Maybe I'm jaded.

Maybe I'm old.

Perhaps I am just weary.

Or like Grandma said:

"Soured on life."

Whatever, I'm missin' somethin' here.

Yesterday, when I saw the toilet in the master bath in pieces I thought there might be a story behind it, but I wasn't sure I wanted to know about it. Much less be involved somehow.

I've been "involved" with "projects" like that before. I ain't stupid. I turn instantly into The Amazing Invisible Housekeeper. I remember when Bossling replaced the wax ring under the old one a few years ago. I wound up "involved" in that. It still makes me shudder....................................

So I just cleaned around this plumbing project, and let it go.
In the other bathroom I found that the old toilet had been replaced with a shiny new one. That explained the toilet in pieces in the other bathroom. Both were being replaced.

New plumbing does not excite me, especially if it isn't mine. And ESPECIALLY if I have to clean it. But when Bossling diddy-bopped into the office on some errand this morning and stopped by the desk to say hello, I said "That's a purty pair o' potties ya'll got." And I said it in my best Southern Redneck-ese. I'm pretty fluent. Ya'll didn't know I was bi-ling-you-all.

WELL, he was THRILLED with the new thrones, and went into great detail about the awesome flushing ability of these things. He says "Whatever you put in there it's GONE!!!! WHOOSH, outta there!" You just touch the handle and it'll suck it down!!!!!" And he just raved on. He was positively "flushed" with happiness. I'm just relieved to have one that flushes, and enough rectal ribbon for the job.

Well.............okay then! He has two Turbo-Charged Turd-Buster 2000's. I'll jump up and down with joy later. I ain't feeling the Joy right now.

Before I left the office to go to the house I caught Bosslady in her office. I said "He's tickled about those new toilets, isn't he?" She started laughing and told me he would just stand there and flush them repeatedly, and was overjoyed at flushing things DOWN them. Then she told me how , while the family was in the living room watching t.v., he'd send their son into the bathroom to flush the commode, just to hear the flush. She had to yell at him to knock it off.

And the new toilets DO make an impressive sound as far as toilet flushes go. I have to go clear to Wal-Mart-------all the way across town!------- to hear power-flushing like that. This will be convenient for me.

She did say how the noise scared the family dog. But Hell, butterflies scare that animal.

I do wish they had told me about the New Additions to the household, though.

I would have bought a gift.

I would like to start this post by thanking all of you for the support you have shown me and my family through this very long and frightening weekend. Your prayers, positive thoughts and concern over my son's condition meant more to us than I can express. It kinda sucks that I can talk a blue streak about virtually nothing, but had to start this post a dozen times to thank all of you. I just can't find adequate words. Ya'll are the best people I have ever known, and you mean the world to me.

It took the better part of two and a half days----and every test the hospital could do----to find out that he had viral encephalitis.
He could not tell them how he was feeling when the ambulance picked him up. He couldn't even tell them his name. All he could say was "I can't get it straight." He couldn't walk, and was in and out of consciousness.
They told me he "climbed the walls" in ICU when they tried to draw blood and insert a catheter. They had to restrain him with wrist restraints and a sheet tied to the bed to hold his chest down. He was "combative" and "agitated". And he used every dirty word he knew. This earned him another round of sedatives. He had had three at this point. He would thrash around and pull at his restraints and beg to be turned loose.

And none of that is the son I know.

Sometimes being a mother hurts like all Hell.

Nothing showed up in his bloodwork.
His white cell count didn't indicate any infection.
None of the scans or x-rays showed anything, and they did 'em ALL.
No drugs were found in his system.

They told me they had no idea what was wrong. That scared me stupid. But they decided to do a lumbar puncture, and they found the encephalitis. He went in on Thursday, and we found out Sunday morning.

Youngest looked it up on the internet, and as bad as it was for my son, it could have been so much worse.

And how do you get viral encephalitis? Glad you asked! This is Need-To-Know stuff.

According to the doctor, in this part of the country, the primary cause is mosquito bites. One mosquito knocked him on his butt. He has headaches, and he's weak. He's still not clear-headed, and he cannot remember much about the last three or four days. After watching what it did to Son I can tell you that this is nothing to play with. Do all you can to avoid mosquito bites. Check your property for standing water and dump it. Please spray your kids with repellant when they go outside. Spray the bushes around your yard with insecticide. Whatever it takes.

Damn a mosquito.

I may not be around much for the next day or so, but I've read everyone's comments and all so I'll answer those just as soon as I possibly can.

My son suffered some sort of collapse at his home yesterday, and as I write this, the doctors (several of them), have no idea what happened to my boy.
They did x-rays, CT scans, bloodwork, and everything they could think of, including a very thorough questioning of the family, with more tests today if he is responsive. T-Bird has gone to the plant to question everyone who who worked with him yesterday. When I left the hospital last night he was in ICU under heavy-duty sedation. It's that bad. And that's where I'll be today.

If you pray, please pray for him. If you light candles, please light a couple. If you believe in positive energy, please send some his way. And I've said this before:

Grab every single person that you love and care about, wrap your arms around them, and please, for the love of God, tell them how you feel. They may not know it, and you don't want to have to say it to someone in a hospital bed who has no idea that you are there.

My husband has a buddy that is a few years older than we are. He and his wife are two of the sweetest folks you'll ever meet. They were not blessed with children of their own, and their later years have not been too kind.

They had to move to another house out in the country due to financial troubles, which is a side-effect of failing health.
But they found a nice little place with a pond. Our friend decided that the pond was in bad need of ducks. And he found nine little baby mallards at a bird sale or somethin'. My ex used to go to these things for chickens and other feathered critters. I have had two bad experiences with ducks, and they don't rate too highly with me. Forget geese. They are just bigger ducks with bigger attitudes.

He brought his new "children" home and fixed 'em up a nice little pen. Probably to keep them from being late-night snacks for foxes and coyotes.
He spent time with them every day and he'd let them out of the pen so that they could do whatever little mallards do. Whenever he let them out they would line up and follow "momma" everywhere he went. He couldn't go inside the house without putting them back in the pen or they would follow him inside.
So here's an old man walking around his property followed by nine baby mallards. The neighbors started watching the show, and then they called other neighbors to come over and watch!
If he put out the feed and was fast enough, he could make it back inside without the ducks. Watchin' from the window, he saw that after a minute or two, one would start lookin' around for "momma". Since they couldn't see him, they would start quacking. He could holler out the door, and that re-assured the "kids", and they would go back to feeding. After a few minutes, they'd miss him again and raise a fuss, he'd yell loud enough for them to hear him, and all would be well again.

He found a snake in the yard, and when he shot it the noise upset the babies and it took thirty minutes of talkin' to the ducks to calm them back down. I guess that makes him The Duck Whisperer.

But then he realized that they would NOT go into the pond. Like mallards should do. Since the ducklings had imprinted on HIM---and that indeed made him their mother---and they saw that "she" didn't go into the pond, they weren't gonna go in either. They do what she does. And "she" don't swim.
Now he is The Old Man With The Crazy Ducks. And this ain't right!
So he takes them down to the pond and, nope, they will not go into the water on their own. So he scooped 'em up and THREW them into the water. The desperate act of a desperate man.

Before you get upset with him, let me assure you that baby ducks can indeed swim. They just have to be shown that they can. That's easy to do if you are, in fact, a mother duck.
They swam alright! Back to the bank! Like feathered torpedos! Quackin' like crazy! They clustered around his feet and shook off the water, and followed him back to the house.

Mallards also fly. I wonder how he's gonna teach that. Let's hope nature kicks in before it's time to migrate Up North. Momma Duck is gonna have a Hell of a time with that one!

Did anyone else catch the story this morning about the man that cuts his grass while wearing a skirt?

Not a kilt...........a skirt. And it is a very short skirt. I wouldn't let my daughters wear a skirt that short out of my house.

He wears a skirt while mowing because he suffers from some sort of heat rash that is unbearable.

The reason he made the news is because he does not wear underbritches under his skirt, and he sits on a riding lawnmower. Which spreads the legs, and his neighbors get a free shot that they don't want. You can't cut grass and ride side-saddle. Thankfully, they edited out the offensive (and apparently cool) genitalia in the video clip.

May I suggest a good antibacterial soap? I'm sure someone has a cure for this particular kind of Crotch Rot. Seek thou a physician.

Usually, nobody in this day and age cares what someone else wears while doing yard work. Unless it is a female who cuts grass in a bikini, and looks good doin' it.

I had a neighbor years ago who cut his grass religiously every Sunday morning. Without fail. WITH beer.

He noticed that little old ladies were giving him hateful looks as they drove past him, on their way to the church down the road. No doubt they saw him as a heathen; an un-repentant sinner cutting the grass on The Lord's Day.

By the way, if you are a Christian, try not to look as though you were baptized in vinegar. It puts people off.

After a few Sundays of mean looks from old ladies he had had enough. So he planned for the next Sunday, with joy in his heart, and against the protests of his wife.

Sunday finally arrived. And he was in the front yard, cutting grass, as planned. With his beer.

He was wearing a big straw hat, cowboy boots, and his Fruit Of The Looms. And a big grin.

When the carload of elderly ladies drove by, he smiled and waved his straw hat at 'em!

He says that they never looked in his direction again as they drove past his house.