The Vagabond Returns: Joyce’s Cat…
A few of you that have been with me a long time may remember my deceased next door neighbor Joyce. She was schizo-affective like me except her illness was much more severe. She constantly thought she was being persecuted by God and was constantly seeking spiritual counseling. She even worked at a church as part of her penance. Well, she’s been dead for about three years now and her wayward cat has returned home. Joyce’s sister tried in vain to capture that cat and take it to the humane society, but never could.
Lately, on my pacing the floor sessions, I have noticed the cat sitting in the carport sunning itself. I see it everyday. I walked over and the cat has been sleeping in the utility room on some old blankets. I smiled. It was as if Joyce had returned home in feline form. I have been putting out cans of tuna to win over the cat’s trust. I want the cat to be mine if Maggie will accept it. I am going to get mom to get me some stinky canned cat food next week at the grocery store. We’ll see what happens and I will keep you all informed.
Helen’s Corn Pudding…
I liked Helen’s corn pudding so much I wanted the recipe. Well, Helen doesn’t use recipes. She just cooks out of her head. I hope to call her today and have her recite the recipe to me to the best of her ability. I will post it on the blog. I also want Helen’s recipe for corn bread and will post that as well if she will tell it to me.
We’re All Crazy in Our Own Way as Charlie Says…
“I’ve got a story to tell on your mother,” dad said laughing yesterday afternoon during our medication ritual.
Mom sat on the couch and started to look wary. Dad loves to tell a good story on mom and has told many over the years.
“I wrote down a recipe for cinnamon rolls for Helen to fix for your mother for breakfast this morning,” dad said. “Well, your mother said Helen wasn’t going to be able to read my handwriting and was worried she wasn’t going to get the rolls.”
“What did she do?” I asked, intrigued.
“She got up during the middle of the night and rewrote the recipe twice making it clearer every time,” dad said, laughing. “There were three different looking recipes for cinnamon rolls sitting on the kitchen counter when Helen got here this morning.”
“Johnny, don’t tell all this,” my mother said, embarrassed.
“Well, Helen called me at work this morning,” dad said, just a grinnin’ and laughing.
“Mr. John? Just what recipe do I use for these cinnamon rolls?” Helen asked me.
“I laughed and laughed,” dad said. “I told you your mother can get things complicated really fast.”
“Well, I really wanted those cinnamon rolls and was afraid Helen wouldn’t be able to cook them reading your chicken scratch!” mom said huffily, now defensive.
I smiled. I love my mother so much and this is just characteristic of her obsessive compulsiveness. I would have rewritten the recipe twice as well for some of Helen’s cinnamon rolls.
George’s Project and Mine…
Well, I sat down at the kitchen table to start rebuilding George’s carburetor last night. I don’t know why I have been dreading this so. What we do for friends. George had brought over a service manual for his car he ordered at AutoZone late yesterday evening which gave me the impetus to start. George also brought wiper blades for my car which excited me. You know you don’t get to shop much when getting wiper blades excites you. The next project I want to do on my car is the obvious oil change and a trip to the junk yard to get a digital clock out of a junked 2001 Honda CR-V. Mine quit working a year ago and it drives me crazy as I never wear a watch.