Stuck in the ’70s — It’s About Time You Came Back!

I’m sitting up and taking nourishment. That’s what they say in the south when you’re recuperating. I’ve been “all stove up.” They also say that.

Don had brain surgery a year and a half ago and walked it off the next day with a small incision on his inner thigh. My heel looks like a segment of baseball, all stitched up.

He’s done well, putting up with the whining, although I don’t think I’ve done all that much of that. And, I think I’m starting to kick into the less whining, more action phase. I can now sit up at the computer without my foot turning into a football. So, I’m looking forward to working on the site. I’ve gotten a bunch of great suggestions over the past few months, and I intend to expand on them. However, I am using playing with my Web site as a personal reward for accomplishing things around the house.

The day before yesterday, I was able to lean on the kitchen counter, putting the weight on my left foot, whilst cleaning the countertops and sink. Yesterday, I tidied up my computer area and the front room around the sitting area. I want to get the whole house tidied, bit by bit, over the next few weeks as I’m able.

While I’ve been unable to sit up at the computer and type in my blog, I’ve been writing in a good, old-fashioned journal like those I had when I was a teen. You know … the bound, hardback, blank-paged, lined books? It’s been fun. And none of it is going on the Internet. But it sure does make me hope that I can find those diaries from the 1980s. I have in my sight the ones from the 1990s, but the ’80s are in a separate suitcase somewhere on this half-acre (if that) tract.

One site visitor sent me an e-mail yesterday telling me that the scuttlebutt is the next “American Girl” movie will be made about Julie, the ’70s chick. Now, that would be cool. Don suggested I get onto Variety.com. Those people will surely need a consultant.

I’ve been observing the cats while I’ve been home the past week. They mostly sleep, of couse. But, in the evenings, they get “the run arounds.” And, they have an established routine, apparently based on what Don & I do that week. They adapt to the changing work schedules, and they know when to tell us to give them a damn can of cat food.

The day of the surgery (as it shall from here on out be known), Don mowed the grass while I was resting. I thought I could get the cane and make my way out on the porch to visit when he got done and enjoy Tiki Time. Well, it would have liked to have killed me (they say that in the south too) to get out to the porch in the first place. When I got out there, I had a helluva time getting set (?) down, and then I tried to prop my foot up on the porch railing between Tikis. It was frickin’ hot out there. Scully came up to say “Howdy.” Don turned off the mower and asked what the hell I was thinking, what with my severe allergies to cut grass and propensity to faint in the heat (oh my, I’ve got the vapors!). So, I got my ass up and went back to the couch.

That was the last time I saw Scully. It was a Tuesday. I talked to my brother, Mike, on the phone after that, and he had said he’d like to come over Saturday and bring a Creeple Peeple set he’d won on E-bay. Because I couldn’t get up and about, he thought that would be a fun way to spend an afternoon — making Creepy Crawlers in the ol’ Mattel Thingmaker. The only better way to spend an afternoon with my brother is to drag out the Charlie Brown coloring books and the box of 64 Crayolas, along with one of those white eraser pencils with a brush on its ass, some White Out and a black Bic ink pen. We’d be changing Linus into Boy George and Charlie Brown into ET the Extraterrestrial.

I told Mike I knew exactly where the Thingmaker and molds he gave me one Christmas long ago were, along with the new Thingmaker for sissies and all the new Goop I’d gotten from Toys R Us. It’s always been in the new Thingmaker box in Vincent’s closet. We’d play with it some, then neatly put it all back in the closet with the rest of the favorite games like Life, Clue and Monopoly. Well, it wasn’t there Saturday. I told Mike, if it wasn’t there, it’s possible one of the boys put it in the “wood shed.” No one can find anything in the wood shed. Mike decided he wanted to try to scan the refuse.

As he was turning the key in the door latch of the wood shed, he heard a faint “meow.” He got the door open, and lo and behold, it was Scully. She’d been in there at least 96 hours. The actual temperature outside was 100 degrees. Inside that shed, with no open window or ventilation, who knows? I have no moral for this story, boys and girls. All I know is, 3 years ago, I had 9 cats. Now, I have 3. Of course, 2 of them are with my sons. So, between us, we still have the 5. But, I’ve lost four cats in three years. Kinda sucks. So, there’s much rejoicing in Scully’s Survivorcat episode. Above is a pic of her taken last month (by me).

Well, I’d better quit here. I’ve got more things I need to do on the computer before Don gets off work. And, I’m going to try to get into the kitchen, lean on the fridge and make some enchiladas.

I’ll plan to be back tomorrow and every day, working on Stuck in the ’70s to give you a place to keep coming back to. I’m looking forward to getting those videos from the home movies in the ’70s on here for ya.

Later,
Julie
15:11 CDT 07/22/08