This Post Brought to You by the National Brussel Sprout Institute

Happy Thanksgiving from the Coast of Illinois!

I have been rather stumped when it came to writing this update. I could fall in and give a list of things I am thankful for but frankly, I have lived a very charmed life and there just isn't the space.

At present I am sitting here in the kitchen surrounded by three pounds of cranberry sauce, five pounds of candied sweet potatoes and no less than one hundred Brussel Sprouts, watching Gone With the Wind and trying to explain to Bart why I have spent the entire day cooking when we aren't even hosting dinner this year. (There is also a twelve pound turkey unthawing in my Tupperware cake cozy. But he doesn't need to know.)

Actually, the answer to his question is easy. Even though we are going to my sister's for dinner, this house MUST smell and feel like Thanksgiving on Thursday morning by 8am. This means a turkey in the oven and Al Roker hanging with the Snoopy balloon at Harold Square.

It also means Brussel Sprouts sauteed with bacon and watching every single Thanksgiving episode of Friends. This cabbage and sitcom frenzy culminates in the ultimate Thanksgiving episode of all time: WKRP in Cincinnati. You know the one I mean – where Arthur Carlson and Herb Tarlick throw LIVE turkeys out of an airplane. And they fall from the sky like bags of wet cement as Les Nesman reports, "Oh! The Humanity!" And then The Big Guy says, "As God is my witness, I thought Turkeys could fly." 

I do not think Scarlet would approve.

But honestly, one single day of giving thanks really just isn't enough.

So I will leave it at this:

May you have a Fridge so full that it takes two arms and a foot to close it, a Home which is warm in winter and cool in summer and the knowledge that you are Loved, by someone, somewhere.

And I will also leave you with this:

Two pictures of Brussel Sprouts. Because...THANKSGIVING!

Sprouts in the Hot Tub!

Brussel Sprouts in their Natural Habitat - sauteed with bacon.

Unmentionable

I had to go underwear shopping the other day. I didn't 'get' to. I was 'asked' to. And by 'asked' I mean handed a handful of cash and ordered to go because people were tired of hearing me complain that the elastic in my current undergarments refused to keep up its end of the bargain. There was a day when this would have been fun. Now it is just traumatic.

Too practical and my husband is traumatized.

Too sexy and my daughter (who helps with the laundry) and the sales clerk, who is inevitably younger than my daughter are traumatized.

Too expensive and...have you seen Agent Provocateur?

Too thong-y and well...There is a time and a place for thongs. And I am here to tell you that the place is not between my butt and cotton scrub pants and the time is not a ten hour work day.

So, I headed to the mall with my Macy's coupons, my Fredericks of Hollywood reward card and very low expectations. It should be noted that I have had the Fredericks reward card for nearly five years and have yet to receive anything more than a depressing reminder that 'tonga' panties are really just fancy thongs.

I searched the racks for something between high-waisted and flossing.

There was the barely there collection which defies all the laws of sewing by not having a single seam.

The bikini cut hasn't changed in forty years. This is unfortunate. I have changed quite a lot.

High-cut shows more thigh. No one needs to see that.

The boy-short is cute and hides the upper thigh. By emphasizing the thickest part of the middle thigh.

A new style at Victoria's Secret's is sweetly named the 'cheeky'. Need I say more?

I even found one brand which promised NO MORE MUFFIN TOP. Wear their underwear and no more belly overhang. "How can they do this?" you might ask. And I would respond, "By making the waistband five inches wide and manufacturing the elastic out of inner tube rubber. Once those babies are on they are staying on. I pity the fool who attempts to grab the waistband and wedgie the wearer. Their fingers will be cut off by the shearing force of the industrial restraining power required to keep middle-aged stomachs from overhanging their jeans.

Not that many middle-agers I know are giving or getting wedgies.

In the end, I went with the 'hipster'. It hits that delicate balance between nursing home and strip club and most companies offer it in a variety of colors and patterns. Plus I like the name:
'Hipster'. It says hip right there in the name. Victoria's Secret even had a pair covered with sequins. However, they were not part of the super secret $5 a pair sale so I sadly left them on the counter.

I hate to think what sort of trauma sequins would inflict.

*On the day I went shopping, the Frederick's of Hollywood store at my mall was closed. Supposedly there was some sort of water main issue. Personally, I feel it is some sort of Hollywood Rewards conspiracy.

**Seriously. Have you seen Agent Provocateur? Their lingerie is gorgeous. (I think it becomes lingerie when the price goes over 3 for $15.)  And stupid expensive.  I wonder if they participate in Rent the Runway...

A Letter

Dear Alphabetically Titled Internet Provider,

My Internet is broken.

No matter how many times the robust computer voice tells me to, I can not log on to your WWW.com site and follow the simple fourteen step instructions on how to fix it.

Because my Internet is broken.

Thank you.

*I am totally wimping out here. I wanted to use the actual name of my Internet provider but as this same company provides my home phone – which is also broken – and my cell phone I thought it best to not anger them.

No one wants the Phone Police to show up at your door.

Word.

**I am posting this on my lunch break at work. I am barely giving myself enough time to eat my slice of chocolate cake. 
You're Welcome.

Time Stands Still for No Man...Cats are another Story

I have such a headache.

I believe it is from all the math.

Let me explain.

We have been in TimeChange 2013 for four days now.

Sure, the switch from Daylight Savings Time to God's Time* gives us more daylight in the morning. It gives you party people an extra hour to party. It gives the rest of us an extra hour of sleep. (And if you work night shift it not only gives you an extra hour of work, it also – if your work is time dependent – totally screws up your record keeping.)

But around here it means Head Math. That's the math you do in your head to figure simple and totally irrelevant numbers. So, when I get up at 0445 with the cat (who only observes Cat Time) I have to stop and figure not only what time it really is but also the equivalent time in the previous less holy time zone. Here is the equation:

0445(clock already turned back) +/- 1 hour (spring forward? Fall back?) = actual time (0445) vs virtual time (0545)

This is followed by many exasperated sighs and an occasional mild curse word and will continue for at least another week.

Maybe two.

Thus the headache.

And an extra breakfast for the cat.

PS-

The cat was quite looking forward to the new time. Up until four days ago it has been too dark to go outside on his leash before I go to work. (yes, leash.) So for the entire month of October I reminded him that soon it would be light in the morning. It has rained the past four mornings.

Which means it is still dark

Just a little Karmic justice, cat.

Now go back to sleep.

*God's Time is my Mom's name for our current time zone. Personally, I think God is probably more of an observer of Cat Time, which allows the observant to sleep whenever He wants and eat the rest of the time. 

My Minions, what is this thing you call time...

 **And a NanoWrimo update -as of this posting I am around 9660 words which is a little behind and according to the calculator at NanoWrimo.org will have me finishing my November novel on December 5. If I could do the math I might be able to figure out how much I need to step things up to actually finish on time. 

Get the Excedrin.

I Have a Feeling I Will be Extra Thankful when November Ends

It's November 1. Happy Día de la Muerto! Or the day I wonder what happened to this:

Just a little place I like to call Santa Monica...

And this:

Yes this is our homemade sailboat - ON THE OCEAN!

And  the day I remember that I still had houseplants outside.

Thus the Muerto.

For some reason November has become a challenging month. Not challenging as in difficult. More like challenging as in the Plank Challenge (hold the plank for ever increasing amounts of time until you hit something akin the the length of Titanic the Movie), The 24 day Ab Challenge (an ever increasing set of ab exercises focusing on crunches, leg lifts an... planks!) and the National Write a Novel in a Month...month (where you are suppose to write 50,000 words in 30 days. Are these people not aware that nearly EVERY OTHER MONTH of the year has 31 days???)

Am I going to attempt all these things?

Yes.

Without a net?

Yup.

Will there be pictures?

Hah!

Should I be perturbed that more than one person is concerned with the shape of my abs?

I could be but really, who am I kidding.

I'll let you know how it goes, assuming I don't die of a super ab spasm while typing word number 34,578.

And to all who stuck with the October serial story – THANKS! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed sharing it with you.And now a little more Día de la Muertos:

Carlos e Isabella a gift from Bart on the occasion of our 20th anniversary.

 I should have taken it as a warning.

The Final Chapter

So here it is. The day before Halloween. All Hallow's Eve...Eve? And with it comes the final installment of my contribution to the zombie craze. I hope you have enjoyed this little month long departure from the everyday life on the Coast of Illinois. Watch out for those little ghouls and goblins tomorrow night and come back on Friday November 1 when the Coast returns to normal...

Birth

Part Nine

 

                          Part One   Part Two   Part Three   Part Four   Part Five 

                                             Part Six  Part Seven   Part Eight
 

The infant took a tiny breath, coughed and began to cry. Mary and Debra joined in. Downstairs, Jake heard the crying and gave one last look outdoors. The female zombies jumped up and down excitedly with each cry.

In the bedroom, Deb hurriedly rubbed the crying baby dry. Ordinarily a newborn’s skin begins to pink as it is rubbed dry. This baby seemed to turn grey. Debra leaned in closer. Its breathing was deep and even with no sounds of obstruction. Its cry was healthy. She felt certain the color was not due to lack of oxygen. As she handed the baby to Mary it opened its eyes. They were flat and lifeless yet seemed to look directly at her. Debra shuddered. The baby was so cold.

Mary took her baby and held it close. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she moved the blanket. Its tiny grey body shivered. “It’s a boy! Oh Jake, come quick. Our son is here!” Mary called out as she placed the infant to her breast. In a whisper she said, "It's just as Jenna said." She looked to Debra and nodded.

With a deep breath, Deb returned the nod. A wave of nausea hit her and she stepped back. It was too much to take in. Mary sat curled on the bed, the tiny grey infant with blank eyes open and staring around the room gave a final cry and began to suckle gently its grey flesh dry and peeling like the paper of an old letter. He closed his eyes and in the dim light of the bedroom Debra could see how much Mary loved her son.

Crashing outside the bedroom window brought her back to reality. Jake raced into the room as Debra moved the curtain. The two females from downstairs were peering into the bedroom window. They had climbed up the downspout. Neither touched the wired window nor did they make any attempt to push closer than necessary to see inside. Their heads dipped back and forth as Mary swayed with her nursing infant.

“They want to see him. Mary, hold the baby up. Let them see him,” Deb spoke quietly. Births had a way of changing people. The females looked concerned almost hopeful. Debra had seen that look many times …on the faces of worried grandmothers standing outside the nursery windows.

“God, no! Mary…” Jake stopped at the bedside as he saw the baby for the first time. His face went pale as horror washed over him. The baby fixed its lifeless eyes on Jake and began to scream.

Debra stepped back, away from the window. The zombies stopped swaying as Mary held the baby up for them to see. She pushed the bedroom door shut as Mary announced to the room and those beyond it, “His name is Adam.”

“Deb, help us.” Tears welled in Jake’s eyes as he reached out to stroke the crying infant’s head. It lunged towards him; tiny white teeth glimmered in the darkened room.

Debra nodded her head as she slipped her hand into her sweater pocket, her fingers closed around the handle of the small gun she carried with her ever since the sickness began. These people had been her friends for so long. They had waited for this baby for so long. Her eyes began to tear as she moved towards the terrifying family but the infants screams brought her into focus. She had to do this.

“Give me the baby Mary,” Jake said as he held out his hands. Mary looked up, smiling.

“No Jake.” Debra answered as she raised the pistol to the base of Jake’s neck and squeezed the trigger.

Jake fell to the floor. His eyes rolled up in his skull, a mass of bone, blood and brains spattered the wall and his body collapsed. The baby fell silent for a few seconds before returning to its hungry cry. Mary slid off the bed, baby held tight in her arms. She propped herself on the floor, leaning back against the bed next to her husband.

“Oh Jake. I knew you would always take care of us,” she cooed as she scooped a tiny bit of grey matter from the side of his skull and placed her fingers with the bits of brain into Adam’s mouth. The baby gurgled contentedly as he began to feed.

Outside, the females hummed and slowly slid back down the drainpipe to the ground below. Debra watched from the bedroom window as they joined the group. The witnesses gestured wildly towards the upstairs window and the group pulsated excitedly. As they moved away from the house, Deb pulled the curtains.

From downstairs Dave called out, “Deb? Deb, are you okay?”

Mary looked up at her friend as the baby began to doze. “Go on, we will be fine,” she said. She looked at her husband's body. “We can freeze him later.”

On shaking legs, Debra went downstairs to her husband. Dave remained on the couch, head propped up on his right arm. “Man, my head is killing me. Did I hear crying? And a gunshot?”

Deb smiled as she told Dave that mother and baby were doing fine. “His name is Adam.”

“That’s perfect,” Dave smiled and patted Debra’s rounded belly. “Maybe in another month we can introduce him to Eve. Do you think you're ready?

“Yes,” Debra answered. "Of course. A new mom knows exactly what to do the minute her child is born." She leaned forward and kissed Dave on his left temple and pressing her hand deep into her sweater pocket never releasing its grasp on the handle of the pistol hidden within.

                                                                               The End.........?

@Laura.Ehlers2013

This is exactly what would happen if I were an OB nurse...

It's almost Halloween! Have you been keeping up with poor Deb and Dave and Jake and Mary? And remember – if zombies aren't your thing check out some of the favorite posts and my favorite blogs in the column on the right. Coast of Illinois will return to normal on November 1!

Birth

Part Eight

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

Jake looked from Debra's back to Dave’s body, laid out on the couch and shook his head. Outside, the zombies muttered and milled around in groups of twos and threes as Mary groaned.

For the next hour, Jake split his time between the front and back of the house. He found it odd that the creatures made no attempt to enter but even odder that their groups were divided by sex. The females hovered close to the windows, kitchen and back laundry. The males grouped a little further away. In the back of the house, Dave slept the sleep of a minor head trauma. He stirred now and then, moaning in tune to those outside. An older female with long hair on half her head looked into the back living room, watched Dave’s nearly motionless figure but when Mary cried out from the upstairs bedroom, the creature moved away stopping several feet away from the house with its head tipped back, vacant eyes staring towards second story.

“Deb, things okay up there…with Mary and stuff?” he called up the stairs before moving to the front of the house.

“We’re good Jake. I’ll holler when it’s time.” Deb called back.

Mary sat propped up on the bed. Deb had covered the mattress with plastic and then padded the entire thing with old blankets. The contractions were coming fast and Mary was beginning to feel overwhelmed. She gripped the blanket with white knuckles. Through clenched teeth she said, "Are we going to be able to do...what we need to?"

Deb peeked out the window, on the ground stood two females. They held hands, swaying back and forth, never letting their gaze move from the upstairs window. With each of Mary’s moans, they swayed faster. "I guess we'll find out...when the time comes. Jenna in Denver managed and last check in she and the baby were just fine."

“God, Deb…I…think this is it…” Mary gasped as a second flood of liquid flowed onto the sheets. Mary grabbed her knees as Deb instructed her to push.

“Jake, it’s time…” Debra shouted as she moved to the end of the bed. She grabbed a dry towel and began to slip it under her friend’s hips to protect her from the wetness of the birth fluids but something was wrong. The fluid, normally clear to slightly cloudy and pink was grey. The pattern of drying liquid on the sheets looked horribly similar to the puddle the dying zombie had left on the snow. Doubt formed a tiny shadow over Deb's eyes. They had to do this. No matter what.

“Deb…I can’t do this.” Mary began to twist on the bed as the baby moved down the birth canal.

Debra had delivered hundreds of babies over her career. This was nothing new. As delivery got closer most moms began to panic. It was best to give them something to do. “Push Mary.” She said and hoped her voice was stronger than it sounded in her head.

Mary pushed and Deb could see the baby’s head. Mary cried out and immediately pushed again. The baby slipped out and onto the bed in another puddle of grey fluid. Debra rapidly assessed the infant – ten fingers, ten toes, umbilical cord intact. She tied the cord in two places and with a sharp knife left upstairs for just this task, she cut the cord.