the hospital--again. That's three days now. He had a shoulder transplant that caused some other complications. Please think good thoughts in his direction.

Boldly Moving Forward

"Hola. Yo quiero cuatro ales, dos piernes, y dos muslos, por favor."  Yes, Fio can now order wings, thighs, and legs at Golden Fried Chicken.

Mi esposo, claro que si, stays home. Fio's antics embarrass him, and he's afraid the Golden Fried people will not react well to her attempts at speaking Spanish.

Newspapers

Fiorella's mother had been a journalism teacher, and the family always subscribed to a newspaper, much to Fio's benefit.  She learned to read from comic strips, and a newspaper validated her childhood art by publishing it.  In high school, she edited the longest-running Latin student publication in the country one year and the state Latin student publication the next year.  Later on, she married the son of two journalists. In graduate school, she originated a department newsletter. Later, in between teaching and grading, she wrote for the local newspaper and even set up two tabloids on her own.  Yes, Fiorella loves newspapers. but her own children are barely aware of them.  Why bother when they have television and computers at their beck and call?

Fiorella is sad.

Husband and Mother

Yes, always-innovative Fiorella has done it again.  To celebrate Husband's birthday, she cut two copies of P-A-R-T-Y out of her remaining stash of gold foil from Russell Stover, taped them to the bottom of the mantel, then taped a BD card between them.

The girl can't help it.  Her mother was like that too, although not as daring as Fio.  Whatever needed to be done, Mother figured out a way to do it, and she had an artistic eye too.  She made most of Fiorella's clothes, and Fio fondly remembers the Christmas dress embroidered around the neck and arms with red and green yarn.

Fio has long suspected that her mother had the same creative gene in her that Fio does, but it got smushed along the way, which made Mother determined that Fio have the opportunities she'd missed. Thus Baylor Children's Theater, oil painting classes, piano lessons--whatever Fio took an interest in.

Bless the memory of Mother.

Golden Greeting

Fiorella is the most creative person on the face of the earth.  Only she would take gold chocolate bar wrappers (which she had hoarded), cut alphabet letters out of them to spell  "HAPPY FATHER'S DAY," then tape the greeting, letter by letter, beneath the fireplace mantel.

Ta-da!

Gluten Reigns

Husband, who is a foodie, makes bread every couple of weeks.  And by "makes bread,"  Fio means the whole shtick.  He even uses his own yeast strain, which he started by setting flour and water outside till it began to ferment, then bringing it in and feeding it small amounts of flour on a daily basis over several weeks.  Some of the yeast is always put aside for future use, but the rest is mixed with water and even more flour until it makes a good dough.  Then comes the fun stuff--kneading, forming the loaves, and baking.

Of course, the final step is that Fiorella hacks off a piece, slathers it with butter, and gulps it down like John Kasich.  Yes, the bread is that good.

Another Update

More fun. Husband cured some of Fio's remaining problems, then closed the help desk for the day so Fio had to take her laptop off to Click again. Travis worked on getting my documents back, but is still waiting for a call-back from Just Cloud to get my retrieval system back. Next come Vipre and Kindle. Hoping to get back in the writing saddle again by the weekend.

Cops and Killers

As a male, Husband can watch episode after episode of cops-and-killers shows, and they bounce right off of him.  As a female, Fiorella absorbs every gruesome detail of the dramas, and her GERD starts rumbling.

Ergo, Fiorella must henceforth absent herself from the den when said programs are on TV.  If you can't join'em, leave the room.

Electronic Addiction

Fio would like to think that, in the future, people will not have to be so tied to their computers, so dependent on them.  If Fio wants to know what the weather is going to be like tomorrow, she consults the computer.  If she needs to know a  phone number, she looks it up on the computer.    She blogs on the computer.  She sends messages to friends and family by the computer. When she writes her books, she uses on the computer. If she needs background on anything at all, she looks it up on the computer.

In short, she spends more time with her computer than she does with her husband.

Family Solidarity

Is it Wednesday already?  Fiorella spent most of Tuesday in the hospital with Husband, who was kept overnight for observation.  The whole family is rallying around, and Daughter will be taking over today, while Fiorella attends two important meetings in Austin. Meanwhile, Sonia Dog guards the hearth.