Before memory:

My grandparents came to visit Texas both when I was born and then again when my sister came into the world. I remember the latter visit to a small extent.
Don’t all the grown-ups look dapper?
Doesn’t my grandma have an intense look? Not mean, just, meaningful.
And check out my ride. Did I know how to pick a stylish tricycle or what?

(I sure miss my grand-folks.)

What more can you expect from a town obsessed with space travel? I mean, we have the Rockets and the Astros, why not a rocket for kids to play astronaut on?
Notice the small opening to crawl through to get to the tippy-top? There is no way that large parents could follow their offspring up there. Gotta love old un-child-safe playgrounds.

Cute, right?
And can I just that I like the outdoor carousels much more than the ones inside malls? (Cuz I do.)

Do you remember back in the day when they had plaster casts? I sure do.
I also remember the day this photo was taken– it was the day I had to hang that heavy leg over the edge of my bed for a few hours before the doctor came in, sawed a window into my cast, and pulled out my stitches. If you’ve never felt it, it is a really weird sensation. I can’t say I recommend it.

I apologise for my lack of updates – a couple of times I started to write but couldn’t. The most depressing part of travelling is coming home, especially if it is premature. What’s more, I have been in and out of hospital with my leg as I acquired an infection - cellulitis, not the same a cellulite, thank god - which needed treating IV for a while too.

For the first few days I was home, I dwelled and was angry. Today, I still can’t face any travel journals, Paul Theroux books, or leafing through friend’s travel photos on Facebook. I am, however, over the inital disappointment and am trying to see this as a different type of important life experience, after all, it is a learning curve. It is strange not to be able to walk, it is like a portal to the future, when I am old and grey. It is interesting though, and I think I will come out of this a better person.

Life isn’t so bad on the travel front either. For a time my boyfriend and I were considering all sorts:  Texas, Mexico, Libya. In the end however, due to limited time on his part, we found a perfect 8 day deal on The Gambia. In fact, we found it about 3′o clock yesterday night, and booked it this morning! All very sudden, but Africa here I come!

As for Central America…and Ecuador. I have decided I cannot face Ecuador for a while at least. The accident has put me off, rather ridiculously as it wasn’t the country itself that was the problem. Nevertheless, I think it will be a few years until I return. Central America I am still looking to do in January after my return from Africa. As long as I can get some money from a job that doesn’t require legs… I still lost quite a lot of cash, even with my insurance.

All being well, the doctor thinks the cast will be off in just over 2 weeks, the infection had cleared up, and I am actually booked and committed to an amazing holiday. Things are looking up, I have no reason to complain – what happened was annoying, but in a way I am glad it happened,  it has been a difficult yet interesting experience that I have gained a lot from.

Thus, I plan to live by a favourite Pindar quote and life motto of mine: ”the best of healers, is good cheer.” A good one I think

Poor Radim (AKA Brand Nu).  He spent his Halloween Eve in the hell that is THE HOSPITAL!  with a broken leg… how did it happen?:

“[I was] running in wrong direction down the stairs at Wimbledon, trying to dodge the people on my way to a party.  Only two steps away from getting it right!”

So, lesson learnt?  Will you ever run for a train again, Radim?

“Will I f**k!? “

We at jelly all wish him a swift recovery and a happy 6 weeks in an attractive plaster-cast – get well soon!!

If you’re on twitter, we suggest you all send your happy thoughts to him @brand_nu

It’s Halloween. I am stuck inside on a reasonably nice day in Oregon with two very sick children. The oldest, 9 year old girl, has a confirmed case of Swine Flu and the youngest, a 6 year old girl, has Bronchitis. I have a fever and no other symptoms. Hubbie is on a business trip and doesn’t get back until tomorrow. And I am slowly being overcome by panic, hoping we get healthy by Wednesday night.

You see, the countdown is in its final days. Friday is it. Surgery number three to repair my knee. And I don’t want to postpone it. I’ve waited too long for this day to come.

Back in February I was playing recreational soccer on Friday nights with a great group of women. I was the Keeper and I was just getting back my mojo from my youth.  I had played Goalie for years in High School in Brazil both on the Soccer Team and the Handball Team.

Here in Oregon, we were indoors, where the game is fast and furious and in this country – you play on carpet inside a hockey rink arena instead of on a basketball court. I didn’t realize how insane playing on carpet was until afterwards.

I came out of the goal to defend against a player running towards me and none of my defenders were in sight. She had broken free and it was just me in her way. As I ran forward and bobbed and weaved to try to block her, my foot got caught in the carpet. It stopped me dead in my tracks. And later I learned that right at that instant, another player from the other team ran in to me. She hit me hard in the right thigh. And next thing I remember, I was down. I was on my side, holding my leg together – it was now in two pieces as the tibia and fibula had completely separated from the knee. And I was yelling – “call 911″. I knew it was bad.

I have birthed two children. Before those blessed drugs kicked in, I experienced the pain of childbirth. Let’s just say that the pain of having your knee dislocated trumps childbirth. I wondered why I couldn’t pass out. All I could do was feel pain. And then I realized my teeth were chattering and I was quickly going into shock.

So that was the day my world changed. Long story short – I had fractured the tibial plateau, torn nearly every ligament in my knee, damaged my miniscus and damaged the peritoneal nerve.  In the ER, they relocated the bones immediately to ensure I didn’t lose blood flow to the lower leg.  A few days later, I was headed to surgery.

The first surgery put the fractured bone back together. I needed a metal plate and 8 screws to get it back together again. I spent 6 weeks laying around the house, unable to walk on it and, for all intents and purposes was made a prisoner, as driving was out of the question. I missed Spring Break in Florida with my family and spent the time at home with friends popping in and out to keep me company. Slowly I recovered – thankful for the pool – where I re-learned how to walk.

The knee was very unstable, the ankle locked up, but I walked. Then came the news that one of the screws was backing out and could eventually block my ability to bend my knee. Surgery #2 took place in June after school let out. The hardware was removed and the one screw that was supposedly backing out was left in. It was stuck and refused to come out.  I have spent the summer and early fall getting stronger, working on rebuilding the atrophied calf and quad muscles and am doing quite well getting around.  I have to think about every step, ensure my foot is perfectly lined up under my body to avoid slippage of the bones.

Surgery #3 is on Friday. I will finally get the ligament reconstruction I so desperately need to be able to do more than walk slowly forward in a straight line. I hope to get a PCL, a MCL and maybe an ACL rebuilt out of cadaver Achilles tendon. I get to spend another 6 weeks without walking and then months rehabbing.

The goal is to run the Susan Komen race here in Portland in September of 2010. Wish me luck! We just need to get healthy.  Damn the germs and swine flu.

Alright, folks, you know the rules. Join us all in humiliating the crap out of yourself every Thursday by sharing some completely tasteless, wholly unclassy, “how many readers can I estrange THIS week??” TMI story about your life. Or hell, about someone else’s!

Full disclosure this is not a personal story. That’s right I stole it. I’ll pause while you gasp and shake your head disapprovingly. Some gasping/shaking your head disapprovingly viewing: Not so much for the faint hearted. I mean nobodies leg should ever do that!

Okay back to our regularly scheduled program. I decided to go with this story because it is pretty funny. I’ve justified using this persons story without asking them with the fact that A.) They told this to a group of their horrified coworkers and B.) There will be no way someone will get it who it is unless they’ve heard the story.So this guy who is we’ll say in his forties decides to regal us of a story of what he thought was going to be his greatest feat ever. There will be quotes but only some of them will be real.

“So I’m like 26 right and I got this broad that you know she’s cute and all. I mean we bang and all that but she’s really just on the side kind of thing. Her HAMS

(yeah he called her boobs hams!)

are out to here. I mean giant. So one day we’re banging—well just fooling around at first. Playing with her hams

(why??)

and all getting it all ready and shit. The problem is my dick it just won’t really get all the way hard. I’m freaking out down there and shit but won’t let her at it. So I keep at her hams and I’m rubbing her good down there, and when she tries to get in my pants I do something drastic. I head down south on her you know? I go to town on her down there—she really freaking gets happy cause I would never do it for her before

(what a caring lover)

but I had to. So after minutes of that she says fuck my ass. Well that wakes me up and of course I do. So I bang her right and then I cum way too fast and all her back, but she didn’t care. We kind of rest and it’s still up so we get back at it. I’m on top of her now and slamming away. Harder than ever. I mean she’s screaming and I’m sweating. I just can’t cum, so I keep slamming away and then its building in me you know? So I pound away. I don’t even see her anymore I’m just pounding. She feels more cushiony (I think he used cushiony it may have been something else but pretty sure it was cushiony) than ever. Anyway as I’m thinking this is the greatest fuck I’ll ever give she says Are you still in? I blink still thrusting and look down. I’m fucking her bed, that’s when I came on her cat. That little shit always tried to stay on the bed when we fucked.

This disturbed me on so many levels it’s not even funny. The way he ended the story (as it is here) really made it sound like he had been accidentally fucking her cat, but he assured us that was not the case. Apparently it went something like this:

We are approaching one full month of living in our new home and the project box is almost empty.  After moving in, we bought so many things that we needed to repair or replace and we put everything in one big box.  The only problem was that there were not enough hours in a day or week to do many of them.  There is still a list of 20 items or more of various things to do.  We can live in our home comfortably, but in the meantime, we will have to tolerate things like doors that stick and gutters full of leaves. 

I don’t quite feel settled in yet.  That feeling comes on and lasts about 20 minutes, but then it is forgotten.  I do not know when I will feel like this is home.  I think I am just overwhelmed with our dog, Bodie, and caring for him.  He has stopped taking his antibiotics and pain medicine.  Mainly because he hates taking it.  We first gave his medicine to him in his food, then he stopped eating his food.  Next, we opened his mouth to put the pills down his throat then gave him a treat for taking it.  He then would growl and nip at our hands when we tried to give him his pills and he wouldn’t take a treat from us.  It is probably because he associated the treats with the pills.  I am sure he feels crummy and that is another reason why he isn’t eating.  He has lost some weight through this whole ordeal.  This concerns me, but the flip side to this is that he is a little lighter to carry when I take him outside.   Tonight, Bodie ate our leftover salmon without hesitating so I plan to buy a few cans of salmon tomorrow for him to eat.

Here is Bodie outside.  He pulls himself along with his front legs and slowly tries to use his back good leg (which is underneath him).  He can go fairly far across the yard, but it wears him out.

Bodie with his broken left leg. 

My husband and I made a special purchase, a piece of art work.  It is a watercolor painted by an old college friend of mine.  He has an exhibit going on through October and when I saw this painting there, I knew I had to have it.  This painting has some significance and meaning to me and I told my friend that I could not bear the thought of anyone else owning it.  Back in the spring, my friend came over for dinner and he brought with him three avocados for me to use for guacamole.  Before I made the guacamole, he sliced them and carried them out to our sidewalk and took several photographs.  He then spent the next few months creating the painting “Avocados.”

It is very nice having this piece of art in our new home.  It is a little bit of the old home in with our new home. 

“Avocados” by Robert Stanfield

“Avocados” in our dining room.

Trick or Treating with a Child that Cann
ot WalkYour child’s leg is broken right before Halloween, and is quite upset at the prospect of no candy. Don’t “fear” there are ways around this. Your child can still enjoy the childhood fun of Halloween without too much pressure on either them or you.

http://www.associatedcontent.com/article/2280129/trick_or_treating_with_a_child_that.html?cat=74

In the olden days of Los Frios the entire town owned a single pair of shoes. When someone needed to go into the nearby city of San Juan they would take the single pair of shoes sling them around their shoulders by the laces and walk to the city. After crossing miles of rough terrain on foot they would reach the final river before entering the city. The rivers name translates from Spanish into English as, ”Wash your feet here.” There the traveler would wash his feet, put the shoes on, and strut proudly into town wearing the borrowed shoes.

I finally saw him swaggering in with an overstuffed camping pack on his back.

Saturday, September 5, 2009 9:45am I stood near the window of the cafe on the second floor overlooking the waiting area at Caribe Tours. Byron would be showing up any minute now. Eight-thirty had turned into nine and finally almost ten o’clock I was beginning to wonder what had happened to him. I went out front to smoke a cigarette finished up and walked back inside the air conditioned terminal to the waiting area on the first floor. At about eight minutes until ten I finally saw him swaggering in with an overstuffed camping pack on his back. As soon as he removed the floppy brown brimmed hat I was absolutely sure.

A couple of German tourists held him up at the airport, he explained. They split a cab into the city so he could drop them off at Pension Quisqueya where he recommended they stay. The fare for the couple came to six hundred Dominican Pesos, they only had eight US Dollars not even enough to cover half of what they owed, no Euros, nothing, just their word. “We can send you money.” They promised. The card he gave them had printed on it, Byron Holcomb, Young Tree Coffee. It would be nice if they would. With just minutes to spare we boarded up the next bus heading North toward San Juan making our way to Los Frios.

A single electric bulb sent sharp deep golden rays shining from the slats in the windows of Antonio’s house.

Saturday, September 5, 2009 6:30pm At near sunset Antonio, Byron’s farm manager and good friend, led us to the edge of one property near his house where the cell phone reception is clearest. The golden light was spilling onto Byron, Antonio, and all of the children following close behind. Another man showed up and the three of them discussed matters of the farm.

The sunset view from where they all stood looked over Byron’s property in the valley below. You could see the tall shade trees in a dense thicket which formed part of his farm. After wards the sun went down and the misty clouds made ghosts of everyone. A single electric bulb sent sharp deep golden rays shining from the slats in the windows of Antonio’s house. Eventually we walked back in the dark Byron lighting up the path with his blueish LED headlamp.

His broken leg was propped up on the couch covered with a blanket

Sunday, September 6, 2009 6:00pm “Euplina is telling me about the way things used to be in Los Frios.” Byron spoke with a wide grin on his face between one of her stories. I was listening politely but do could not understand most of what she was saying I continued eating the dinner that she had cooked for us rice and beans, boiled plantains and yukka. After dinner we all joined Lin, Euplinas husband, in their living room. His broken leg was propped up on the couch covered with a blanket, underneath crude looking bolts and screws were driven deep into the bone like someone had built a scaffolding around his limb with an erector set.

The couple who appeared to be in their sixties recounted old stories about Los Frios concerned that they might bore us. Byron however could spend hours with Lin and Euplina, and he has, having lived in Los Frios for two years as a Peace Corp volunteer. “The first time I met Lin,” Byron likes telling this story, “I thought he was going to shoot me.”

some older people complain about the passing of the olden days, they say back then there was no delinquency in society.

These days Lin who used to break wild horses and mules is recovering from a motorcycle accident from six months ago on one of the muddy steep roads. Euplina offered to heat up some milk for us then disappeared into the kitchen. Byron is like a son to them and he admires and respects them as if they were his own mother and father. He laughed again translating what Euplina had just told him, “She says that some older people complain about the passing of the olden days, they say back then there was no delinquency in society. But she also says, there wasn’t much of anything else either.”

Monday, September 7, 2009 9:00am Antonio was busy pulling up a plant from the ground, it is a tuber or root called rabano it grows the way potatoes do. “He planted this particular root because I like it so much.” Byron proudly told me, “Whenever Antonio pulls up anything he plants two or three more.” After inspecting the root they throw most of it away. “The rats have eaten it.” 

I watched as Antonio hacked away at the thickest branch of the rabano that he had pulled up holding it in the air with one hand slicing off arm length pieces with wedge shaped incisions at either end. The machete was then driven into the ground to dig a shallow hole to insert the branch. Scattered around I could see where other branches had been planted some rabano, mostly yukka, another root that is planted in the same manner.

Our synthetic woven sacks and tin buckets used to collect the coffee were placed on the ground, filled with what we had picked all morning.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009 1:00pm We had been picking coffee all morning, eight workers in a pack scouring each tree by hand, careful to leave the unripe cherries, picking only those that were ready or beyond ready. When coffee is left beyond its optimal time to be picked as a red cherry it will eventually dry on the branch in the sun, it gets shriveled up like a raisin becoming black and hard. Our synthetic woven sacks and tin buckets used to collect the coffee were placed on the ground, filled with what we had picked all morning.

The meal that morning was similar to what we had at every meal on the job, boiled plantains and yukka, rice and beans. For the most part we ate quietly, resting. Byron showed up after most of us had already started eating. “¿Como tú ta?” He asked, everyone replied, “bien” or “muy bien” One of the workers then explained in Spanish how bien is always the answer you will always hear from a Dominican when you ask how they are doing.

Local wisdom dictates that it is best to accept the present state and focus on moving forward. “I learned that lesson early on” Byron later told me about an experience he had years ago. He was visiting, sending his condolences to a Dominican family, friends of his from the area and there they were getting ready to bury the deceased when he greeted them. He says he was shocked and surprised that they could answer him saying things were good.

like rice crispy cereal, a steady smoldering snap, crackle, pop.

Thursday, September 10, 2009 1:45pm There were a million tiny pine trees all sprouting tiny little pine needles in a single tassel on a single branch each separated by the tiny round pot it grew in. In a single glance the whole life of the pine flashed before my eyes, trees at every stage of life. A bed of pine cones was laid out in the sun to harvest their seeds they crackled like rice crispy cereal, a steady smoldering snap, crackle, pop.

I returned from wandering around the property and found Byron again. “How much longer?” I asked wondering when the Sur Futuro coffee meeting would be finishing up. ”Two more hours.” he said confidently. “Really?” I asked as more of a question of the existence of an itinerary at all. “It is always two more hours when you are in the Dominican Republic.” He qualified.

Running my hands through my hair it felt course and dry, dusty and ridged.

Thursday, September 10, 2009 5:00pm Traveling up the steep clay and mud road on the bed of a four wheel drive pick-up truck there were about seven people in the back and a few more crammed into the cab. A young man on a motorcycle by the side of the road got the attention of one of the passengers sitting in the back sliding his pointed index finger along the bottom of his neck. The young woman began sobbing.

We got off the truck at Lin’s house he sat a plastic lawn chair on his patio resting his broken leg upon a second chair. It looked like an infection had been spreading. The day before he had to have it re-set because it was not lined up correctly, painfully it had been rebroken. Byron spoke for awhile explaining the significance of the Sur Futuro meeting we were just returning from. Running my hands through my hair it felt course and dry, dusty and ridged.

Lin had already heard about the death, the news of which was just reaching the young woman on the truck. Her younger sister who had been living in the United States was tragically shot when a gun accidentally went off. Lin’s father, Ramoncito a shrinking man with leathery skin who had been quietly standing nearby now joined the conversation. “Machetes are for planting yukka, guns are only for killing.” Byron translated for me.

The sun was setting making the clouds a pinkish salmon tangerine color against the clear blue patches of sky.

Thursday, September 10, 2009 6:50pm We climbed the steep hill to the top where Boliviar’s house is. From up here there is an unobstructed view of the mountains except for the tops of the pine trees and a few small bushes that form a green fence around the small dirt yard. The sun was setting making the clouds a pinkish salmon tangerine color against the clear blue patches of sky. We sat down on five simple wooden chairs Boliviar, his wife, his daughter, Byron, and myself, leaving his young boy standing by curiously watching the conversation.

It was about a copy of a birth certificate that Byron needs to square away some legal paperwork concerning land he has purchased. Byron and Boliviar dance around the subject as I watch a rooster poking his head out of a sack in the shack that is their kitchen wiggling in vain for his freedom as flames dance in the fire pit nearby. On the way back Byron was counting the amount of times has had to ask Boliviar about this paperwork while I was counted the pine tree lined peaks in the distance.

the conversation eventually turned to the weather, the flooding to be more accurate.

Friday, September 18, 2009 9:00pm “I have some terrible news,” he began. I ran into Byron a week after we had returned from the Dominican Republic. This sounded serious, I thought someone had died. “Well, not terrible” he clarified. We had run into each other at the Castleberry Hill art stroll in Southwest downtown Atlanta. “That makes it sounds like something really bad happened.” I was a bit relieved. He continued, ”I got laid off from Counter Culture.” He was still absorbing the shock of it. “What happened?” I asked, this seemed so unexpected. He explained that the company came to the decision to cut four full time positions and he happened to be one of them. He had already begun to tap his network of contacts in search of a new job.

There was not much else to say about the subject that would help and the conversation eventually turned to the weather, the flooding to be more accurate. “The Krog Street tunnel was completely under water.” Someone else in the group was saying. “One poor guy had just moved his family back into their home in cabbage town after finally finishing months of repairs from last years tornado.” His house was now a disaster once again, he has decided to call it quits, sell it for cheap, and move out.

In the DR till November 24th Byrons status update reads. It takes foresight to endure present hardship for an uncertain future yield. In environments so removed from rituals of perseverence time is perceived as a unit that mournfully slips away. “There is no such thing as not enough time.” Byron told me before he left to spend seven weeks back in Los Frios patiently harvesting this years crop of coffee. Agriculture, it is said, provided the means for civilization, that uniquely human phenomenon. Perhaps farming was the first step, the very first human act of faith, it seems an appropriate place to start again. (a)

www.youngtreecoffee.com

This site is temporarily down for maintenance. We are sorry for the inconvenience and that you had to read this shitty post, but life sucks so get used to it!

*Warning: This post contains gross content*

Yes, that is the word guano in the title of this post.  As in bat excrement…as in what is in our attic!  Now, you might be asking, how do I know about the guano in the attic?  What seemed to only be a simple DIY project of replacing a light fixture, turned into 4 hours of laborious work in a cramped area in the attic that only I could fit in.  My husband guided me along the way with everything as he couldn’t crouch down to fit in the small area.  I replaced the bathroom light/ fan unit!  Hey, at least now I know how to wire a bathroom light.  Once I was in the attic to remove the old unit, I saw that it was never attached to the ductwork leading to the vent outside.  When I located the old ductwork laying under the insulation, it had multiple tears and holes and was full of insulation and nut hulls.  Squirrels?  I then had to go out to buy new ductwork to install. 

I will not take a picture of the guano, but if you are curious you can view this photo.  Thank goodness our attic doesn’t look near as bad.  Here are photos of the old bathroom light/fan unit. 

The light/fan unit covered in stucco spray.

A close up of the motor which appears to be a fire hazard.

Back to the guano. While I was in the attic, I checked out the vent on the side of the house at the gable to make sure it was intact before I went to Lowe’s.  I didn’t want to buy ductwork and then come back to find that the vent needed replacing as well.  It all looked fine, but then I smelled something and I shined my light over to what appeared to be black pellets on the insulation in an area of about 2 feet by 4 feet.  Somehow the inspector missed seeing this in the corner of the attic.  After talking with my husband and remembering the bats that were removed from the attic, we realized it was guano.  Fortunately, I had the receipt from the pest control company in our closing documents, and I called to inquire about the bat exclusion from back in August.  I was told that the agent representing the shyster investors said they only wanted to pay for the bats to be removed, not for the removal of guano, insulation or to replace the screen over the gable.  How disgusting!  Now it is out of our pocket to get all of this removed and repaired.  

On top of all the house repairs we are coming across from a negligent previous owner and shyster investors who wanted to cut costs, our dog was hit and suffered a broken leg, displaced hip, and pelvic fractures.  Last Saturday morning, I was on my way to an amusement park with my son.  It was raining and I was reluctant to continue the trip.  I changed my mind about going, and I called my husband to tell him we were going to come back home.  My husband had been out that morning already.  Then, I got a call from him saying he had hit our dog, Bodie, when he pulled in the driveway.  Bodie just came out of nowhere and went under his back truck wheel.  He rushed Bodie to the Vet and he remained there over the weekend.  His surgery was Monday, and I picked him up today.  He will have a couple of months of recovery.  We will have to carrying him until he can learn to use his back good leg to walk on.  He is in a lot of pain, but is still his sweet old self until I try to move him or he takes his Tramadol.  Then he growls at me.

We are praying our money pit woes will soon come to an end and that our dog will heal quickly. Picking up a growling 30 pound beagle (even with a muzzle on) really stinks.

Here are some photos of Bodie after I brought him home.

On a pad of an old towel, rug, trash bag and carpet remnant in our breakfast room.

The surgical sight. 

Eating one of his favorite treats, popcorn.

The episode begins: Ross and Chandler are walking up the stairs of Chandler’s apartment complex while Ross teases him about his tennis skills. Ross attempts to explain to Chandler the three P’s of championship play in tennis: Power, Precision, and Panache. While demonstrating these “P’s” Ross accidentally hits a little girl, who is dressed in what appears to be a girl scout outfit, with his tennis racquet and inadvertently breaks her leg. We later learn that the little girl is part of the Brown Birds and she was in the building selling cookies. This brings about the main tension that the rest of the episode will try to quell: Ross feels terrible about breaking a little girl’s leg and will attempt anything to try to redeem himself and make it up to her.

Careful not to slip on anything!

Yesterday was such a great day. The boys were happy and sweet and that always makes life so much easier. Thatcher has been on probiotics for some stomach issues and for the first time in over a year he had a really regular diaper.  I was so excited but my mom and husband were out of town so I could only share the moment with my younger brother. I yelled, “Denny come here, come here….Look!” Let’s just say a regular poop isn’t quite as exciting to a 25 year old man with no kids .

As the day went on the boys continued to have a great day. I got in the shower about 5:45 pm to get ready for my nephew’s 18th birthday party and about half way through I heard “the cry.” You know the one…the “uh oh something is really wrong cry.” I ran into the boys’ room and my mom was changing Thatcher’s diaper. She was shaking and had a worried look on her face. She explained that my nephew and his friend had been playing with Thatch on the trampoline and he must have landed wrong. Thatcher has never been one to have a high tolerance for pain…in fact he’s kind of known as my little Drama Queen…but I knew by his cry something was wrong.

Everyone was leaving for the birthday party, and I was in my bathrobe with wet hair and no make-up. I threw on the closest dirty clothes I could find laying on the floor and got Thatch ready to go to the ER. (Praise God he had just had a bath…because let me tell you he was so disgustingly dirty yesterday from playing outside all day I’m sure children services would have been called .) My mom kept the other boys and C.J. was racing home from Sacramento and was going to meet us at the hospital.

We pulled up to the ER and apparently it’s the hot spot on Saturday nights because all of the ER parking was full. SO I had to go to another parking lot and carry the poor little guy. We walked in to a waiting room full of people in masks. (“Oh great” I thought, we’re going to leave here with a broken leg and the swine flu…still kind of harboring resentment to all of them since they were the reason I had to walk so far … I’ so very compassionate ) So we checked in and at that point Thatcher had been crying for almost an hour…and he didn’t stop…we waited about 30 minutes and he cried LOUD the entire time. In fact at one point a very kind older gentleman came up and said, “Hey little guy, we’re all sick here too, you’re not the only one who’s sick.” A very polite way to tell him to shut it…I explained that he wasn’t sick – that I thought he probably had a broken leg. He went up to the front desk and talked to someone and don’t you know we were called next.  So we went through all of the nurses and doctors and x-rays and found out that he did in fact break his leg just below his knee. Before the x-ray they were saying that a lot of times little kids will have a green break or a buckle break or something…just meaning that the bone doesn’t really break break because it’s so soft, but it does cause a small fracture that can be pretty painful. But not my boy…he had a clean break. After resetting the splint twice we were sent home with instructions to call the orthopedic doctor on Monday.

We got home and got Chach situated in our bed…I went up and laid my head on my moms shoulder…she wrapped her arms around me and very tenderly said, “See it can get worse.” We had a much needed laugh and went to bed.

Thank You Lord for giving me such an amazing family. They are always ready to help and diffuse heavy situations with humor and sarcasm.

PS please heal my boy

6 Months… Still not 100% alright! I need lots and lots of patience. But there are improvements even though it is slow. My Physical therapist in the last month was so good. He went back to school . Thanks to him, I could see considerable improvement. Now I am able to walk with less limp. Jog in a trampoline for 5 mins. Walk fast ( at the rate of 3.3 miles an hour) in a treadmill for 15 mins. So it is good!
On the flip side, I still cannot squat, run or jump. Have a Dr. appt in a week. So will know more then.

ok. I saw Bluejuice perform a while ago at some promo gig at the beginning of the year, and whilst I said one of their early singles, Vitriol, was awesome, i did say that they’re nothing special. I actually take that back. Broken Leg, their first single of their second LP, Head of The Hawk came out a few months ago and I’ve been trying to get my hands on it via blogland. I couldn’t actually find it, so I waited till the album came out (a week or two ago). Am kinda glad I got the album. Nah, actually, fuck this ‘kinda’ bullshit. I AM glad I got the album.

These guys have such a fun vibe. You only need to check out the extended vid for Broken Leg to see what I’m talking about. The album has that same vibe. I reckon they’d go off live (granted, I have seen them live before, but I didn’t really know their stuff and I wasn’t really paying all too much attention). They’re currently on a national tour, so maybe i’ll get my chance! Check out their tour dates here.

Getting back onto the album, there’s so many standout tracks. There’s quite a number possible singles on this one. You know when you hear a song and you know it’s good and that it can stand alone and still pack a punch? This album has that. Tracks like Little Emperor, Ain’t Telling The Truth, Work, We Can Get Around It, and the obvious one, Broken Leg.

If there’s one thing that I’m not too fussed on, it would be that they try and put too many styles into the album. It only runs a bit over 30 mins, so they’re delvings into electro stuff sounds a little rushed, and perhaps ain’t their stronger points.

But, this is still a great great album. They are mega talented songwriters – they know how to write a great great great pop song. Have that talent in the bag.

To leave you with, that single. I think I’ve mentioned it about 50 gazillion times in this post, but it really is just a great song. (I’ve said the word ‘great’ a lot too…oh man…i got a zinger coming up now…is it…wait for it…wait for it…is it grating? you know? like is it getting annoying and stuff? …ugh….did i ruin the joke already?)

Bluejuice – Broken Leg

(MySpace, iTunes, JB HiFi)

K. That’ll do the ramble for now.

Saint Nick’s knee holds up long enough for him to do this…

How about that! In a finals series that has already delivered high drama and some classic finishes, we got another one!  The Saints are in the grand final…but they were this freakin’ close to a shock exit. And if it wasn’t for inspirational skipper Nick Riewoldt, they wouldn’t have made it. It really is that simple. That dodgy knee of his is more valuable than gold right now!

You just knew it was going to end in heartbreak for one of these traditionally down-trodden clubs…but recovering from this will be a massive challenge for Rodney Eade’s men. That loss was so harsh that I can’t even find a way to make fun of loudmouth lair Jason Akermanis! As much as I love doing it, it just feels cruel right now, wrong even…

The power of the red beard was not quite enough for Adam Cooney and the Dogs.

The Dogs dominated the opening quarter and could have built a more than handy lead if not for a couple of squandered opportunities. As a result, the Saints were able to stay in touch and slowly work their way to the front in the third term. Down by five points at three-quarter time, Brad Johnson put the Doggies back in front but it was the other captain that willed his side into the big one next Saturday afternoon.

Whether Johnson returns next season is yet to be determined but it would be a real boost for a wounded club to have that guy back next year.

The hacks have quizzed Rocket every week about recruiting Barry Hall for 2010…imagine if David Schwartz asked him now!

And now we go through it all again tonight with the Cats and Pies and thank you Channel Ten…we can see it LIVE,  baby!  No Channel Seven again in 2009 so no more garden makeovers, no more tasty recipes, No Johanna Griggs and no watching Dr Harry feeding the fish…it’s finals action as it happens!!!

Last night was Channel Seven’s grand final…and didn’t they deliver some high quality family fun!

…

SATURDAY NIGHT

Second Preliminary Final – MCG, 7:30pm (local): Geelong v Collingwood (TEN)

Matthew Scarlett is hoping to keep his hair for one more week before launching into some post-season stupidity!

Fresh from a nice relaxing week off, Geelong will be buoyed by the inclusion of two vital cogs and now appear to have their strongest available team. Steve Johnson and his dodgy hip will be a bit of an unknown quantity so they need somebody like Tom Hawkins to get on the scoreboard. Cameron Ling is not feeling the pressure now but that might change if Dane Swan gets a few early touches!

Geelong’s Dodgy Headline of the Week: Ling Primed For Ding Dong With Swan! Hmmm…Ling Ding, Swan Dong?

Settle Ed, it was just a semi final! Imagine if they actually won the flag!!! Actually, don’t do that…I dread the very thought.

It would have been difficult to forget about last Saturday night’s miracle win but, more importantly, Collingwood need to forget about what happened in round three! They have improved since then, says no-pressure Mick. How Scott Pendlebury’s broken leg has improved enough for him to play is beyond me…we’ll see.

Collingwood’’s Dodgy Headline of the Week: Goldsack Wants Crack at Stevie J! All that’s missing is the defender reference so they could use the words back, crack and sack!

CATS by 19

Here’s a quick little video of spirit animal sanctuaries Huck-a-bee, who fractured his right front leg yesterday. You know, in all the years I’ve been doing this we’ve had plenty of dogs pull muscles, get bumps, bruises, twist ankles and every other kind of little injury you can think of. But this is the first time we actually had a dog fracture one of his bones.

The Spirit Dog

Esto fue el fin de semana en el futbol de Belgica!

che vato se paso de Belga!

picale aqui para ver la nota