"Basically, my radiation ate your thyroid." It's the radiation oncologist. "Actually, it usually happens before now." Cancer...she just keeps on giving. Do I cheer mine lasted longer under the radiative onslaught that devours female thyroids? Can we get a hip-hip? Actually, I'm happy with the news. As all the cancer girls know, when something is … Continue reading She Just Keeps On Giving…
Nothing on earth is as sweet as a Duchess Doll. They send over all manner of funny, interesting, goofy and unbelievable stuff. One of the faves sends a message: "These lyrics are so great; IDK if you like country music, but this song immediately made me think of you." Whaaaa? Doll has sent me music. … Continue reading Her Favorite Season Is Football…
Saturday was National Donut Day. At long last, a day to honor a food deserving of accolade. Can you say Krispy Kreme? Much commentary is devoted to the little fried orb of goodness including, "in your face sweetness and all you taste is grease and sugar." Is there a problem with that? If a donut … Continue reading Donuts Feed The Soul…
Cancer lurks in the background of life, whether it be survivors or survivors of loved ones. It's always within arm's reach. Each follow up test, which go on forever, brings it full circle again. And then there are the others. In a meeting. I know a co-worker has missed some days and is behind in … Continue reading Lurking In The Background…
For some reason this little tidbit, circulating for a while, only just hit my desk. Biological chickens of the female variety have a private Instagram called, "Gals," in which we exchange interesting fare we find searching about when we're supposed to be working. Calm down bosses, it's brain food. Yesterday, Middle Chicken sends a photo … Continue reading Eat Pizza and Annoy Men…
Oldest Chicken does something out of bounds each year on or near the anniversary of The Norwegian's death. Perhaps he thinks if he drives himself to the brink he'll be closer to his beloved father--who knows. What I do know is we have an agreement--tell me after. I've heard about being at the top of … Continue reading What’s On Your Anti-Bucket?…
In eighth grade, my mother told my father I was obsessed with death. Perched in my spying spot just outside the kitchen, I was stung. But I shrugged. Smug with overinflated beliefs in my own brainpower, I knew where her concern lay. It was with the sonnet, Death Be Not Proud, the famous ditty by … Continue reading Calling All Murderinos…
