My own personal thermostat . . not the one on the heater . . seems to be malfunctioning. This morning when I got up, it was freezing in this house. 63 or 64 which is warmer than we normally keep it during the night. I cranked it up in 2 degree increments as instructed by my heat pump guru. It took from about 6:30 til after 11:30 to get the upstairs up to 70 degrees. We never ever have our house at 70 degrees but it was there and I was still freezing. I was shivering; teeth were chattering! I had on a short sleeved T-shirt, a long sleeved T-shirt on top of that and a sweatshirt on top of that! I had on flannel pajama bottoms with sweatpants on top of that. Two pairs of socks. I finally put on my wool mittens and went to bed with 5 quilts about noon. Got up about 1 and took three aspirins; went back to bed and now I’m up and my teeth aren’t chattering but I’m still cold. Just took my temp . . 101.7. None of the suspect parts hurt . . throat isn’t sore, nose isn’t stuffy, head don’t hurt . . don’t know what’s wrong with me. I don’t feel terribly yucky but I don’t feel terribly good either. No sewing is happening today . . nor is there going to be any dinner on the table tonight. If I lived in Louisiana near my family and friends, someone would bring me homemade potato soup . . because I feel good enough to call and ask someone to make it for me! Hopefully tomorrow I’ll be back to normal . . no fever and my high energy level but for today . . no energy at all!
I have to tell you this story. It’s off color. It’s bad even if I leave off the bad word but it’s funny. And I’m sick and I could be a bit delirious because of the fever so you can’t hold it against me, ok?
If you don’t want to read an off color story . . leave the room now! Go ahead . . close the door behind you and please, please don’t hold this againt me. All this begging means I probably shouldn’t be telling this story.
This is my nephew, Craig. Craig is maybe 26 or 27 now. Craig lived with my parents for a while. My parents live in a very decent neighborhood. It’s the same neighborhood where we had our purple house. I still love that house, even though some goofball painted it blue!
I’m going to change all the names in this story except for Craig. Poor Craig . . he’s family so he can’t stay mad at me long.
There was another family living in the subdivision. I’ll call them the Streeters and they had a son about Craig’s age . . maybe 5 or 6 at the time. We’ll call him Rick. The Streeters were very, very religious people. All of us (us, mom and dad and the Streeters, along with some others in the neighborhood) went to the same Baptist Church. Some of us were average good but the Streeters were ultra good. They were the kind of people who didn’t even think bad words. They kinda whispered when they talked. They weren’t fakes . . they really lived that kind of life.
There were several empty lots between mom and dad’s house and the closest house to them. Everything has built up now but in that house that was their closest neighbor lived another family who had their grandson living with them. These people were party animals! They weren’t bad people (I don’t think!) but they lived a colorful life. Their little grandson had seen more in his short years than had many adults my age. We’ll call that little boy Mike.
The Streeters came down to mom and dad’s house one day and wanted to talk. Craig wasn’t a bad kid but he wasn’t an angel either. Rick was pretty darned angelic! He had huge brown eyes, a little fat, round face . . a cute little naive 5 or 6 year old. Here’s what I remember from the visit (I wasn’t there . . I was told).
Streeters: We don’t mind if Rick plays here with Craig but if Mike comes over, Rick is to leave! We’ve told him and he understands why and he will leave but we just wanted you to know.
Streeters: We’ve just heard so many things about Mike and we’re just shocked! We know what kind of people you are and we trust that Rick will not be exposed to anything detrimental while he’s here playing with Craig. And, Craig is welcome to come to our house any time.
So, life goes on. Rick and Craig play often. If Mike comes over, Rick leaves. Dad doesn’t get in the middle of that . . not his problem.
One day Craig and Rick are out riding their bikes. Craig had a wreck. Craig was very dramatic. He was screaming and crying and oh, he was so hurt. Dad went running out there. Craig couldn’t even stop screaming long enough to tell Dad where he was hurt.
Dad: Craig, you have to tell me where you’re hurt.
Rick: Big, innocent brown eyes looking up at dad – He said he busted his p—-! (another name for cat!)
Rick was scared to death . . he thought Craig was really hurt and Rick wasn’t exactly sure what part that might have been but where ever it was, Craig’s was busted!
Craig was fine! Not sure what happened after that. Rick probably went home and explained verbatim to his parents what had happened to Craig. They probably donated their home to charity, sent Rick off for intensive therapy and none of us ever saw them again!
Now, I’m going to take more aspirins and go back to bed and hope that by this time tomorrow, I still have a few blog readers! 🙂