Bits and Pieces

I've really lost track of time. Read the local rag this morning and it was filled with articles about the Super Bowl. It's played Sunday? Really? And here I am without the ingredients for my world famous Irish kick-ass salsa, and incapable of shopping for same. I suppose I'll need to make a list and have Sweet Wife sally forth. By the way, it's the only football game I ever watch. Now, if firearms were part of the game...I'd be all over it.

I'll need fresh tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, fresh (or pickled) jalapenos, cilantro and other spices. I'll make a base (or rather give instructions to Sweet Wife) of canned tomatoes, to which you should add small amounts of the above and blend into a smooth tasty mess. The vegetables will be chopped and folded into the base along with your basic salt, pepper, coriander seeds, and Tabasco sauce...enough to make a grown man cry. It should be spicy enough to kill the weak, elderly, and all liberals, lip-stick women and metrosexuals.

I make two batches. Place in the refrigerator over night. It should be thick; you should be able to place a chip (I prefer Doritos, the cheese favor really works well with the salsa) into the salsa and it should stay erect. The salsa will gel. The chip is nothing more than a spoon for the salsa.

I've made this salsa for at least thirty-five years. It's so good I once watched my sister eat it with tears streaming down her face...she'd bite, cry, fan her face, dip and bite...I said, "Sis, if it hurts, quit." She took another bite. 

The file picture above is not my salsa...it appears to 'dry.' The base should be liquid, but dense.

In other news...Sweet Wife has been on a cleaning kick this morning. Our home, for the most part, smells of bleach. Not a dust particle in sight. Even in normal times she's a cleaning demon, but now...God help the person that drops a hair on her tile or carpet. She hovers over me like a hen herding its chicks. Bless her heart. She's so tired and won't admit it.

And, I'm clean shaven. Still have my chin beard and mustache, but the rest of my face is clean. It feels so good. My bread is closely cropped...as I like it. I can't help but rub my face. I'm leaner too. I'm a fairly muscled man, so at least I don't appear as if I've dropped too much weight, but trust me, I have. Feels weird.

I'll have daily nurse visits here at home for the foreseeable future. They call ahead and give me a window of their arrival which should give me a bit of free time. Today they will install a wound vacuum system, portable. A unit which I'm told will allow me to attach it to my belt. Even thought I cannot yet stand and walk a great deal, at least I'm able to move for brief periods. Not sure how I'll sleep with the darn thing. I must wear it twenty-two out of twenty-four hours of the day. It's parasitic.

I'm currently reading 'Deep Winter.' Give it a shot. I haven't forgotten my promise to list the books I read while in the hospital, give me time. Also same for my 'thanks and welcome' post. It will be done. Please be patient with me. (No pun intended)

I wish I could hug all you guys...for the men, a man bump. The ladies...God bless you, you've been so sweet. If it were possible I'd take all of you out to dinner.

I mark the hours until the arrival of my Little Bit. Tick, tick, tick. Wish I had a gift for her. I can't wait until I'm able to begin our morning ride to breakfast and school. I love it when I arrive at my son's house - how she runs out the front door and jumps into my arms. That first sweet squeeze of complete love. The way she cuddles her face into my shoulder. Then the way she feels me in on her nights events. Sometimes she'll have a picture she's drawn for me and how she'll watch for my reaction as I look it over. Of course I always tell her it's a masterpiece.

Just glanced over and found Sweet Wife passed out. She was up and at it at 0500 this morning. Makes me feel so awful she's been forced into the roll of caregiver. I'll never be able to repay her, but I'll do my very best.

 
I'd sure enjoy a day on the range...my trigger finger itches.

At least I'm home.

Stephen

Tomorrow Night

Will be perfect for me. I have a date with my heart. She will arrive sometime after 1800. At 1802 she will be in my arms; I will hold her. She will be mine again for two complete blissful hours. I will not release her.

I am at peace.

Stephen

Just Before Dawn

And I've just now switched off my Kindle. Sweet Wife is fast asleep; I envy her. She's cute with the blanket drawn tightly around her shoulders. She's so tired.

My muse fails me. I tried several times in the last few hours to write a couple of short pieces only to find my finger angrily pounding the backspace key. I've asked myself why and had to admit, to blame my pain medication is silly. My muse is tied tightly to my state of mind which isn't well these days. I'm hungry too.

I want to walk under the sun and breath fresh air. I want a bowl of clam chowder, a real cup of coffee. I want to walk the streets of some little village and peek inside a bakery where a rotund flour soaked old man removes a fresh loaf of butter soaked bread from a hot oven and says, "Help yourself."

My emotions are raw and close to the surface. I want the hell out of here. I want to hold my Little Bit. I worry about my business. Literature only takes one so far.

Stephen

Bits and Pieces

Not much time - they come. They're out there, crawling along the hallways. They wait...

I hate to post of my illness. Seems torrid. Yet, I'm stuck. Hopefully I'll be able to escape within a few days. Of course my escape is conditioned upon my agreement for home care. They insist on a vacuum pump, portable, a leash if you will.

Now, on my new follower 'thanks and welcome' post....please be patient. I am reduced to writing on this laptop. It's a nice one, but I hate it. It's sensitive, my fingers are too damn big...and well, I hate it...there. I promise, I will give proper thanks as soon as  possible. I keep my promises. Maybe I'll surprise you, if I have the time today...never know...my photo library is stashed on my office computer, yet, maybe...either way, you will be thanked properly. There is a purple dragon on the wall, see him...drugs...suck.

Hospitals, a few tips.
Bring reading material, a couple of 'old fashioned' paperbacks, a Kindle if you have one. My Kindle is priceless. I've read, between all the bulls&*t, two novels.

Bring little salt, sweetener packets. These meals (chuckle) come with one tiny packet of salt. Example, yesterday there was a piece of chicken breast, a tiny pile of green beans, and a few pieces of limp pasta. Each required seasoning. And, there sat that tiny packet of salt. 

You will not sleep. When the door to your room opens for any visit, scream and yell and insist the critter close it upon their exit. Hospitals are loud. Fight for your rights. Some here fear me. One lady noticed my holster (sans weapon) and made a remark that I probably enjoyed hurting people....I smiled at her, kinda toothy...she hasn't been back. When they respect and fear you, you just might get a few more moments of rest.

Park you dignity at the door. Granted there are some very lovely young nurses that in ordinary circumstances - well, you understand. But in here...with my Sweet Wife in residence...it's well, kinda not cool for my neither regions to shine. Even the head (bathroom) is open territory for rudeness. The suckers just walk the hell in and ask if they can stay a while....just hand over the toilet paper and ask if they'd like to help you wipe. Again, fight for your rights. If medical staff brag through the door, kick their butts out. Train them well. It works. Just yesterday the ASP remarked she thought I was 'just such a sweet man.' I'd yet to snap at her. She'll learn. (hey, really, I am a sweet kinda guy. Not my fault they give me drugs.)

Sorry, drifted off. Serious, drugs are awful. I find myself, as I write this, lost, mind numbed. Thinking requires a bit more effort than normal. Resist as long as possible the pain killers. Morphine is a demon. I hate it. See, reading back on my last couple of lines....all hell. I don't care....

Get the point....like that.

You will lose weight. I came in at 225. I now weight less, and at six foot one, anything less than two hundred pounds and I resemble a bean pole...just deal with it. Some of you, it might just help. I think of it as a tune-up for future battles...

They are close now, I've caught their scent. Wound care. Nice guys...they help me heal. They hurt too.

It'll be a few weeks before I can hold and hug my Little Bit. Received word she isn't happy by the fact her father is driving her to school. A couple of nights ago she was able to visit...at first the duty nurse said no way. Then Sweet Wife jumped into action. She explained to the nurse that she needed to see her Papa, and I wanted to see her. She said it's not good to keep these two separated. Little Bit did her part in the drama by giving over her big brown eyes, tears rolled down her face. The nurse melted. Little Bit was required to dress in protective garments. She was limited to the hallway of my room. The little girl jumped up and down and cried (yes, so did I) and fought her Nana and father in her attempts to run and jump on my bed.

Sweet Wife calmed her down and asked her to throw kisses. I caught 'em like a pro. She asked why...we explained. She said she didn't care if Papa had germs, she wanted them too. (whew) Rip out my soul, why don't 'ya. It hurts.

I want to again thank each and every one of you for all you kind thoughts and prayers. I promise to cease writing about this stuff as soon as possible...a clear mind would help too.

If I have missed any comments please let me know. I will, I promise, answer as soon as possible. Edit work isn't my thing....if I misspelled a word or two, please, over look 'em.

God bless.

Stephen

My Window

To the world gives me a view of the river and the endless sky and the thousands upon thousands of vehicles in an unbroken stream that moves from east to west and beyond. This window is my distraction as they clean and remove the dead tissue.

I count recreational vehicles. During today's session, as the nice man worked, I lost count at fifty one.

He'd look up and say, "Are you okay?"

"Sure." Then relax my grip. The nice man took my hand and said, "I know it hurts."

I asked, "Have you experienced this too?"

"No."

I went back to the view from my window.

Stephen

Still Alive

This will probably be a very quick note. Please understand I am under the influence of a mess of heavy drugs. I am still located on the sixth floor of a major medical center/hospital. This is the first opportunity I've had to connect to the internet, and a mind clear enough to use it.

I want to (thinking here) say 'thank you' to all my dear friends for your outpouring of love and concern for my health. Thank you all for your prayers. They worked.

Long story short, my Sweet Wife saved my life last Friday night, the 27th of January. The surgeon, after a quick glance at my 'wound' told us I had about six hours to live. He told us either allow him to cut, or else. Guess what I said....anyway, luck and my wife were on my side. I'll explain/tell my story later, or not. I'm unsure at the moment.

I'll be here for a while, hopefully not long.

Gotta run, they're here with their whips and chains.

Update: I will post a proper thanks and welcome to my new followers as soon as possible...in the meantime, God bless you and welcome.

Again, thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Stephen

Thanks & Welcome

To my new friend, Bill. I promise, my friend, to answer any comments. It might take me a few hours, or days, but trust me I'll reply.

Bill has a nice blog and business here. Bill teaches firearms training. Take a look and say hello, please. He's one of us.

Again, thanks and welcome Bill. You are now among friends.

Stephen