Fabflamingo's Open Salon Blog

sign reads "WILL DO ART FOR SMILES"

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 21:09:08 -0400

Self portrait on a Ms. Butterworth bottle

I’m blocked clean up. Plum out of ideas. Since writing about my personal healthcare hell, I have spent a tremendous amount of time writing and reading everything I could (education is power?) to learn what I, little ole’ me, could do. I’ve written my congressmen, the president, and local organizations. I’ve signed every petition I could find in support of single payer…or at least public option.

"Treasure"

My grandson's rocking horse and mom's old jewelry

I am worn out!

What’s really bad is that it has affected my art. I don’t do serious, thought-provoking kinda art. I prefer what makes folks smile! And y’all always make me smile. I would like to return the favor (hoping y'all might smile at some of this art) and get my creative edge back! So I am asking y’all, my OS friends, for some motivation and ideas for art that will make YOU smile!

"Watch Dog"

And I love a challenge!

The Clinton Museum Store, here in Little Rock, did a call to artists to create art that was pig, presidential, bbq, and /or motorcycle related for a Harley BBQ event they were sponsoring. Ideas came easy one night when a few girlfriends were having martinis on the porch. The names (inspirations) came first. Then the pieces could not be made fast enough. Most have sold. Obviously the buyers of said art had a sense of humor!

the before

the after..."Air Pork One"

(this sold a couple of weeks ago, teehee)

"Art is making something out of nothing and selling it" Frank Zappa

"First Sow"

"I believe in a plate called Hog"

"Pork Chopper"

"Bay of Pigs"

I had way too many pigs left from my shopping trips to area flea markets for all these pig pieces ....so I put them (56 to be exact) on a mail box

"Summertime"

(this piece was purchased by the Clinton Foundation Staff and was President Clinton's Christmas Present from them)

"High on the Hog"

(I got in trouble, kinda, for this one. Funny thing, though...I was told not to display during the festival but a restaurant owner bought it immediately , before the event even started! )

...Can we say a "'BBQ"' restaurant?

Remember, all my art is made from recycled materials. A few of these pieces were on a post a while back. I’m repeating a few, cause, well, I have a bunch of new friends now.

"Blooming Bust"

(This started with the inspirational title of "Flower Child" but as she progressed to a more mature look...)

Tell me what you think….elaborate on some of my ideas…..help me!

Here are a few ideas I’ve been tossing around …….

“Namaste” JK, I have 2 little hands and I want to incorporate into a piece.

“Cracking up” Chuck, you inspired this title….I see chaos….

“Pirate Wimmen” The OS girls know who they are……. I know I want to do this piece but where to start?

“Sexy Flowers” a series. Some of Tequila & Donuts’ porno flower photos beg to be done in mosaics.

And no, as much as I want to do a piece called “Republicans Suck” …. I’m afraid, living in a red state and all, chances are pretty good, I don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell, to sell the piece. Remember, in these times, one must sell one’s art to pay the mortgage and hospital bills, when one doesn’t have any fuckin’ insurance….........So sorry, I digressed yet again.

Winning titles will get recognition (with said art) on my blog. (Surely you didn’t think there would be a monetary reward?)

"Glenda the Good Witch...her Golden Years"

See what I mean…give me some groovy titles…..The kind of titles that will make folks smile!

MOTIVATE ME! DAMNIT!

BEWARE HEALTH INSURED! Kiss that American Dream good bye!

Thu, 27 Aug 2009 12:08:29 -0400

I was showing my art last Friday night, at an Art Walk, when a man walked up with 2 adorable sons. One son wore a very high tech hearing aid. He had had a cochlear implant. I explained that I had had surgery to restore my hearing, years ago. We discussed how medical technology had advanced. The conversation turned to this button he was wearing.

He told me of an organization housed right around the corner that was working toward Obama’s health care plan. Questions started streaming out of my mouth. He explained the campaign. My excitement grew. He shared the organization’s beliefs. I shared mine. He told me about the importance of people sharing their stories about health care nightmares. I told him I had a lalapaloozer. After exchanging business cards, I was dumbfounded to find out he was my state representative and he wanted my help!

With pleasure, sir…..here is my story. (Soon to be recorded for public radio.)

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I find it sad. The folks that HAVE insurance are the ones yelling the loudest against change in our current health care system. Obviously the rug has not been yanked out from under them. Life can change in a heartbeat.

I know.

And the insurance companies, unlike other businesses in our country, do NOT have to “deliver” on any products that you have purchased. Think long and hard what you would do if there was no safety net. Or if that net (rug) was taken out from under you and your family, when you needed it the most.

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I’ve spent a great deal of my professional life working for non-profits in community development and hunger relief. After many years, I was offered a chance to make more money than I could have dreamed of, working for an environmental company. Ron, my husband, was a small business owner and he was not raking in the bucks. I had a mother and a son (and his future education) to think about, so I took the job. Life was good. So good, in fact, that we moved from a small, south Arkansas town to Little Rock. I was traveling all over the US and my husband started working with me. I bought him a new Eddie Bauer Edition Ford Explorer for his birthday. And I bought myself a shiny new Lexus. I had diamond jewelry and designer clothes. We were living the American dream. Even better, I had received a promotion and had wonderful health insurance for the whole family.

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I was sitting in my gynecologist’s office after my annual exam when he told me I had cancer. Rather abrupt news to a 35 year old that was in, what she thought … perfect health. It was melanoma and lymphoma. After radical surgery and a lengthy hospital stay, I was pronounced cancer free.

Eight weeks, to the day, after my surgery, we were in New Orleans. Ron thought he was coming down with the flu. I drove back to Little Rock and immediately took him to the doctor. I’ll never forget the look on the doctor’s face when he said Ron needed to be admitted to the hospital immediately. He was in congestive heart failure.

You see, 10 years prior to this moment, Ron had had an Aortic value replacement. He had a congenital heart defect. We had asked the doctors then, how long would the pig valve last? The doctor’s reply was, “We don’t really know because we usually just put them in old people.” Ron was 30.

But we were optimistic because medicine had made tremendous strides in open heart surgery over the last 10 years and we had great insurance.

And I had just survived cancer.

Ron died 3 weeks later, just before his 40^th birthday. It was 3 weeks before Christmas.

The valve had worn out. The doctors said he was no longer a good candidate for heart surgery. At least that is what they told me at the time. I would find out in a few weeks that the insurance was not going to pay. (Hmmmm? Wonder if the hospital already knew that?)Seems his heart problem was called “preexisting.” I tried diligently to explain that he had become a runner and competed in many races since his previous surgery. How could it be preexisting, 10 years and many races later? He didn’t even know he was sick.

Then the company refused to pay for my cancer surgery. It was also “preexisting.” God, how I hate that term….preexisting.

Besides, I had no idea I had cancer until I received my annual exam.

In the mean time, my company changed insurance carriers and refused to intervene on my behalf. The bills were well over $150,000. Our savings had dwindled, during my work absence. My lawyer friend explained to me I could go to jail or file bankruptcy. What a choice. Mom and the son were still my responsibilities.

I lost everything. The bank took our home in south Arkansas. His Explorer was sold for what was owed on it. They repossessed the Lexus. My pastor lent me a 1976 Impala. I sold my jewelry and pawned Ron’s hunting rifles for rent and food.

The insurance company had saved money. I had lost my husband. My son had lost his father.

I went back to the non-profit world. Low salary, no travel, but, at least, I had the personal satisfaction of helping others and I had insurance… for a while anyway.

Several years passed and mom’ emphysema was worsening. We got her on Medicaid to supplement her Medicare and she qualified for SS benefits. But there was no money for any extras. I left the non-profit world, again, in pursuit of more money to help my family. I had remarried a wonderful man that worked for an arts-related non-profit. He loved what he did and encouraged me to pursue my art.

Mom died a few months later. I had to borrow money to pay for her cremation. After her death, the son moved back home with his son. I chose to work part time, pursue my art, part time, and help with the grandson. When they moved out, a couple of years later, I realized my part time endeavors in art had become somewhat lucrative. As a teacher, I helped others tap their creativity. I sold art that made people smile. A creative new path, with positive impact on others. But I was self employed and had no insurance.

For 6 months I worked on a chamber of commerce committee that was setting up a cooperative insurance plan for small business. It really looked like it might work. After it was approved by the state insurance board, we were ready to launch it. I was so excited... Until I found out my deductible would be in the thousands and that was only if they could find a company, through the coop, willing to cover me. Seems I had a preexisting condition.

I had been cancer free for over 13 years, but that didn’t matter.

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My gynecologist has been a sweetie. I trade art for medical services so I can continue my much needed meds for the consistently swollen leg. (I have no lymph nodes in my right leg and it is about twice the size of my other leg.) Phlebitis is a constant threat. Can we say “preexising?”

Last year, I fell and broke my foot. After a trip to the emergency room, consisting of one x-ray, one pair of crutches and a wrapped foot, costing over $1000, I was sent to an orthopedic surgeon who insisted I have surgery. When I noted no insurance, he said… “Oh well. Perhaps it will heal.” Four months, three x-rays, and $400 later, he declared that my foot had indeed, healed. However, all the walking with crutches and the boot had put undue pressure on my knees. He said I need both knees replaced. They were damaged from years of teaching aerobics. Guess that would make this “preexisting”.

I also know I am probably in the early stages of COPD (emphysema). I am very familiar with the symptoms, since both of my parents died from it. If I see a doctor, this will then become a preexisting condition.

I checked into disability at the beginning of this year. If for nothing else… to get Medicare coverage. I seemed to qualify but it would take 6 months to a year, to get it. Medicare would not be available for another 2 years. I was told by the attorney, that I could not do my art, teach classes, or do any consulting work, for the entire waiting period. This would mean no income for the next year. It only took me a couple of weeks to realize I just wasn’t ready to throw in the towel. I just couldn’t give up and sliver away. I’ve never been a quitter.

This summer, I had an artery rupture in my nose. Another trip to the emergency room and another grand in the piled up medical bills.

Ironically, I begged the ER physician to call in the specialist because the bleeding would not stop. He continually said I could go to the doctor’s office… the next morning. After bleeding all night, I was the first one in her office. It took her 2 minutes to determine that I needed emergency surgery. If she had been called in during the ER visit……just 6 hours earlier?

I was charged another $200 for the office visit and $600 for the 15 minutes it took her staff to control the bleeding, thus stabilizing me to go back to the hospital. Then another 2 grand for the surgery. She said I was lucky. An artery in my brain could have ruptured and that would have been a serious stroke. Seems I might have high blood pressure. Not the hospital, nor the doctors, seemed to want to discuss preventing this rupture from happening again.

At my follow up visit, I told the surgeon, how my gynecologist and I bartered, her services for my art. She said she would think about it. As I walked out of her office, I was talking to myself, “best you go for the art, good doctor, because there is little money in the coffers.” I haven’t heard back from her.

After years of working so hard to improve my credit score, since the bankruptcy, I’m right back where I was. The rug has been yanked out from under me again. And I have read countless stories of others in the same boat.

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Beware! Beware all who currently have insurance and are living the American dream. Your day could come…. with a routine doctor’s visit…. With a change in insurance carriers that would save your company money…. With the death of a spouse.

Perhaps the public option could prevent these things from destroying your life. Or a universal health care plan?

Senator Kennedy was right. This is not a privilege. Health care is a right…. Just like education is a right. Here’s hoping my vote for President Obama was not in vain. Other countries, such as Canada, Great Britain, France and Switzerland, are taking this incredible burden off their people. They are allowed to be productive and contributing citizens.

In the past, I have strengthened 2 communities, fed the hungry, and made a difference in the lives of many. I was(am) a productive and contributing citizen.

I want to help my grandkids go to college. I just know one is a genius and the other, a great artist.

I want to bring a smile, or two, to people’s faces through my art, my classes, and my writing.

I am not throwing in the towel….not yet. Who knows? I might make a difference in the lives of many more.

Millions of people in our country want to be productive and could make a difference …...

…….. If only there was a safety net.

How to Name a Kid, Using Drugs and Profanity/ For Squirrel

Tue, 4 Aug 2009 19:08:33 -0400

I was probably 6 months pregnant. It was a winter afternoon and Ratt was in the den having a toke. He had just come in from the woods. Probably duck hunting. That was one of his good ole’ boy passions. He once told me, “There ain’t nothing like a cold winter morning. You can see your breath. And you call ‘em in. When those mallards start comin’ in…why they fill up the sky. They circle above the water. I call, again, and they start landin’ on that swamp. It’s like the best high in the world. If they made duck hunting in liquid form, I swear I’d shoot it straight into my veins.” I’m sure my reply went something like “That’s wonderful, dear, to feel such passion about shooting ducks!” He would quip back, “Woman! I am putting meat on the table!” I would say, “Get a grip, those duck breasts are probably costing us about $200 a pound. Let’s see? The gun? The duck blind lease? The boat? The decoys? YOUR HANDMADE, CUSTOM DUCK CALL? And that Patagonia underwear? And let’s not forget the Whiskey…..I know …I know…..Ya have to stay warm.”

At which point he would start ignoring me.

But I digress.

Out of nowhere, Ratt said “Ezekiel Jeremiah Jones.” Only he had just taken a toke and the words came out eeeeeeezzzzkkkkkiiiiieeeeellllllll. (long pause here) jerrrrreeemmmmmmmmmiaaaaahhhhh. JONES!

“What the Hell?” I replied.

He blew out the smoke. Took a breath. Never stirring from his current position, he said “That’s it. When we have our son… (back in the old days, you didn’t know if it was a boy or girl, ‘till that precious gift graced you, with its presence)… we are going to name him Ezekiel Jeremiah Jones.”

Lordy, Lordy! “Have you lost your ever-lovin’ mind?” …as I started to laugh! I thought that was the funniest thing I had ever heard. I couldn’t quit laughing. Now think about this….very pregnant woman, laughing hysterically. You moms know what happened next. So I’m laughing, running down the hall, thinkin’ out loud to myself, “Can you imagine the burden that child would carry with him?”

::Giggle:: ::Giggle:: ::Pee pee!::

“With a name like that. Lord have mercy!” I take care of business and ask Ratt what the hell he was thinking.

His replies were always simply stated…”With a last name like Jones, the boy's gotta have something with balls, Slick.”

“Slick” was his term of endearment for me.

“Thank God! I was soooo afraid our boy might not have any balls. Where in the hell does it say that a name has to have balls?”

The conversation (rather one-sided at this point) began to dwindle off. Besides, I was having a girl. I just knew it and her name was already picked out. Period. End of this silly conversation.

The last 3 months of my rather uncomfortable pregnancy progressed. And nar a word about a boy’s name, crossed our lips….our my thoughts.

I went into labor the beginning of spring. Wonderful shades of green filled the woods. Dogwoods just trying to bloom, and I was bringing a precious little girl into this glorious place.

After 36 hours in labor, they asked Ratt and me to consider a C-section.

“HELL YA! CUT HER. GET THAT BABY OUTTA THERE. CUT HER RIGHT NOW!”

Obviously Ratt’s words….not mine.

Now… I had been terribly patient with this whole ordeal. I had taken NO drugs, This little girl was my first. I would do whatever it took. And I had not peeped one cuss word. NOT ONE! A feat, in and of itself. But I was worn smack dab out. And apparently, so was Ratt.

It was time for my precious baby girl to come out and see her momma.

I continued to have strong contractions, as they prepped me for surgery. A big ole gal, with boobs as big as my pregnant bosoms (I’m talking "EE" kinda big) came in and explained how they would administer the “spinal” …as they called it. A huge shot in your lower spine. She was so sweet and reassured me that I would be awake as my baby arrived. She explained, “And as soon as the baby is born, we will administer valium through your IV to help you relax. “

Cool! Long time ... no druggie poos. I was looking forward to it.

Then the Evil Bitch from Hell walked in. The Anesthetist. The evil one with the needle longer than my favorite butcher knife. She had “that look” on her face. Like the Wicked Witch of the West when she told Dorothy… “I’ll get you, my Pretty, and your little dog, Toto, too.”

Booby nurse stood in front of me, to hold my hand and whisper words of comfort.

Evil Bitch from Hell, as she was poking around on my back, said in a rather firm voice, “Take a breath, hold it, relax, and be perfectly still.”

I took a deep breath, slumped over, and buried my head into those marvelous titty pillows as booby nurse whispered a lot of “it will be oks.”

Then a contraction straightened me to complete attention and the Evil Bitch from Hell slapped me on the back and yelled at the top of her lungs “I SAID RELAX!”

“RELAX! YOU WANT ME TO FUCKING RELAX! YOU JUST SLAPPED MY FUCKING BACK!!! I’VE BEEN IN FUCKIN’ LABOR FOR 36 HOURS, BITCH, AND YOU CAN KISS MY BIG FAT PREGNANT ASS.” That was just the beginning of my tirade. Reports said that I called her every name in the book. And they were not pretty names. I do believe the “C” word was in there. Not to dismiss old Southern favorites like “goddamnmotherfuckinbitchwhorefromhell”. And yes, that’s all one word. I always thought Mr. Carlin would have liked that Southern expletive .

And let me add, right here in this little story, that I have a very LOUD mouth. I could call kids from 3 miles down the road and they could never say they didn’t hear me. When someone wanted to get folks' attention, at a gathering, they’d just say, “Hey Flamingo girl, can ya get everyone to be quiet?” A couple of words outta my big mouth, and a hush would fall over the crowd. Not a very lady-like quality but what can I say? We do with what gifts we are given. And God gave me a big mouth.

Once I got started and the tone went up to peek capacity, my words were echoing not only in the operating room but resonating down the hallways. Ratt heard bits and pieces in the waiting room. His only comment? “Well, they done fucked with the wrong bitch now. Slick is eatin’ their lunch. “

Seems it took them a few minutes to calm me down. But out of my belly came an incredible, healthy baby. As soon as they cut the cord, they released the valium into my bloodstream.

Hmmmm? Think they were trying to calm my ass down?

Then a nurse smiled and said “You have a beautiful baby boy. “

Valium LaLa Land had already taken me into its marvelous clutches.

They asked me if I had a name. I giggled and said it was suppose to be a girl. As they were wrapping him, I asked if he had balls. They giggled and reassured me, he did. Again they asked about a name, as they placed him in my arms. At the top of my ample lungs, looking at my precious baby boy for the first time, I said “Ezekiel Jeremiah Jones!” And I said it just like Ratt did. "eeeeeeezzzzkkkkkiiiiieeeeellllllll. (long pause here) jerrrrreeemmmmmmmmmiaaaaahhhhh. JONES!"

The entire operating room (and waiting room) broke into hysterical laughter.

That’s all I remember as I surrendered to Wonderful Valium Lala Land.

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Back in the good ole days, before insurance companies ruled our lives, new mothers with c-sections, had to stay in the hospital for 7 to 10 days or until you had a “bowel” movement. Nothing like nurses asking you about your pooping needs every few hours. Let’s just say prune juice is not something I go out of my way to acquire, these days.

Every day, several of the staff would just show up to “meet” me. They’d wink and say things like “heard you gave the Evil Bitch from Hell (Of course they did not call her that) a piece of your mind. Good for you.” …Or…. “I just wanted to meet the lady everyone is talking about. You go girl!”

Seems the Evil Bitch from Hell was disliked by the majority of the staff and I had become a folk hero.

Something for the resume? Hmmmm? Let’s see?

Oh never mind, I was concentrating on baby boy.

And every day the nurses would bring me my little angel boy and say, “here’s Zeke.”

“NO! No! That is NOT his name. I was high. It was a joke. Please? That is NOT his name!!!”

Ratt just snickered a lot when I’d try to discuss what his name should be. We could not agree from one day to the next.

And the nurses continued to call him “Zeke.”

The 10^th day came, I pooped, and Dr. Pepper has been my drink of choice ever since. Time to take angel boy home and they insisted I give them a name to finalize the birth certificate.

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I had to have someone bring me a Bible because I had no idea how to spell Ezekiel, let alone, Jeremiah.

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Zeke will be the first to tell ya, he loves his name. Not too many Zekes, around. And he always heard “Go Zeke! You can do it”…loud and clear.

He knew when Mom was in the bleachers.

My precious angel boy, Zeke, and me

A rollercoaster ride caused my OS absence

Tue, 28 Jul 2009 18:07:07 -0400

I sure have missed y’all. I’ve spent the last few days reading and reading and reading. My goodness, the things I have missed. It’s gonna take me weeks to get caught up. And I shall enjoy every minute of it.

For all my wonderful OS friends that have sent me emails out of concern for my absence……..

I have had a hell of a summer so far. Never a dull moment.

My roller coaster life can be so scary and so much fun.

The ride up hill. It’s slow with much anticipation. It’s the excitement of getting to the top.

Students started signing up for my hypertufa and mosaic classes. I had a few art gigs in the not too distant future. Buddy Guy sang the blues to me! That’s right, there might have been 1000’s of others in the audience, but he was singing to me! And a summer girls’ trip was planned. Ain’t nothing like a few days with my best friends in the world.

Ah, Oh. A sharp turn has appeared on the horizon.

A nosebleed from hell and subsequent surgery, followed. It was pretty damn serious. Wanna talk about our fine health care system? Boy, do I have something to say! But that blog will be posted in a few days.

Whew! That was close. Ahhhhh! Feel the breeze? A soft curve in the ride, is ahead.

It’s that the warm Texas sun reflecting off the blue water of my friend’s pool. The laughter at old stories refuels my worn out mind and body.

Back home and the ride seems to be chugging up an impossible hill. Classes get cancelled. Everyone is blaming the economy. My major public art project is postponed while the folks that hired me try to raise the money.

Chug chug! As I start looking at more online options to sell my gorgeous garden art, my computer starts chugging. Perhaps to say death was imminent, is an understatement. Then one day, it had its last ride into cyberspace with me.

After, the wonderfully nerdy son of a friend took it away, he explained that there was a good chance the 10 years of files in my ole girl, might not be retrievable. And even worse, the ole girl was so old; a special tool had to be found to get inside her. And there were the sudden wakeups in the middle of the night. The sudden remembrance of another file that I had lost. My website, hundreds of pictures of my work, my eBook, my customer database, all my PowerPoint presentations, my grandbabies’ pictures, our wedding pictures, my stories. MY LIFE! My fucking life for the last ten years! DAMNIT! And there were the countless days of beating myself up for not backing up my files the right way. Damnit to hell!

Chug, fucking, chug.

Wait a minute. We’re gonna go see grandbabies. The ride will be worth the smiles on those babies’ faces. “You betcha, Nanie (that’s me, grandma) will help you decorate your bike for the 4^th of July parade! I am a redneck-Martha Stewart and Hobby Lobby and I are great friends and it was all on sale! Lookie here, you made front page of the paper on that finely decorated bike!” Even better… the oldest little man comes home with Nanie and Gramps.

Another trip to Texas, this time to see my daddy. My precious step daddy who raised me like his own. He hadn’t seen his great grand boy in over 3 years. It was pretty funny when grand boy asked me why pawpaw was saying things like “that’s a 10-4 good buddy” when they were talking on his little walkie talkies. Daddy is the number one reason I have any sense at all. He was my rock. Daddy’s been diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Need I say more? The ride got a tad bumpy again. It was downright tough when we were driving home. I didn’t dare let out the tears that were swelling inside me. Grandson did not need to understand this crap … not just yet. There will be many trips to Texas in my immediate future. Cause we endure the bumps for the ones we love.

Back home. Museums and nature centers and movies and art projects and bike rides and board games and swimming and catching fish and catching lightning bugs made life’s ride slow down. All was right with the world.

And some of my art sold. Thus, this brand, spankin’ new, faster than a speeding bullet, computer sitting before me. I tried to kiss the Fed Ex guy when he delivered it. He just smirked and asked if I had been looking forward to this new Dell in the box.

My files? Well, that precious nerd was able to save all my files. He’s gonna download them for me next week. Bless his heart. No charge. I CAN see some wonderful garden art in his yard, in the not-too-distant future. And an external hard drive, for back up, in my future.

Whew! What a ride! I’ve got even more stories to tell! The ride gets bumpy every now and then, but most of the time, it’s wild and wonderful. A near death experience sure makes laughing with friends, pure heaven. OS sure is special when you finally get a new computer and find out friends are looking for ya. And watching a precious grand boy catch a trout sure helps when you realize, the one that use to bait your hook, your last livin’ parent, your daddy, is leaving ya.

Damn! Shit! Hell!

Sun, 17 May 2009 21:05:25 -0400

The weekend is almost over. Thank ya, sweet jesus!

Damn, let’s start with Friday.

I held my hypertufa class with little ladies, in my backyard. It’s an all-day-gig and as much as I love it, it wears me out. In a good way, but physically...whew! For one thing, I am standing all day. That’s 8 hours and I’m just not the girl who worked out with Jane Fonda, back in the 80’s. Keep in mind, I drove to Dallas, went to a live workshop with the “feel the burn” bitch, in person. Then I drove back to Arkansas. After the 5-hour trip, I couldn’t roll out of the car. Every muscle in my body was locked clean up. That’s kinda how runnin’ a solid 8 hours, does me now! My ladies are always great and very appreciative… That always eases the pain, but… As we were loading the planters and stepping-stones, they had made in class, into their cars, my good friend from the neighborhood, pulled up.

“Flamingo, Your man is in the emergency room. Seems they have been trying to get a hold of you. I’m here to take ya there.”

After I got my heart out of my throat, I asked what had happened. I “heard” he put a nail in his foot. “Let me change shirts and wash my hands and face.” (I was covered in Portland cement and peat moss. A dirty gray ghosty kinda look.)

As I went about the business of trying to get semi-decent, thoughts raced through my over-active-imagination-mind. Do I need to bring crutches? Must be pretty bad, to warrant a trip to the emergency room. Damn, the hub is accident-prone. Damnit, I have a ton of things to do to prepare for tomorrow’s class. I have to do this all over again, tomorrow. I don’t have time for this, damnit. Oh, get the book! I know how hospitals are. We will be waiting forever. I’ll need something to read.

Five minutes later, I was out the door and in my friend’s truck. He tells me what’s going on. Seems hub put a nail through his finger. Damn! I thought you said foot. Ok, I bet it’s not that bad! I can breathe a tad better.

There’s nothing like a trip to the hospital on a Friday afternoon, during the wonderful 5 o’clock traffic. And my friend drives like a little ole’ man. Oh damn! He is a little ole’ man. I tell myself, it’s ok, Hub is fine. Don’t panic.

We park in a handicap spot because there is absolutely nothing left. As we are entering the hospital, looking over our shoulders for the parking police, we have to go through a metal detector. OMG! Since when are hospitals under terrorist threats? My patience is being strained a tad. But I force the most ridiculous smile to the hospital cop to let him know I understand he is “just doing his job.” While my thought was “do you think I look like a terrorist? Damn, boy, I am a chubby beet-red-in-the-face (Oh, I forgot to mention … the humidity was about 130% and I was one hot momma, during this excitement) grandmother.”

And finally we arrive to the little room where hub is on the gurney with his hand on a tray and the doctor attending. DAMN!!! The nail is completely through his damn finger. I’m talking a 16-penny nail. It looked like a Halloween gag trick. Like the fake arrow through the head that Steve Martin use to wear. Hub had shot himself with a nail gun. DAMN! The pain meds were starting to take effect and hub is funny and pissy at the same time. The doctor takes her forceps and jerks that sucker clean out! DAMN! A second x-ray shows no permanent damage. Whew! My dear friend leaves, because he hates when folks park in the handicap spots, when they shouldn’t. We both were afraid of the parking police coming after us. I let him know I’m ok and I can get the man home just fine.

We decide to get his prescriptions filled while we are out. The great nurse told us to use Kroger or Wal-Mart and get the $4 dollar deal. Okey-dokey. And of course, we get there 15 minutes after the Kroger pharmacy closes. Off to Wal-Mart, we go. Friday night at Wal-Mart. It’s going to take about 30 minutes to fill… so we shop. Here I am in Wal-Mart, tired, hungry, dirty, and with a man who’s higher than a kite on pain meds. We made the mistake of going to the garden center, A few tools, (actually several tools) birdseed, and gloves, later, we return to the pharmacy. Another 10 minutes. Oh, I need ink for my printer. Oh, and some makeup. Finally the medicine is ready. I let high-man get his meds and I take off for a quick checkout. As we are pushing the buggy out the door, high-man says we saved $9 with the $4 plan. My reply? “Oh, that’s nice dear, but we spent $139 while we were waiting. I believe, Walgreen’s would have been a tad cheaper.”

Then we go to a new pizza place in town. OMG, every family with 5 or more children, is there. Nope, don’t think so. Two more restaurants. Now, I am remembering why we avoid “eating out” on Fridays. We finally find a restaurant that we can actually sit down and have a quick bite for dinner.

It’s 10 pm by the time we get home and I have 4 messages from ladies enrolled in my backyard class for the next day, Saturday. DAMN! They are worried about the 60% chance of rain. I get on the Internet and decide not to make a decision until the next morning. After a crappy night, of the hub’s moaning (yes, he’s “one of those that leans toward extremely low resistance to pain”) and my worrying about the damn weather, I finally just get up at 6 am and start cruising the National Weather Service website, again.

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SHIT!!

There’s an 80% chance of rain all day. SHIT! SHIT! I hate to cancel class. I have two ladies that were suppose to be in last month’s class but it rained and I had to move them to this Saturday. SHIT! SHIT! I also have 3 ladies coming from 2 hours away. So I have to make a decision. I cancel the class. SHIT! I really need the money. SHIT! And all that wonderful chicken salad, I had made for the ladies’ lunch. SHIT! The part that really sucks is I can hear the disappointment in their precious voices. They were looking forward to a girls’ day. They were looking forward to playing in the mud with the flamingo. SHIT! One lady, I had left a message with, shows up. SHIT! She was precious and extremely understanding. SHIT! Nothing worse than feeling like shit and someone is nice about driving 2 hours to a class that’s been cancelled.

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Did it rain?…. HELL NO! NADDA! Why can’t they get it right? I sat here on this computer, reading OS, and cussing the weathermen, all day!

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Now it’s Sunday night, the sun is setting. I can honestly say, I’m looking forward to Monday. That mean’s this weekend is over.

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Oh Hell, I forgot. I’m going to Riverfest next weekend! Gonna see, Buddy Guy, one night and Heart, another. Might even see Willie Nelson. Hub is working backstage. Extra money and fringe benefits. Old friends are coming in from out of town. Whew! Something to look forward to……..

Shit! Think I’ll take a bubble bath.

Damn! Desperate Housewives finale, tonight.

Hell! A bit of Crown and Coke, and all will be right with the world ….

Life is good………… Again....for now, anyway.

update: Hub read the story and informed me it was a 16 penny nail, not a 10. So there!