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Egg Exploding

It might be a funny story for future generation giggles.

It was not funny yesterday.

I decided to make hard boiled eggs.

I decided to try another way to make them.

  • Step 1:

You bring them to a boil and

  • Step 2:

Immediately remove them from the heat and allow to stand precisely 17 minutes.

Yup.  I did Step 1.  I am good at following directions.

And then I left.

I think I thought I had 17 minutes to write thank you notes.

The bad thing is I missed Step 2 – the 17 minute-part where you take the eggs off the stove and allow them to stand.

It must have been about 37 minutes later when I heard a funny noise.   Elsa-the-dog was pacing and trying to tell me something was amiss, but I ignored her and told her everything would be allright.

I was busy concentrating you know – writing lovely thank you notes.  It couldn’t be 17 minutes already.  Could it?

Then there came another noise.

Only this time it was a thunderous BANG!  Like a very loud GUNSHOT in the kitchen!

Was someone being murdered INSIDE my house?

It is still gun hunting season here.

Was there someone actually firing a gun in my house?

I ran/hobbled to the kitchen in time to see – YES – it was an explosion all right –

AN EXPLOSION OF EGGS!

Have you ever seen an egg explode?

It was a first for me too.

Oddly enough, I become very calm and deliberate in a crisis.  If you discount the way I talk to myself and even give myself vocal instructions, you would surely admire my bravery in quickly turning the burner off.  I also thought to put Elsa in the back room to keep her from eating exploded eggs.

Note: There were no more eggs in the pot.  I think most of them were on the ceiling and the pot was burned black.

There was definitely egg on the ceiling,

egg on the floor,

egg across the stove top,

egg under the vent hood,

eggs on the walls,

bits of egg into the next room,

egg EVERYWHERE!

Bill helped me clean up, especially in the upper reaches (like egg on top of the refrigerator).

I am still finding egg or egg shells in unusual places.

Finally my friend Amy came over and under her eagle eye and a tightrope walker’s balance, the last remnants of eggs on the ceiling are gone.

The only thing left is

“egg on my face.”

If you are not familiar with this expression, here is what it means.

From “The Dictionary of Cliches” by James Rogers (Ballatine Books, New York, 1985): “to have egg on your face – To be embarrassed or chagrined at something one has done or the way one did it; to do something ineptly. The expression originated in the United States some 25 years ago, probably from the fact that someone eating an egg sloppily is likely to wind up with some of it on his face and therefore not looking his best. 

 

 

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Big Feet SlippersThey say, “With age, comes shrinking”.

Gravity is the culprit and I am no exception.

I was once 5’ 4 ½”, but now measure 5’ 3” at the doctor’s office.  This explains why cabinets are higher now and the upper reaches can only be accessed by standing on tiptoe.

The truth is, I am now a shrinking woman.  This is not a huge surprise.

But did you know FEET are also affected by the creeping/creepy years

I have just learned a second truth about aging –

BIGGER FEET!

Because none of my regular shoes fit anymore (which I thought was because of the intermittent  swelling of BigFoot), I was recently fitted for new shoes.

Foot MeasurerThe measurements were taken the old fashioned way you know by an orthotics expert who used one of those metal things you stand on.

Out of curiosity I asked, “So, what size am I?”

And the answer was, “9 to 9 ½.”“WHAT?” I practically screamed. “I have always been a Size 7 ½ to 8!  Are my feet GROWING?  No, your feet are going flat.

Your arches are falling.”

This revelation required some serious mulling over.

No wonder all my shoes are too tight to put on!

The old feet are growing as the arches fall  – a ridiculous/obvious fact with annoying repercussions.

For one thing I have a nice shoe collection.

It does not compete with Imelda Marcos, but includes:

Dress shoes in different colors and heel heights, lace-up athletic shoes (even though I have not been athletic in many a year), sandals in different colors and styles, boots in all their iterations, and all the various sizes of Walmart Specials to help during the BigFoot-Boot-Cane-MRI years.

Should I throw them all out and start over?

And how much more will these feet grow?

Maybe the solution is to stay inside wearing slipper socks until the feet reach maximum growth!

Life is full of mysteries.

It is my sincere hope that these Notes from An Incredible Shrinking Woman with Big Feet will inspire you to buy shoes with “give”.  Although you may not know it, your feet are definitely growing.

 

 

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BigFoot was on the road again.

On the mend again.

Shrunken to a normal size.

Ahhhh!

And after nearly three years in and out of a Big Boot or hobbling around with a cane or crutches, or gliding on a knee scooter, BigFoot FINALLY started WALKING!

But wait.

There is now a BlueToe on the SkinnyFoot, thanks to a “maintenance visit” for a Podiatrist’s professional pedicure!

I always liked my podiatrist even though he frightened me occasionally with ragged pedicures.

But who am I to question the cutting techniques of an accredited podiatrist?

Note:  Old people tend to elevate doctors to godly pedestals of eternal wisdom.

On this visit the good doctor once again cut a ragged edge and managed a very jagged cut on the SkinnyFoot’s Big Toe.

And this instantly caused a blue spot at the base of the nail.

Ever so politely, I asked, “What is that?”

And the doc said, “You must have stubbed it or something fell on it.  Not to worry, it will heal in time.”

I took him at his word of course even though I knew there was no blue spot when I walked in and I had not stubbed my toe or dropped anything on it.

Old people tend to accept anything a doctor says, particularly if he is wearing a white coat!

And it was only a little blue spot after all.  It would undoubtedly heal with time.

So off I went to PT (Physical Therapy).

And the Physical Therapist immediately gasped and  asked, “Who butchered your toe?”

After hearing my story and since the entire toenail had turned a beautiful blue, she said, “Go see your family doctor ASAP!”

Metallic blue toenails are the “in” thing now.  And that’s how BigFoot’s Big Toe looked….. blue.

Hmmmm.  Do you think I should I go to a salon and get the other nine nails painted to match?

“A good thing you came in,” said my family doctor.  “Looks like a blood blister. It will probably be fine. But watch and come back if you notice red streaks going up the foot or there is swelling or fever.  Also soak the toe in salt water twice a day and apply antibacterial ointment.”

That was two weeks ago.

BigFoot’s Big Toe is still Blue.

Seems to be healing but I am afraid to wear closed toed shoes for fear of aggravating.

Will I lose the nail?  Too soon to tell.

But this much is sure:

I will lose the Podiatrist.

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New Foot

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Faraway Doctoring

I connected this week with my Long Distance Doctor about the last MRI test for BigFoot.  That makes 5 MRI’s in about 3 years!

I am in rural Virginia and the doc is in Big City Baltimore so it is an adventure story of sorts.  She recommended “Serial MRI’s” for comparison purposes.

Anyway, Dr. C called to review the last MRI which showed positive changes.  And there will be no more MRI’s unless BigFoot decides to act up again.  Hurrah!

Now I keep looking at my beautiful ultra-thin foot.  And guess what?  It matches the other one.

ankles (1)On Foot Preening

Feet are definitely not the most glamorous parts of the human body.  In fact, I think they are generally pretty ugly.  But they do a major job in carrying us around and I do admire a foot that maintains its shape and shows a prominent ankle bone.

Is it no wonder that visible feet beneath ladies’ long skirts in the olden days was considered ultra sexy and risque?

Some folks preen before a mirror.  I suppose they admire their faces.

But a mirror is not necessary for foot preening.   I can simply recline in my recliner to scrutinize lovely skinny toes and the spaces between them, a slim ankle and visible ankle bone, and rare puffiness even after a full day of activity.  I would be an enormous hit in the olden days right?

So yes, at any given moment you may see me in a reclining stupor admiring my own sockless feet.

P.T.

PT is short for Physical Therapy.  Don’t you just hate all this “Initial” talking?

To celebrate SkinnyFoot’s new possibilities I attended a PT session with a therapist here in Virginia (not Baltimore thank goodness) who worked “hands on” for a full hour!

This meant manipulated muscles and things that have never been manipulated before.  !

I told Anne-Marie, the fantastic therapist, “My ultimate goal is to wear matching shoes and be able to traverse (on foot) the local Walmart with no electric cart!”

And she said, “That is absolutely do-able.” 

Really?!  I am so happy and hopeful but realize there is weakness due to nearly three years of immobility.   Good results will take time.

Then Came The-Day-After P.T.

  • UhOh!
  • Stabbing pains in SkinnyFoot.
  • Aching thighs.
  • Back twinges.
  • Fear
  • Worry.
  • And a mad grab for an Ibuprofen.
  • Arrrrgh!

Was this a case of after-therapy muscle aches and pains or something worse?

Should I quit after only one session?

Or should I soldier on?

The Day After the Day After P.T.

Only one stabbing pain all day.

Walmart, here I come!

Wish me luck my blogger friends –  I am off and running – well, not exactly running really.  But I have two appointments for P.T. next week.

Now don’t laugh.  You never know where this will go.

Even elderly ladies like me can bounce back to teenage agility levels.  I don’t expect to run marathons or jitterbug but like I said, “You never know.”

Meanwhile, it’s back to preening and personal foot admiration.

And I trust you will join me and gaze mesmerized at the Before and After foot photos above.

 

 

 

 

 

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aunty acid sleep

My compliments to the Virginia hospital sleep clinic  and kudos to the technician who conducted the study.  The attendant was efficient and kindly and I had a clean room with a double bed, a television and my own bathroom.

HOWEVER………

Following is an accurate account of the night I spent entrapped by wires that are designed to detect oxygen deprivation and other sundry unidentified maladies.

But, of course, if I could do it, you can too!  And this post, although accurate, is actually an attempt to make you laugh – not to scare you off.

And so it all began.  Arrival time: 9 PM

Firstly I expressed doubt about sleeping the requisite time.  That resulted in a bedtime story about why people do not sleep well in strange paces. 

Picture this:  It is the caveman days and humans are nomadic.  Every time they arrive at a new cave they are compelled to stay awake.  Who knows what predators are waiting to eat them?  So, staying wide-eyed when we find ourselves in new digs (even today) is a trait passed down through our DNA.  A perfectly understandable tale though not particularly comforting.

Bedtime story aside, it was not yet time to bed down because we had to do the real prep work!

 It took 40 minutes to attach 40,000 wires glued to head, face, neck, chest and legs, and another contraption attached to a finger (Well, maybe not 40,000 really but a huge mass)!

After hookups, some test runs, checks and rechecks I was tucked in and then visually monitored to record sleep positions!

I could not go to the bathroom without announcing the need out loud.  Then the technician would magically appear and unplug the wires.  That meant carrying 40,000 wires in a glob strapped over my shoulder and taking the glob into the bathroom.

While trying to wash one wireless globless hand, I got a glimpse of my face in the mirror.  Perfect reflection of a science fiction monster!

O.K., Blessed sleep time.  And there I lay for another hour or two, eyes wide open, hands in fists, and muscles tensed (primitive posture to deter an ancient mammoth attack).

The Turning Over Challenge.  Try rolling around and dragging 40,000 wires!  Barely making it to one side I stayed stiff for an hour or so until the body insisted on turning to the other side.

Oh, I forgot to mention they put a belt around my waist and another belt around my chest.

I prefer sleeping in the dark but the room was not dark even after the technician turned off the lamp and the overheads.  Didn’t she know killer bears can see into a lit room?

Praying for oblivion, I finally did fall into a dreamless sleep (on one of the stiff sides) that lasted 4 hours.

And finally, at 6 AM a cheery “Good Morning!” sounded over the speaker.

All the hookups were removed with instructions on how to wash off the goo.  My hair was all stuck to my head with gel stuff.

Did I look bad with all the wires attached?

That was nothing compared to the final unplugged version.

Thankfully I returned home, showered, removed goo, and slept on and off all day in a recliner.

My body was shaky and in screaming revolt.

 It may still be revolting, if not screaming.

But the test was meant to determine if I stop breathing during sleep.  A lack of oxygen to the organs is dangerous, and especially dangerous to the heart.  I trust my doctor.

So again, please don’t let this blog post deter you from doing a Sleep Study too.  Ha!

But, it you do go, please don’t tell me if you breeze right through the whole thing.  It would be too embarrassing to discover I am a colossal wimp!

 

 

 

 

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Camping

The problem with blogging is people begin to know all your weaknesses and character flaws.

Most cyberspace friends already know this country girl’slady’s flaws:

  • A devout shopper,
  • a worrier,
  • guilt ridden
  • a planner,
  • and a neat freak.

My hope is that all in all, you all (y’all in Virginia-ese) find these combined traits to be endearing.

But did you know that the BigFoot whiner was once an outdoorsy camping enthusiast?

Here are some FAQS you may have missed:

  • Once, at 3 AM, I threw an air mattress across the pup tent at my devoted spouse.

Why?

Because I kept sliding off and onto the cold lumpy ground.

  • And another time, I ran with a coat around my ankles to get back to the tent.

Why?

Because it was deer hunting season and it occurred to me that a beige suede coat whilst relieving oneself in the woods would conjure up images of a white-tailed deer!

  • And how about the time I had to wear a black patch over my eye to a party.  And it wasn’t Halloween and it wasn’t a costume to make me look like a Pirate either.

Why?

Because a giant gnat bit me near the eye and it swelled up to a frightening countenance.

  • And then there was the time we were six minutes into the Appalachian Trail.  Bravely carrying a 30 pound back pack I was moaning and lagging in line behind husband, our 8 year old son, and Tinker, the dog.  That’s when I sat down in the middle of the trail and cried.  

Why?

Because Y’All,

I hate camping!

More FAQs?

  • How about the tent that blew away?
  • Or having to sit under a tarp until a deluge of rain lets up?
  • Or trying to sleep listening to something or things crashing through the forest?
  • And wondering if we will be attacked by wolves or bears or angry deer.
  • Or being “Nose Cold” (and I don’t mean a head cold).  I mean a nose that’s almost frozen along with toes.

And now you have another character flaw to add to the list!

And Thank you Andrew for inspiring this post!

 

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Did you think the BigFoot saga was over?   Nope.

‘Tis not the case.

Thanks to internet searching, “the Foot” found another set of experts in ankle disorders.

“Mercy me!”

That’s an old fashioned way of saying, “Really?”. 

How far is one expected to go anyway to find a proactive healing plan?”

Well, Bill and I went off to Baltimore, Maryland on a 5 hour car trip (plus a pit stop and lunch) and got a place for a few nights on the Inner Harbor!  We planned to combine serious business with some BigFoot Frolicking in the big city!

Leaving our little country home in rural  Virginia even for a few days meant the excitement was feverish.

Just think!  We had to navigate our way around  traffic and sky scrapers (we get lost in parking garages).

And although it may sound strange to some, the Number One attraction on my list was Whole Foods supermarket for the express purpose of buying 6 loaves of real bread.

Talk about frolicking!

But seriously, our ultimate destination was The Institute for Foot and Ankle Restoration at Mercy (hospital).  Their web site is beyond professional and they answer the phone in two rings and offer second opinions.  I wondered, “Can they give me a qualified opinion on how to heal?”

Foot_and_Office_Entrance_Sign_Hallway_IFAR_2013_8023

Mercy Medical Center

Mercy Medical Center, Baltimore, Maryland

Be still my heart!  Look at all those big buildings!

More on BigFoot Frolicking to be continued…….

 

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