cornerofmadness

but first we spent the afternoon with my brother in the hospital. He has decided morphine is good stuff (indeed) and that he rather liked the versed too (when they were putting him under the Scooby Doo mystery van drove up and got him and didn't he remember anything until the recovery room) He's feeling better today, joking around a bit. Though him and his wife are like an Abbott and Costello routine. She was trying to help him into the bathroom and managed to tug the catheter and slam his head into the door. (this is why she's resp. therapy and not a nurse).

Later he gets up for another attempt at #2 and asks me is there still duoderm on his ass. No John, just bandage gum matted fur and a huge bare spot. guess you know what a wax job feels like now. then he starts calling me from the bathroom. Moose (I'm not sure my family knows my real name any more), get in here. What? Wipe my ass. Did you forget? I'm the doctor. I'll go call a nurse for that. So yeah, he's feeling better.

Lucky Uncle had a stock pot filled with mulled wine, shrimp the size of my fingers and a kringle that was out of this world. Why did I have to come home?

Here's three days of catch up pictures

mom's tree. note the 70's flooring and paneled wall (now painted which i hate)

I love Victorian village houses...

The living room and original entrance to the house. this is over 100 years old. this is where my great grandfather, and my grandma's brother and sister were laid out when the flu took them all. Where the bed is, is normally the couch (which is along the wall where you can't see it) where the wall pooches out was a fireplace (now a big fat asbestos hole that's luckily walled the hell up) These walls btw are made of rubble under wire under plaster. you ain't hanging pictures in here