The most dangerous words Fiorella can utter are "I'm bored," which means she will soon be lookiing around for a way to amuse herself that maybe you don't approve of, especially if it is followed by the even-more-dangerous "I wonder what would happen if I....."
And Fio was bored to tears at the hospital yesterday morning. She'd written up notes for future blogs and put her belongings in order, but still, the hospital wouldn't release her because of red tape-- yards and yards of it. Your Fio had to be doubly and triply checked up on, and it all took way too much time as far as she was concerned. Older Son's birthday party was scheduled for noon.
Frustrated, Fio decided to hurry things along by going into the bathroom and exchanging her hospital gown for the the shorts and blood-stained shirt she'd worn into the sacred halls, a decision which had the double purpose of hurrying things along and amusing her. It was a challenge to squirm out of the sack-like hospital gown and into her own closer-fitting togs without jerking loose all the cords that had been stuck on her body and setting off an alarm that would bring a platoon of nurses running, but she did it, then walked out into the hall and told the nurse at the desk she was ready to go home. Of course, it wasn't as easy as that, but Fiorella would like to think she'd hurried things along. When she fianally joined the family for Son's BD party, she was only half an hour late.
*
What is this" rest" that you speak of--
The one you want me to take?
Do you not understand I must carry on?
That the fate of the world is at stake?
*
I've washed and fed
I've made the bed
Why so slow?
I'm ready to go!
Sunday, October 6, 2019
Saturday, October 5, 2019
Fio's Interesting Life
As the whole world knows by now, Fiorella got herself a huge black eye yesterday by tripping on the driveway while she was scurrying up to the mailbox to mail an envelope containing a $1.45 check to pay off a toll-road charge. She waited a few minutes to make sure she wasn't mortally injured, pushed herself up and walked slowly back to the house with blood trickling down her face, washed herself off, applied Neosporin, and drove to St. David's Hospital's emergency room (running a couple of red lights in the process) where she was checked out all over, yakking all the time. Yes, your Fio amuses herself by talking to everyone and anyone, which means it got a terribly boring when no staff were around. Luckily, she had brought along su bolsa y sus libretas amarillas. and could take notes on everything that was going on and play with ideas of acrostics for other branches of the family.
Unluckily, she hadn't grabbed su computadora or her cell phone. (Note to self: find out how to say "cell phone" en espanol.)
The day was saved when a nurse glanced at Fiorella's always-present DUMP TRUMP pin and said she liked it. Like a gypsy, your faithful correspondent immediately took the pin off her T-shirt and gave it to its admirer---and as she did so, it dawned on her that if she carried buttons with her everywhere she went, she could pass them out to whomever was interested.
Fio thought she'd be sent home any minute, but a throbbing headache set in as her coumadin-thinned blood swelled her brain, and Fiorella was told that she had to stay overnight. A couple of hours of just plain suffering ensued, ameliorated by the appearance of Elder Son, whom Fio had been trying to contact by a hospital phone all afternoon.
Fiorella had no problem moving upstairs to a nice room with many lovely attendants, and she woke up this morning feeling GREAT! All her tests seem to be giving her a clean bill of health so she'll be moving home later this morning, just in time for Son's birthday party. The whole family will be there so we'll have a riotously good time.
As the poet said, all's well that ends well.
Unluckily, she hadn't grabbed su computadora or her cell phone. (Note to self: find out how to say "cell phone" en espanol.)
The day was saved when a nurse glanced at Fiorella's always-present DUMP TRUMP pin and said she liked it. Like a gypsy, your faithful correspondent immediately took the pin off her T-shirt and gave it to its admirer---and as she did so, it dawned on her that if she carried buttons with her everywhere she went, she could pass them out to whomever was interested.
Fio thought she'd be sent home any minute, but a throbbing headache set in as her coumadin-thinned blood swelled her brain, and Fiorella was told that she had to stay overnight. A couple of hours of just plain suffering ensued, ameliorated by the appearance of Elder Son, whom Fio had been trying to contact by a hospital phone all afternoon.
Fiorella had no problem moving upstairs to a nice room with many lovely attendants, and she woke up this morning feeling GREAT! All her tests seem to be giving her a clean bill of health so she'll be moving home later this morning, just in time for Son's birthday party. The whole family will be there so we'll have a riotously good time.
As the poet said, all's well that ends well.
Friday, October 4, 2019
Opening Doors
Fio's day had its usual ups and downs, but the highlights were a nice lunch with Elder Son at Fish Daddy's and finishing off both her Halloween door and the maternal line acrostic that she'd been banging her head on the wall about for the last two weeks. The door was easy, a lot of fun--in fact, it was the best Halloween door she'd ever composed. Not that anyone will see it of course, because Fiorella lives so far back off the road that you would have to drive several yards down to the house to catch a glimpse of it. Unfortunately, Fio still doesn't know how to post pics on her blog without the help of one of those handsome young men from Verizon, but if you're on Facebook, you can look up your faithful correspondent under her alter ego's name.
The acrostic started out as fun a while back, then became so horribly complicated that Fiorella, after several abortive attempts, shoved it aside. The problem was in the pens of many colors. Artist that she is, Fiorella kept setting higher and more rigid goals for herself involving identifying relationships, making sure the colors worked against each other, and balancing the composition as a whole--which is impossible with a real live family. But the page of graph paper is finished now and will be matted and taken off to FedEx Kinkos's for photocopying today.
Actually, the acrostic was something of a thrill to Fio because she became acquainted, at least on paper, with more of her mother's side of the family. She knew her two first cousins and the offspring of the younger, but not of the elder (who died several years ago). Now she knows not only the names of the two sons of her oldest cousin, but also of their respective children. It's like opening a Christmas present. How many other people are there out there in the world that Fio doesn't know shes related to?
The acrostic started out as fun a while back, then became so horribly complicated that Fiorella, after several abortive attempts, shoved it aside. The problem was in the pens of many colors. Artist that she is, Fiorella kept setting higher and more rigid goals for herself involving identifying relationships, making sure the colors worked against each other, and balancing the composition as a whole--which is impossible with a real live family. But the page of graph paper is finished now and will be matted and taken off to FedEx Kinkos's for photocopying today.
Actually, the acrostic was something of a thrill to Fio because she became acquainted, at least on paper, with more of her mother's side of the family. She knew her two first cousins and the offspring of the younger, but not of the elder (who died several years ago). Now she knows not only the names of the two sons of her oldest cousin, but also of their respective children. It's like opening a Christmas present. How many other people are there out there in the world that Fio doesn't know shes related to?
Thursday, October 3, 2019
Aspects of Halloween
Happy almost Halloween! Fiorella loves decorating for holidays--any and every holiday--but Halloween is especially dear to her heart because it's so easy. All she has to do is pull a ream of orange paper out of her art closet, grab her fingernail scissors, and start cutting out pumpkins. (The bats, of course, require black cardstock and stronger scissors.)
Not that Fio has anything to add to last year's display. She'll make a few more pumpkins for the upstairs windows and rethink the bat-spread across the downstairs windows, although it was pretty well perfect last year. Ah--last year, 2018--when she had no idea that she would be a widow within six months.
Aside from the decorating, Fiorella isn't sure how she'll observe the usually merry holiday. It will seem odd not to be buying out the stores for Halloween candy, but, Fio isn't enthusiastic about sitting in her car at the top of her driveway alone on a dark night, waiting for the flatbed carrying the neighborhood children down the set route to collect their goodies.
She's also thinking twice about putting out a pumpkin this year. She was usually the one who carved it into a jack-o'-lantern and set it on display by the mailbox, but Husband was the one who knew how to activate those lights that brought Jack to life.
But time marches on, and by Halloween next year, Fio plans to be be living with Younger Son and his family in their new house, and maybe Fio can revive the joy of Halloween by taking Granddaughter, who will be three by then, around the neighborhood trick-or-treating.
Not that Fio has anything to add to last year's display. She'll make a few more pumpkins for the upstairs windows and rethink the bat-spread across the downstairs windows, although it was pretty well perfect last year. Ah--last year, 2018--when she had no idea that she would be a widow within six months.
Aside from the decorating, Fiorella isn't sure how she'll observe the usually merry holiday. It will seem odd not to be buying out the stores for Halloween candy, but, Fio isn't enthusiastic about sitting in her car at the top of her driveway alone on a dark night, waiting for the flatbed carrying the neighborhood children down the set route to collect their goodies.
She's also thinking twice about putting out a pumpkin this year. She was usually the one who carved it into a jack-o'-lantern and set it on display by the mailbox, but Husband was the one who knew how to activate those lights that brought Jack to life.
But time marches on, and by Halloween next year, Fio plans to be be living with Younger Son and his family in their new house, and maybe Fio can revive the joy of Halloween by taking Granddaughter, who will be three by then, around the neighborhood trick-or-treating.
Wednesday, October 2, 2019
Acrostic Girl Outsmarted Herself
Fiorella has composed acrostics---a practice she invented on her own--since she was a kid. It probably started when she was in fourth grade when Mrs. Johnson had the class write a sentence apiece using each one of the weekly spelling words. This was duck soup to Fio, who had a high ol' time making up stories involving those twenty-five words or arranging the first word down in each sentence to say something.
A bored Fiorella is a dangerous Fiorella so her acrostic playtime served her well in grade school and junior high, but it cost her a boyfriend in high school. She was dating a tall, dark, handsome, and smart guy--her ideal--so when the inevitable assignment to write a sentence for each spelling word came, she composed an acrostic that, reading down the first letters of each sentence, said "I LOVE XXXXXXXXXXX"--name deleted to protect the innocent. Apparently, Fio's high school teacher was more astute than Mrs. Johnson because the next day, Boyfriend's mother, who was also a teacher, looked in on the class as if searching for someone, and Fiorella never heard from her beau again.
Fio was confused and sad, but she soon recovered--a sixteen-year-old's heartbreak is reparable-- but it took her several years to realize that Boyfriend's mother dropping in on the class the day after she turned in her spelling assignment was not coincidental, that her own teacher had ratted her out.
It never would have worked out anyway. Boyfriend was very conventional, and Fiorella is..........not.
A bored Fiorella is a dangerous Fiorella so her acrostic playtime served her well in grade school and junior high, but it cost her a boyfriend in high school. She was dating a tall, dark, handsome, and smart guy--her ideal--so when the inevitable assignment to write a sentence for each spelling word came, she composed an acrostic that, reading down the first letters of each sentence, said "I LOVE XXXXXXXXXXX"--name deleted to protect the innocent. Apparently, Fio's high school teacher was more astute than Mrs. Johnson because the next day, Boyfriend's mother, who was also a teacher, looked in on the class as if searching for someone, and Fiorella never heard from her beau again.
Fio was confused and sad, but she soon recovered--a sixteen-year-old's heartbreak is reparable-- but it took her several years to realize that Boyfriend's mother dropping in on the class the day after she turned in her spelling assignment was not coincidental, that her own teacher had ratted her out.
It never would have worked out anyway. Boyfriend was very conventional, and Fiorella is..........not.
Halloween, Rusyn, Crisis, Poem, Communication
The family skeleton has been dragged out of the closet and is hanging from the mailbox on the road, which is Fiorella's way of proclaiming that the Halloween season has begun--at least in her household. Yes, now that she's finished off the 2018 taxes, she's lurching into bats and pumpkins.
The skeleton is plastic, of course, her decorative pumpkins are made out of Tide containers (love that orange!), and the bats are paper art. Fio will make the usual, time-tested design across the front window, but this time, the "pumpkin" at the beginning of it will have black eyes, which should perfect the scene. At least, Fiorella hopes so. After all, this will probably be Fio's last Halloween in her beloved home. Sigh.
*
It looks like Fiorella, after having about five attempts at e-mailing refused, plus two post-mailed messages, has finally made contact with a woman at University of Texas who might know something about the Rusyn language. Yes, your Fio is that slap-a-daisical about writing down addresses when someone gives them to her by voice, and she is even worse about hitting incorrect computer keys. Her handwriting is very readable, but no one uses that anymore.
*
Needless to say, Fiorella has high hopes for the current political scene. It looks like Trump has stretched himself too far this time, and someone was watching. Jughead can't seem to understand that the US is a democracy, not his personal kingdom to do with what he may.
*
Two Peas in a Pod
Boris and Trump,
A pig and a lump--
Each one went out to play,
Destroyed the reputation
Of his entrusted nation
And called it a good day
*
Son is going to be installing a new phone system tomorrow so that Fio will be in better touch with the rest of the world. It's about time--the current system is sixteen years old.
The skeleton is plastic, of course, her decorative pumpkins are made out of Tide containers (love that orange!), and the bats are paper art. Fio will make the usual, time-tested design across the front window, but this time, the "pumpkin" at the beginning of it will have black eyes, which should perfect the scene. At least, Fiorella hopes so. After all, this will probably be Fio's last Halloween in her beloved home. Sigh.
*
It looks like Fiorella, after having about five attempts at e-mailing refused, plus two post-mailed messages, has finally made contact with a woman at University of Texas who might know something about the Rusyn language. Yes, your Fio is that slap-a-daisical about writing down addresses when someone gives them to her by voice, and she is even worse about hitting incorrect computer keys. Her handwriting is very readable, but no one uses that anymore.
*
Needless to say, Fiorella has high hopes for the current political scene. It looks like Trump has stretched himself too far this time, and someone was watching. Jughead can't seem to understand that the US is a democracy, not his personal kingdom to do with what he may.
*
Two Peas in a Pod
Boris and Trump,
A pig and a lump--
Each one went out to play,
Destroyed the reputation
Of his entrusted nation
And called it a good day
*
Son is going to be installing a new phone system tomorrow so that Fio will be in better touch with the rest of the world. It's about time--the current system is sixteen years old.
Tuesday, October 1, 2019
Excuses and Information
I am not dead.
I tried to post a picture early this morning, had problems, then turned the task over to Elder Son, the technological genius who, discovered that half my photos are corrupted, tried to work around them, but couldn't, so I will now tell you about the picture I was trying to post.
It was of young man who was posing naked for our life drawing group. (Yes, we did have male models as well as female.) I did a sketch of his pose, then a pencil portrait--he had a beautifully sensitive face, and I was going to show you both pictures. Maybe later.
Most of us toured the room at break, looking at what each other had done, and I soon realized I was one of the better artists in the group. However, I always covered what I was doing because I didn't want anyone commenting on it.
After about a year, I left the group. Frankly, I was bored. There were only so many ways a body could pose or contort itself, and I'd seen them all, even a masochist who balanced himself with a block under his head and another one under his buttocks. Besides, I was more and more sketching portraits of our models--my first love--rather than bodies.
I tried to post a picture early this morning, had problems, then turned the task over to Elder Son, the technological genius who, discovered that half my photos are corrupted, tried to work around them, but couldn't, so I will now tell you about the picture I was trying to post.
It was of young man who was posing naked for our life drawing group. (Yes, we did have male models as well as female.) I did a sketch of his pose, then a pencil portrait--he had a beautifully sensitive face, and I was going to show you both pictures. Maybe later.
Most of us toured the room at break, looking at what each other had done, and I soon realized I was one of the better artists in the group. However, I always covered what I was doing because I didn't want anyone commenting on it.
After about a year, I left the group. Frankly, I was bored. There were only so many ways a body could pose or contort itself, and I'd seen them all, even a masochist who balanced himself with a block under his head and another one under his buttocks. Besides, I was more and more sketching portraits of our models--my first love--rather than bodies.
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