Category Archives: family

Are you Listening, Tom Hanks? Jeanne Just Made Crazy Comment #349 and It Involves YOU

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I was with Sassy and Jeanne at the infamous Chit Chat diner, where Jeanne lost Bob a few weeks ago in the parking lot. We were companiably eating our lunch (Jeanne and I had ordered identical meals: the Greek Wrap, which came with seasoned fries) and I said to her, “Mah, you know what I watched the other day? Cast Away. It was so good.”

Jeanne paused and said, “Yeah. How can you not love Goldie Hawn?”

There was a moment of silence while Sassy collapsed in laughter. Seriously, I thought she was going to pee in her pants.

“Mah, you mean Overboard?” I queried.

Goldie, you are fabulous but you were not in Cast Away!

“What, what?” Jeanne asked, after slurping her water noisily. “What are you girls laughing at? Why are you two always laughing?”

HELP! I think I Am Turning into Wiggles

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Why, do you ask?

Look at the shoes I just bought:

Yep, I bought these Shoes. And I LOVE THEM.

They’re Easy Spirits. I had to have something more comfortable to wear on my walk to and from my job. Look at them! They’re bulky, they’re dorky…they’re NOT ATTRACTIVE.

But they are like slippers! I can slide right into them and they have a lovely zipper! So I don’t have to fuss with laces!

Even the girls at the Easy Spirit store had to search for something appropriate to say when I tried them on. “They’re nerdy, aren’t they?” I asked.

“Well, they’re no fashion statement,” one of them admitted.

But they rang up as $10 less than the already-listed sales price. So to me, it was proof from God that I had made the right decision.

The only thing that bothers me is that they belong the same shoe-tree, shall we say, as most of Wiggles’ triple-wide, style-free, slab-like footwear.  Go ahead, Wiggles, sputter in indignation. You know it’s true.

What’s next? Elastic waist pants?

Jeanne Insisted I got Food Poisoning from Eating Clementines, but She Was Wrong. I ended up in the ER.

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Monday started out as a delightful day. Then I came back from lunch and my stomach started to clench up. By the time I got home from a dinner that featured me turning greener and greener, I knew something horrible was going to happen. And it did, at about 10pm that night. Non-stop barfing until 2am, at which time I was just too tired to throw up anymore. I laid on the bed groaning as my stomach continued to cramp in pain and bile threatened to appear. It was horrible. (I must confess, however, that I did watch a lot of TV. The SAG wrap up on FASHION POLICE and two episodes of each of FRIENDS and SEINFELD.)

Jeanne thought it was the 5 clementines I ate (they are so cute and tasty, you can’t eat just one!) but I knew little citrus sweeties couldn’t do to me what was happening to my insides.

Once 6am rolled around (really it didn’t “roll around.” I was looking at the clock to time the pain like it was a labor contraction. Every two minutes, between 2 and 6AM).  I needed help, and fast. The doorman saw me stagger out and asked what was wrong.

“I’m going to the ER,” I croaked.

He just nodded pleasantly and held the door open. God forbid he should help me FLAG A CAB, for god’s sake.

Believe it or not, there was NO line at the ER of New York Presbyterian Hospital, now known to me as THE GREATEST HOSPITAL IN NY.

I told the Intake Nurse I might throw up. She handed me a pink bucket and continued her line of questioning. Then she threw me onto a stretcher next to the Nurse’s Station. Another nurse took my blood pressure (with the arm that wasn’t clutching the bucket, that is) and popped an IV into my veins. Then she asked me if I wanted anti-nausea meds. “YES” I gasped. “Yes, please, for the love of God!”

That’s the last thing I remember until I saw this face over my stretcher, aka Heaven:

Dreamy Dr. Stern, who made the Pain Go Away

Dr. Stern asked me what happened, and I told him I suspected food poisoning. “My mother thinks it’s from the clementines I ate.”

“Really?” he said, stifling his laughter. “Let’s see what the blood tests say. I’m also going to give you morphine to help your stomach relax.”

Morphine? I immediately perked up, partially in fear, partially in excitement. I’d never had morphine!

They started the drip and it was, of course, at that moment that the insurance coordinator came over to check my Blue Cross Card and ask if I wanted to handle the co-pay now or later. Then he held up a clipboard with about 8 different forms to sign. By the end of it, I think what he got out of me resembled an X more than an actual signature. What did I care? I was in a morphine dreamland, which had me snoozing while people were coming in with strokes and heart attacks.

When the tests came back I was diagnosed with viral gastroenteritis, aka the stomach flu. Since then I have been on a steady diet of bananas and chicken soup, with the occasional ginger ale when I’m feeling wild. It wasn’t the clementines after all! One of Dr. Jeanne’s rare medical missteps. All I can say is, many, many thanks to the ER staff at NY Presbyterian. It’s my new go-to place whenever I’m in need of some good ER attention!

I Hurt My Back Again

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There’s no other way to say it. I was carrying a chair down the 3 measly steps in my apartment that lead to the living room. My legs got tangled in the legs of the chair and the next thing I knew, I was lying on my back with the chair still in my arms. Pancake ran in to deliver some Doggy First Aid, aka lots of licks.

I minced over to the couch and called my personal physician, Jeanne. She flew into action.

“Did you twist in any way?”

“Did you bump your head?”

“Are you hands bruised?”

“Do you feel dizzy?”

She then prescribed Ibuprofen and said if the pain got worse I should go to the ER. Her final words?  ”MOVE SLOWLY, FOR CHRISSAKES!”

I pretty much looked like this.

So it’s been a few days and I am feeling better, though it seems like my tailbone is bruised. (Go ahead, Wiggles. I know this is your cue to tell the “amusing” tale about how you and my other siblings traumatized me when I was a small child, by saying Mah and Dad found me under a bridge and then shaved my fur and clipped my tail and I just looked just like a human baby).

I’ll keep you posted. Meanwhile, every time I hit those stairs, I try to walk like there are books balanced on my head. Is it weird? You bet. But at least I am still upright.

Crazy Jeanne Comment #405

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She would be really mad that I am posting this because she's not wearing any makeup. But here she is, our beloved Jeanne Adele.

 

 

I called Jeanne last night. I said, “How are you feeling?”

She responded, “No, it’s not snowing out.”

After that, let’s face it: there wasn’t much more to say.

DATELINE San Francisco: Wiggles Eats with A Bib!

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Awaiting a scallion pancake, Wiggles fastens her napkin with authentic dental clips.

 

No sooner had I landed in San Francisco than the whole kit and kaboodle boogied over to Chinatown restaurant extraordinaire, the House of Nan King. We had ordered the whole left part of the menu, much to the wriggling delight of the waitress who clearly recognized the Lord & Master as soon as we all ambled in (or ran, in my case. I was freezing! I am always freezing in San Francisco.)

As Wiggles chattered away, she blithely whipped something out her purse, then clipped her napkin to a pair of dental clips, like the ones the hygienist uses to clamp the bib on during a cleaning.

“Where did you get those?” I asked.

“The dentist!” Wiggles proudly confirmed. “WHAT?! They keep my shirt clean!”

Don’t believe me? See above visual proof.

Fasten Your Seatbelts, Readers: I am Going to San Francisco

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I am going to the City By the Bay, Baby!!

I am hopping a big white bird to San Francisco to visit Wiggles & Company the day after Christmas. I look forward to eating myself into a stupor on a daily basis and watching movies around the clock (Hello, WHITE CHRISTMAS!).  I have also begged Wiggles to do some sight-seeing which she has agreed to, albeit reluctantly. Hee hee. Stay tuned for new posts, arguments, giggles, and transcripts of nonstop phone calls from Jeanne asking in her inimitable style, WHERE ARE YOU?

It Is the Day of My Dear Daughter’s Birth

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The Lord & Master and I truly won the Parent Lottery.

Being the Mother of Sassafrass has been – and still is – the greatest joy of my life. As the Lord & Master says, Sassy is proof that 2 wrongs can make a right. She exceeds us in every way and exhibits a charm and graciousness not found in any blood relative. (Sorry, Hot Pants, but, let’s face it, it’s true.)

Happy Birthday, My Darling Girl. It was worth the 33 hour labor and vomiting bile and not being able to move my own legs. I love to live in your shadow.

Enjoying the pool during a stay in N'awlins.

When people used to ask if we were considering having a second child, I’d say, “Oh, we can’t. I have to take care of Sassafrass’s hair.”

Of course, the true reason is that she drained the gene pool, and we were afraid to see the dregs she left taking human form. In other words, we stopped at perfection.

I may be the happiest mother in the world.

Happy Birthday, Sassy, my sweetheart.

She's the only person I know who spends her birthday at an annual Tibetan Meditation Retreat. Om on, m'lady. May all your dreams come true.

Jeanne: “This is a NIGHTMARE”

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cc via flickr user max_katz

This was the recurring theme I heard from Jeanne when, out of the goodness of my heart, I drove her and Sassy to the Boston suburbs last weekend to see our relatives. Jeanne kept saying it was a nightmare because we hit horrible traffic once we got off the Mass Pike. What should have been 2o more minutes became an hour, with Jeanne repeating her above mantra while clearing her throat and questioning my navigation choices.

This really made me mad.

Especially since as the recent survivor of a nasty back injury, it wasn’t exactly the greatest thing to be driving for five hours while simultaneously looking for a deli that Jeanne wanted to go to but couldn’t remember the actual (or approximate) location. But she knew it was off one of 6 different highways we took. “I could go for a corned beef sandwich,” Jeanne piped up from the back seat. “Couldn’t you?”

That was before we hit the traffic. During that tense 60 minutes, I did a thorough and scathing self-inventory and decided that NEVER NEVER again will I agree to drive Jeanne to Boston 1. as the only driver (This means, Sassy, that you MUST get a license) and 2. on a Friday afternoon.

I’m just telling you, Mah, you weren’t the only one having a bad dream that day. Yeesh.

A Coat for 11 Cents!

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Fetching, isn't it?

I just got a coat for 11 cents. That’s right, 11 cents. I bought it last weekend when up in Boston with Jeanne, Sassy, and the Stoughton Mass cousins. Cousin Bill (aka Willy Boy) took Sassy and me on a bargain hunting trip at various vintage spots which he has sworn me not to reveal. Let me just tell you that this lovely full length black and white herringbone was marked as $11 which, let’s face it, would be a steal. But the woman, concerned about Red Sox off-season shenanigans, wasn’t paying attention and charged me 11 cents. Needless to say, I ran out of the store like a madwoman. Of course, it cost me $20 to dry clean the thing, cause God knows who wore it before me. But it’s still a deal! “You should wear it with a big red belt!” Jeanne advised me, while wiggling her eyebrows wildly.

This coup was almost as good as Enid’s latest buy at Bloomingdale’s, which involved a pair of designer jeans she bought for one cent. ONE CENT! I’m not sure how this happened (and frankly, neither is Enid), but that’s a deal. And I don’t think she had to have them dry-cleaned before wearing them!