Frail and tiny, she walked, through wind and pounding rain, struggling to get home. Once at the door, she was never seen again…after Irene.
Hurricane anyone?
August 25, 2011 by 7 Comments
Wow! New York and other New England states are bracing for Hurricane Irene, due to slam into us starting this Saturday night.
What to do, what to do?
Run to the store, stock up on all the “necessities” that you really won’t need but.. when facing an emergency, one can’t have too many bags of Ranch-flavored Dorito’s or other sinful snacks. Do remember to charge those cell phones and have plenty of scented (my hubs hates those) candles on hand if the power goes out. Next….
Drink !!
After one of these, whatever havoc Irene wreaks won’t matter!
For six servings….
6 oz Vodka
1.5 oz Grenadine Syrup
6 oz Gin
6 oz Light Rum
3 oz Bacardi® 151 rum
6 oz Amaretto Almond Liqueur
6 oz Triple Sec
Grapefruit juice
Pineapple juice
Pour all but the juices, in order listed, into a hurricane glass three-quarters filled with ice. Fill with equal parts of grapefruit and pineapple juice, and serve.
**If you want to make a Frozen Hurricane, put all of the ingredients into a blender, as listed, add ice and blend until all nice and slushy. Of course, if you lose power and don’t have a generator, just revert to the non-frozen directions. <s>
Remember? Why?
August 21, 2011 by 2 Comments
We’d like for you to write about your first memory. Reach way back into your mind, try to find that first, earliest memory, and share it with us through your words. Don’t just tell us what you remember, show us, make us feel what you felt, take us with you back to that first clear (or hazy) memory of your past.
Ouch!
When this prompt came up last week, I cringed; memories, for me, especially early ones, aren’t terribly pleasant. Why is it that good memories are sometimes forgotten but bad ones tend to linger way too long?
It’s okay, not playing the martyr here, not at all. I honestly cannot offer a fitting response this prompt-time around but.. I still wanted to participate, in some way.
Various posts on my blog have delved into my rough childhood and that’s because, at the point when I wrote them, I felt the need to put it out there, especially after having private discussions with several people. Child abuse survivors often reach out to let others know they are not alone. For now, I’ll just leave those memories slink off into some corner where they will hide, and wait, always reminding me that they aren’t far away.
How about someone else’s memories, or lack thereof? Can I bend the rules…please?
For most of her life, my late mother had an uncanny ability to deliberately erase any memory which made her..uncomfortable. Dementia crept in and relieved her of that job along with the ability to think – the very brain functions that shaped the person she once was. Dealing with this as her daughter and caregiver was understandably frustrating. All I can compare it to is when people speak very loudly to someone who doesn’t speak English, hoping they can make themselves understood.
Being in the company of someone with memory loss, 24/7, finds you always asking questions, the same ones, only to be met with a blank stare. There is so much you need to know, things you neglected to ask at a time when there might have been a more cognizant response. Sadly, those answers are never what you need to hear but you keep asking. There is always a chance that some spark of remembering will come out of nowhere.
I waited for that opportunity to grab just one fleeting recollection. That happened shortly before my mother died but, sadly, I waited too long. Seconds too long. I missed that last chance to recover a tiny bit of what Dementia had stolen; a joy, sorrow or some motherly recognition. Her memory quickly flew away and out of sight even though I prodded for its return by asking mother to try hard to remember.
Her answer to me was…“Remember?…Why?”
