Archive | March 2011

One More Time!

I’m moving again next weekend. Yep, you read that correctly. *sigh* Someone please shoot me already.

The cool part?

~ Newly remodeled apartment, no pet deposit, no cleaning deposit, and it’s on the ground floor.

The bad part?

~ I’m moving again.

~ There’s also the fact that it’s ALL tile floors. Have I mentioned Moon can’t walk on tile? I bought a rug for the living room a couple of weeks ago. Still need a runner for the hallway.

I also need male bodies to carry my furniture down. Okay, mainly the television because it’s so fucking huge. If I could afford to replace it, I’d just leave it and let one of the workers have it when they come to gut this apartment. *sigh* Down the road.

But right now, I’m visiting with my Unca T, who happens to be here for a month. Too bad he can’t help me move. *grins*

Once this move is over, I’m stuck for a year. Well, at least I’ll have all new appliances and everything.

ZSC and RIP should be doing well by the time I’m ready to move next year, where I’ll be looking for a house near g-ma’s.



Yorkshire Pudding

This recipe is an old one, passed down to me by my maternal grandmother, passed to her by who knows in my ancestral line. G-ma Ethel always made this when she’d slow-cook a roast, and it’s a family favorite. It is, however, quite greasy, so we didn’t have it often.

This is a fairly simple recipe.


Yorkshire Pudding



1 cup milk

1 cup flour

½ teas salt

2 eggs, well beaten with milk

Speck of pepper (sorry, this is how my g-ma measured)

11 x 7 x 1 ½ pan

Grease the pan (with shortening) and pre-heat oven to 450˚. Sift flour and salt together. Gradually stir in milk and egg mixture. Beat with egg beater (or whisk) until smooth. Pour into pan. Bake 25 to 30 minutes.

You can also use a muffin pan, like in this photo.



Vive bene, spesso l’amore, di risata molto!

(live well, love much, and laugh often)


It’s been an unexpectedly emotionally draining day.

My grandmother is in a nursing home right now. She’s been back and forth between there and the hospital ever since she fell and broke her knee early January. This was the first time I’d been able to visit her in the home, having seen her at the hospital once. She’s jumped back and forth so many times, I’ve had to ask where she was before going to visit or call. At one point, she was somewhere in Chandler and I just couldn’t drive out that far at the time. Right now, she’s off the Loop 101 on the border of Mesa/Tempe/Chandler. I have to say I’m less than impressed with the place. In fact, I’m downright disgusted.

Today, her words were muffled, mumbled phrases I could only understand half of as I strained to listen while she spoke. I did catch the sorrow, though. It nearly killed me. She’s losing her will to live.

“Why is God punishing me?” was one question in the midst of several similar phrases. “I must have done something awful.”

“He’s not punishing you, grandma. You haven’t done anything awful,” I tried to reassure while holding her hand. But how do you tell a woman who’s lying there, unable to move, who’s in pain, who can’t yet go home because she hasn’t done her physical therapy, that God isn’t punishing her?

“It feels like He is,” she said.

I’m pretty damn certain it does because I’ve felt that before. I understand the pain she’s in, both physically and spiritually.

“Trials and tribulations, grandma,” I said. “It’s just a part of life.”

God isn’t punishing her. Life is the bitch that punishes. She’s the one who takes away your dignity in your final moments. I don’t quite understand the reason for it, but it’s like we have this final stage of pain and humiliation to pass through before we can move forward. I don’t want my grandmother to die like this, in this hellhole as the last of her humanity is stripped from her by morons who don’t give a fuck about her because she’s just another patient in a room.

My grandfather, who’s been gone for 35 years, wouldn’t want her end to be like this either, and neither would my father, who passed away the day after Thanksgiving last year. They’re both watching over her right now.

I tried not to let her see my tears because the whole visit was causing a flashback of when my maternal grandmother passed away in 2003. It was the nursing home’s fault. They killed her.

Apparently this home has almost killed my grandmother twice now. We’d like to not give them a third chance.

I called my uncle as soon as Umi and I left. He’s in Oklahoma, and I wanted him to hear the perspective of someone who isn’t trying to keep her in a home, who isn’t trying to gain anything from her being there, and who is not one fucking bit happy that she’s there and being treated the way she is!

By 3 p.m., no one from physical therapy had been by to see her yet, and she doesn’t even get PT on the weekend. When she asks about it, they reply with “well, we have twenty-six patients.” Excuse me? She’s one of your twenty-six goddamn patients. They get her out of bed, put her in a chair, and leave her there for a couple of hours. Tell me exactly how this is therapy. I know she needs to sit up periodically, but seriously? What. The. Fuck? Is she being a stubborn patient?

G-ma also has asthma and the a/c unit in her room has a dirty filter, so she’s having trouble breathing even though she’s on oxygen.

I asked Unca T if there was any way possible to have home care for her. We’re looking into it, but right now she needs 24/7 care. We don’t see how that’s possible. Tuesday or Wednesday I’m going back to the nursing home to speak with a few people. Cousin S may be all peachy fucking keen with putting her parents in a home, but I’m not down with that for g-ma after seeing her today. She needs to be in her home, with her things, where people who care about her are before the nursing home kills her. The insurance should completely cover home care. The decision, of course, belongs to my aunt and uncle, her children, and as her granddaughter, I’m standing by them and whatever decision they make.

And if I have to get in someone’s face and scream at the top of my lungs, so help me God, I will. My voice will not be silent in this family. It was for too many years.

She’s the only grandparent I have left, and I will not allow her to be treated like this or to die like this!

Maybe I’m overreacting. Maybe I’m not. On the off chance I’m not, I need to investigate the matter. My aunt can’t be there physically and my uncle is in another state. No one outside of cousin S and my stepmother have really visited her.

Excuse me while I adjust the weight already on my shoulders. I need to make room for one of my most important things in the world–my g-ma.

Pray for my sanity and pray for my g-ma. We’ll both need it.



Kitty’s Applebottom Pork Chops

My dear friend Kitty made this for us one night and I just can’t get over how delicious this recipe is! You MUST try it!

Applebottom Pork Chops

Photo credit: Jinxie G


4-6 boneless pork chops

5-6 green apples

1 stick of butter

½ cup of brown sugar (at least enough to cover the top of the apples)

Preheat oven to 375 degrees. Peel and slice apples.

Caramelize the apples in a large skillet by sprinkling brown sugar over the top of them and place a stick of butter in frying pan.

Rinse pork chops and place in baking dish. Pour caramelized apples over pork chops. Cover with dish’s lid or foil and place in oven.

Bake for 30 minutes and check temperature with meat thermometer. Pork should reach a minimum of 160 degrees before it’s done. It may need another 10 minutes, depending on how hot your oven bakes.

Serve with a scoop of apples over the top of the pork chop.


Vive bene, spesso l’amore, di risata molto!

(live well, love much, and laugh often)



Someone did something special for me last Thursday. They took care of my dog when I couldn’t. They are “fostering” her so she could have a vet check-up and can get medication for her hip dysplasia. The shots I’m paying for because I’ll feel bad if I don’t cover something. I’m also not certain how much this vet visit cost. I used to have pet insurance for all of my animals, so I haven’t seen real prices in some time. Needless to say, I’m looking for more freelance work. But my Moon has an angel right now that I’m extremely thankful for, especially since she’s been very sick this week.

Moon is doing well. We have antibiotics for her and began the Meloxicam to treat her hip dysplasia. She also has a lump on her left underbelly near her ribs that’s about the size of a kumquat or cherry, but the vet said it’s probably just a fatty tumor and nothing to worry about right now. I just need to keep an eye on it. Other than all of that, she’s fine and even got a pedicure.

I’ve had many angels in my lifetime. Some have been family; others, friends. I don’t talk about it a lot because I don’t know what to say or how to express how deeply appreciative I am for what they’ve done for me. They’ve all helped me in so many different ways. So if you’re one of my angels, a thousand thank yous. When I can again, I’ll pay you back or pay it forward, whether or not we’re still speaking to one another.

I’ve been an angel too. I definitely don’t talk about that because I don’t think it’s appropriate, so unless you’re someone I’ve helped who knows this is true about me, you’ll never hear of it outside of this one statement. I usually do this kind of thing anonymously. My only regret right now is that I can’t help much these days, but I’m working toward getting to that place again soon.

So if you’ve been an angel to someone, thank you. And if you haven’t had the chance to be an angel yet, give it a try. You’d be surprised at how little it takes to make a big difference in someone’s life.