It’s Gonna Be May

Hooray, hooray, the first of May! Outdoor Fffff…ing starts today…

Whoops! There goes my PG rating.

It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day today, after gale-force winds yesterday shook the house and … quite possibly Sabra, to the core. I don’t know exactly what happened but I’ve never, in ten years, heard her make the howling noises she was making. She was hysterical and panting and trembling all over, and inconsolable. It was really disturbing, and today it’s like it never happened. It is, however, worth checking in with the vet on Monday.

April was a busy month. And, while I like to be chillin’ and lazy, it’s so good to be busy too. Our quarantine life is beginning to turn a corner. Both of my parents are fully vaccinated, and Todd just received his 2nd on Wednesday. So far so good – he is sailing through with few symptoms.

Todd has finished his ’68 Mustang, just tweaking different things now like hopefully the God-awful squealing noise when he starts the engine – which is one thing in our driveway and something entirely different at the gas station surrounded by other people. Otherwise, it’s turning heads as we go and even two young men who reminded me so much of Opac’s friends asked if they could take pictures of it while we were picking up sushi.

A recent cruise to Rita’s for gelato brought back memories of our high school days, if only for the chrome siding that dropped off of it on a country road that was subsequently trampled by a horse and buggy. At least this time no one could shake a fist at him, shouting, someone could’ve been killed! (A sweet and nostalgic story for another time.)

A friend of mine had surgery and was unable to drive for a few weeks, so I offered to be her daughter’s transportation a couple of days a week. It was refreshing to be with a 16-year-old girl who doesn’t hate me and actually tells me things about her life. I’ve said before, with respect to the nephews, that it’s always fun to be the “auntie” and #notthemomma. We debated the merits of masks, the vaccine, and whether a person who was impaled by a pole while driving with Covid would have cause of death listed as “Covid,” or “death by impalement.”

Speaking of nephews, my mother-in-law recently celebrated her birthday and her only request was dinner at her place. She made the dinner and bought her own cake. She insisted. Okay. We brought her flowers. Neph AND Nephtoo were there, which was wonderful since we’ve not seen each other in over a year. I looked down at the floor after greeting them and noticed they both had worn the same sock combination – one black sock and one white – on the exact same feet. Did you two plan this? – what do you mean? Your socks? – oh, hahaha! No! OMG. Hahahahahahaha! (Silly boys.)

Todd and I were invited to wine and tapas on a colleague’s porch, overlooking the Chesapeake on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. This fucking house, Oh My GOD. Double glass door entryway, open floor plan and panoramic windows looking out into the woods and over the bay. The porch with its old-fashioned rocking chairs. It was all I could do to restrain myself from taking pictures of everything and embarrassing myself. I could lose myself in my journal, a good book, and my morning coffee on that porch.

We took a walk down to their [private] boat dock, the ground beneath our feet a carpet of chartreuse-green moss. I slyly snapped a photo of it and then later, I got caught photographing a lone pine cone on a wooden step and I sheepishly explained to Steve that I’m weird – I like to photograph little mundane things. The garden, surrounded by a weathered picket fence, had a hand-dug fish pond with comets dipping under lily pads, an charming garden shed in the far corner I’d have commandeered for a writer’s cabin.

My black thumb is getting a workout these last few weeks as we spread fresh mulch around the existing gardens and I planted about $200 worth of flowers and bushes and I’m not done yet. I’m watching over everything vigilantly in a bid to save them from certain death in Tara’s garden. So far so good. AND, all the bulbs I planted last fall have burst into pretty tulips (though I fear there are no petals left after last night).

I’m getting caught up on health matters, which means routine testing I’ve put off too long and also revisiting the neurosurgeon for a new issue raised by the doctor conducting my EMG and his feeling that I need an MRI. Don’t worry, I’ve already googled it and it’s not good. I may be dying.

Shuggie got her big girl surgery two weeks ago and it was a joy to have a full 24 hours of her sedated for a change. I was told no running or jumping for 7-10 days and I all but laughed in her face. Are you effing kidding me?? Do you even know this dog?? This all meant she had to be on leash in the backyard at all times, something she doesn’t like and stands against you with her head down like she’s been a bad girl. Thank God that’s over with.

There was a child support conference the first week of April whereby X’s support obligation to me was revoked (fully expected) and he came after me for support (also fully expected) because …arsehole. For people who like numbers, the person who earns $8,000 (that’s eight thousand dollars) a month is seeking child support from the person who earns less than $2,000 a month. And, because both parents are responsible for the cost of raising a child, Domestic Relations calculates each contribution as a percentage. Him – 85%, Me- 15%. They don’t have a douchebag calculator so we’ll just have to go with, “off the charts.”

Here’s another word problem for all you wonderful mathematicians out there: The custodial parent is responsible for the first $250 out-of-pocket medical expenses and afterward 85%. So now he has to pay the first $250 (except this year because it was prorated to $200). I just paid $168 for the month in child support and I have a pile of out-of-pocket medical expense receipts totaling almost $200 that HE has to reimburse me for. Do the math. I don’t know about you but I think this is just ridiculous.

And I won’t mention how for the last several years he cheated his kids out of adequate child support by paying less than HALF of what Domestic Relations would have ordered and I know this because when I refiled for support in November, he was ordered to pay double what he had been giving. And that was only for ONE child. But it’s okay, because he always bought them whatever they wanted/needed, and besides – if she was staying long periods of time with him, I didn’t need child support because I wasn’t buying her food and stuff. Right? Right? But I won’t mention any of that.

No worries, ya’ll. Life is good. And it will get better. All of the good things, my family and friends, are my anchors during this crazy life and these many months my children have stopped being my children. And I feel sorry for the people who will never be happy, because they’re just …not. No house, no car, no job, no lover, no belongings, no amount of money will ever change them. This Nasty Woman says, in the prolific words of Donald Trump, “Sad!”

So, as to end on a happy note I would like to announce a new addition to the Silverfox household. There’s a spoiled new puppy and Dad came to me once again for suggestions. Because he’s an Afghan hound I came up with a few I liked on my own and then supplemented by googling “Afghan boy names” which returned a lengthy list including this showstopper: Mahboob. I quickly texted dad and said this is it! Endless entertainment.

Where’s Mahboob?

Mahboob just fell on the floor.

I’m giving Mahboob a bath.

What are you doing dad? Playing with Mahboob.

Thank you. I’ll show myself out.

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