Saturday, May 28, 2011


Some-bunny to love

First, I promised to blog about something more than the wife's back and the dog's ailments. Now, I promise to write about something else besides Lady Gaga, Lady Gaga's new album, Lady Gaga interviews on TV, Lady Gaga everything.  It's tough, as I am addicted to the Gaga and my life has definitely become unmanageable.  She has taken over my very being....

Uh oh!  We have a pile of baby bunnies living in our front yard garden.  Here they are, peeking out from their abode.  Very cute at this stage of the game. There are at least six lagamorphs, but I am guessing there are more. (They keep wiggling so they are pretty tough to count.) The good news is that the nest is not in the lawn, so chances are I won't mow over them.  The bad news is they will surely soon be a tasty meal for Brown Dog, as the neighbor canine is a hunting dog who would like nothing more than a rabbit lunch.

We've been watching them daily, wondering aloud how they eat and where the mama is.  Yesterday, we looked in the nest and it was empty! The wife wondered if they were gone for good and asked me, "Do you think they come back at night?" I shrugged my shoulders, as I have no experience in the nesting baby bunny department.  I figured once out of the nest, they would have moved on to bigger and better things (that, or Brown dog ate them).  Since it appeared the baby bunnies were gone, I figured it would be safe to weed whack in the garden. 

No so much.  As I whacked those weeds, baby bunnies went a-flying!

Several went scurrying off to other parts of the garden. One ran smack dab into the side of the house; another ran right into the front door stairs.  Both were stunned into statues upon smacking their little bodies into non-moving objects.  Thankfully, they were both easily coaxed back to safety with my prodding and neither looked worse for the wear. 

Last night, when letting the dogs out for the final time of the night, I peeked at the nest.....yes, baby bunnies return to the nest at night, as there they all were.  Six pair of ears waving back at me.  They are getting a bit big for the nest, as they barely fit--in fact, I don't think they fit at all any more.  It made me smile.  As bunnies are rather a pain the garden, I'll be glad to see them go.  I know the majority of them won't make it beyond being someone's lunch....I understand the cruel nature of nature. 

As long as I don't mow over one, it's all good.

If I mow over one, I'm gonna need a LOT of therapy.  Start putting money in the therapy fund right now.
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Wednesday, May 25, 2011

 And your little dog, too

Blog? What blog?  I almost forgot I have a blog, what--with season finale season upon us, the wife's surgery, Lucy's lumpy head, all that grass mowing....oh, the grass mowing!--the release of Gaga's newest album, Freckles continued progress, the growth of baby bunnies in the front lawn and the chance to see Blue Man Group surrounded by fabulous family, I can barely remember my name, let alone a blog.  But, here I am, squeezing us in between DVR'd Glee and DWTS, before tonight's season finales of AI and Modern Family, after listening to Gaga's album once again and while farming my crystals on that damn fake farm of mine.  BTW, Gaga sold her album on Amazon for only 99 cents the day it was released.  That woman is a genius.  Madonna taught her well.

Quick update: the wife's recovery is going as planned.  She's doing the best she can to behave.  I'm doing the best I can to keep the house in an acceptable state.  The dogs are plugging along. The civil union planning can soon resume. We are a bunch of happy campers in the Addiverse!

This weekend, a storm swooped down upon our dwelling.  Blue Eyes and Master Pastor Reiki were over for dinner (brought a deliciously mean 15 bean soup--who knew there were 15 different kinds of beans to put in a soup?) when the weather turned sour.  One minute, warm and pretty; the next, tornado sirens and black skies.  We had been watching the weather and had the TV on in the background, so we knew some storms were literally on the horizon.  The TV channels screamed out their warnings while we ate all 15 kinds of beans. (Don't forget the home-made cornbread, the wife's favorite sweet tea and that naughty cheesecake.  No storm can interfere with my food.) Then, the tornado sirens started blaring.  Blue Eyes and the wife understandably couldn't get into the basement fast enough. I shooed them--along with the dogs--down into the lower level.  Me? I like storms. I didn't run to the basement.  I wandered around, gathered some things, set up our little "station" in the basement and took another gander at the  television weather report.

So we're clear, please know that you should NOT waste time grabbing a camera when a storm is approaching and you SHOULD go into the basement.  And, take storms seriously. Don't get ignorant.  I have two words for you: Joplin, Missouri.  (Shout out and prayers to Joplin.)

Perhaps you are wondering what I gathered up for our stay in the basement.  I first want to mention the local TV anchors as the storm was heading to town. I have to say, I've never heard the weather guys get freaked out by a storm....they usually are all excited, babbling as they explain to us what's on the radar.  In this case, there were two male meteorologists and one female non-weather anchor on the channel, all three talking about the pending arrival of the storm--just their voices, only the radar image on the screen. Their station is out in the boonies, way out on the west side of town, surrounded by cornfields and not much else. Suddenly, they started sounding REALLY nervous.  I think the lady might have been crying.  You could hear the storm rocking the TV station.  It was at this point the three of them realized they needed to take cover.  I'm paraphrasing, but the head meteorologist basically said, "I know we are here to keep the 300,000 persons of the area informed, but we are going to the basement!"  With that, there was only the radar and the sound of the storm.  I was pretty incredulous--I have never heard TV personnel abandon ship like that.  Makes sense, though.  I took this as a bad sign but wasn't very fazed.  Yet.

So, what did I gather when wandering around before the storm landed in the Addiverse?  Well, I would like to tell you the first thing I grabbed had to do with safety, but in reality it was my camera.  I didn't put it down one time during the entire ordeal.  Camera in hand, I made sure we had the safety supplies in the basement: flashlights, extra batteries, a few candles, one of those lighter things for the grill, the wife's cell phone and a bag of Ghiardelli dark chocolate.  (One must have priorities when being safe.)  Next, I put the collars and leashes on the dogs--I wanted to make sure people would know who they were and where they belonged if they blew away.  Seriously. By this time, the hail was pelting the house.  I then secured the important things: my laptop and my purse, stuffing my purse with as much as would fit, including a baggy full of those ever-so-coveted O.B. Super Plus tampons.  (The hell if I was gonna let those things blow away. They're like gold.)  I thought about grabbing my Xena scrapbook.....but, my thoughts were interrupted by the increasing volume, rumbling and growling of the storm.  I literally stopped in my tracks and listened to the roar of the approaching storm.  It did indeed sound like a train.....


I stopped farting around and took myself right to the basement.  You know things are serious if I'm in the basement.

We sat there and listened.  We waited. And, waited. And, waited.  As the roar got louder, I asked aloud, "so, which IS the safest wall if a tornado approaches?" 

Finally, the storm passed and we were no worse for the wear.  We didn't even have time to eat the chocolate. I can't say the same for others--there was damage to be had for many of our friends.  Blue Eyes and Master Pastor Reiki learned that a funnel cloud was spotted right by their neighborhood--so, they hopped in their car and sped home to ensure all was semi-well.  The TV personnel returned to their places, the dogs no longer had to wear their leashes, the wife returned to the couch and the Xena scrap book and boxes of O.B. super-plus tampons remained unscathed.

I had me some leftover cheesecake and called it a day.  After all, I had to be rested up for the next day's event: the release of Gaga's album.  The rest, as they say, would be history.

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Gaga for Green Gaga Acres

Praise the baby Jesus! I am FINALLY going to be able to blog about things not related to dog poop or back pain.  I'll get to the wife's surgery in a minute--first, I have to talk about being back on the farm.

I walked away from Book de la Face's farm many a month ago. I was wasting too much time worrying about fake produce on a fake farm.  Then, I heard Lady Gaga had developed a time-limited Gaga-ville for her little monsters. I had to go back.  I couldn't ignore the call from Mother Monster.

Let it be known that I am NOT excited about getting sucked back in.  I'm already thinking about how my chrome daisies need to be harvested in only a few hours.  It consumes me. It distracts me.  It haunts me. But, I had to do it! How could I pass up the chance to visit Green Gaga Acres?  I couldn't.  Besides, it is a great way to get a daily preview of the songs on her new album (to be released on May 23rd...and yes, I have pre-ordered it).  You have to do a few tasks on the farm to unlock access to the new song.  Buy a sheep, visit Gaga-ville.....and, wa-la!  Free preview of music, as illustrated here:

Paws up, little monsters! Gaga-ville is calling you. (That's me, on the farm.  Don't I look cute? I'm loving me some purple overalls. I'm growing Gaga Crystals.  I hope that's not illegal.)

As for the wife (who probably should get top billing over a fake farm related to a pop star), she had her back surgery yesterday.  Yes, it was finally time for that naughty ruptured disk to leave her spinal cord alone. It sure took a long time to get to that day...and, I'm not the one who was in pain.  We got up at 4 A.M., made ourselves all fresh and pretty, made sure the dogs pooped and we were out the door.  Before she knew it, the wife was in a hospital bed and people were poking and prodding her.

I am here to tell you that the surgery is just short of a miracle.  If you are told you need a micro-disc-ectomy, you should say, "yes, please!" Perhaps you should say, "yes, please--I'll have two."

The wife's family must have fired up the bionic prayer chain, as the surgery (and the whole experience, actually) went amazingly well.  The procedure started ahead of schedule, which I found to be a big bonus--how often is anything related to the medical field early or even on time? The wife unfortunately did not profess her love for me this time as they wheeled her off for surgery--they didn't give her those super-awesome drugs they loaded her up with prior to her last surgery, so she was pretty reserved and tame.  After they wheeled her away, I went to the waiting room, thinking I'd have oodles of time to figure out her iPod Touch and to eat lots of naughty snacks I brought along for the wait, but I didn't even have much time to settle in, as the surgery took less than an hour. Stunned, I went to the consultation room and waited for the surgeon. A man of few words and of a greatly constricted emotion, he smiled, said the surgery went just as planned. He indicated the rupture was "impressive" and "huge."  He thought the wife would be quite pleased with the results and said she could go home when she was ready. I thanked him, gave a quick, silent shout of gratitude to the Baby Jesus and went on a mission to find her.

I literally ran right into the wife's gurney as they rolled her by.  I got to join the journey as they zipped her down the halls.....I thought she'd be puking all over them as they made wild turns, bumped into walls & put her on an elevator but she looked perfectly fine.  They rolled her in to a room and left her with a menu....a general diet menu, none of that wimpy broth/jello/baby food nonsense. Quite to my complete surprise, she started talking about lunch.  This from the girl who was projectile vomiting on the nursing staff after her last surgery, asking to order lunch.   Thanks to the anesthesiologist and three types of anti-nausea medication, she experienced no nausea and was eating a full lunch by 11:30 AM, dipping delightfully- fried chicken strips in tangy barbecue sauce--what a woman.

Within hours of the micro-disc-ectomy surgery, the wife was able to stand up straight, feel her legs and actually sit in a chair. Now, you might be thinking those are not really big things....but, when you (and the surgeon) are not sure you will ever be able to feel your toes again, you have not stood up straight for four months and you haven't been able to sit in a chair without leaning to one side for just as long, these are pretty big things.  It's also a pretty big thing when you are asking for a snack at 2:30 PM when you just ate lunch two hours ago and for the past many weeks you haven't been eating much at all because the pain was so intense it crushed your appetite.

Bring on the snack foods, the wife is back on track!


Then, the true miracle happened: the wife smiled.  It was the first time I've seen a genuine smile on her face in weeks--maybe months.  Not a grimace or a forced smile or an "I wish I could smile but I can't;" it was a smile from the inside.  I wanted to cry. I wanted to go find the surgeon and give him a big, wet kiss. I wanted to go find the wife's favorite little nun......

I am happy to report the wife did indeed get to visit with Sister-Little (and I do mean little--she can't be much over 4 feet tall), so it was a banner day. We were ordering lunch when the white-habit-clad, 150 year old bride of Jesus slipped quietly into the room. The wife and the sister yipped like they were old friends. I am sorry to say I did not get any photos of the surgery or of the wife with the nun.  You can't have everything.

At 3 PM, the neurosurgeon stopped in to check on his patient. For a guy with a reputation of having a horrible bedside manner and for basically being a pompous ass, he was pleasant, smiling and was very approachable.  He seemed tickled pink by the results of surgery and was pleased to see the wife so motivated to go home.  He even laughed at one point.  (Laughed! No one is ever going to believe us.)  When the wife heard the words she could be discharged, I swear she hopped out of that bed, proved she could pee and walk, got dressed and was calling for a wheelchair. By 4 PM, she was home and in bed for a nap....after a snack, of course.

So, the wife is at home, wandering around asking what she can and cannot do.  I was hoping she would be a little less mobile so she couldn't see that I was back on the farm. I feel many a lecture from me so she takes it easy.  I know she really, really wants to follow the healing rules, but it is going to be very hard for this stoic workaholic.  She is going to require much redirection and interference....

.....that's probably good, because it will give me something on which to focus besides harvesting chrome daisies and unlocking new Gaga songs....

....I feel many a lecture coming from the wife to get off the dang farm, which is good because it will give her something to be frustrated about besides her slow recovery process.

Is it time for a snack yet?

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Man's Best Friend.

Well, Woman's best friend.

Here's a photo of Freckles protecting the wife.  The dog won't leave her side.

Who needs more words when you have photos like this?

Friday, May 13, 2011

Misery Loves Company

The wife says to me, "I thought you wrote a new blog."  I respond, "I did."  She politely informs me that there is no new blog post. GASP! Wherever has it gone? 

Happy Spring! I don't know about you, but I'm sure happy to see leaves on trees, longer days and the annual "putting away the snow pants" ritual completed. I love when the leaves suddenly pop open and everything is green--it's like, when did this happen? POW POW! GREEN! I'm serious--the leaves popped out within the last 15 minutes. Our lawn is looking good, no thanks to me. I haven't gotten around to weeding or edging, the mulch is everywhere but on the flowerbeds and I lack a lot in the mowing department. At least all the perennial things are looking good, as illustrated in the photos of our trees and early-blooming plants.  Love me some bleeding hearts and blossoming cherry trees.  I'm hoping this weekend will bring nice enough weather so I can edge and weed. Maybe I will secretly hide in the yard while doing this, just to see what happens.....because......

I've blogged about the wife.
I've blogged about the dog.
I shall now blog about the wife as related to the dog.
Or, maybe I will blog about the wife as related to the dog.

There is something REALLY weird going on in the Addiverse.

As you know, two weeks ago, I left the wife and dog behind to join some friends for fun....by mid-day, the dog was back to shooting rounds of bloody diarrhea and the wife was overcome with pain, reduced to tears. Once I returned home, the pooping stopped and the wife was able to relax.

And, as you know, a week ago, I left the wife and dog behind for the day....by mid-day, the dog was back to repeated bouts of diarrhea and the wife was once again in overwhelming pain and shedding more tears. Both look like death warmed over. Once again, I came home, the pooping stopped and the wife was able to go to bed.

Yesterday, when the wife was leaving after lunch to returning to work, the dog freaked out--jumping around, frantic, just about throwing herself at the wife.  Today, the dog peed on the rug.

This is not typical warrior princess behavior. What on earth is going on in the Addiverse?

I am beginning to think this is not an Addisonian crisis, but rather a "worried about the wife canine conundrum." I think the two seemingly separate issues have become inexplicably tied to each other. Which came first is like asking the chicken/egg question.

These two give the saying, "I feel your pain" a whole new meaning.  The dog and the wife: misery loves company.

See why I want to secretly hide in the yard this weekend? I'll tell the wife I'm going somewhere (hmmmmm, where to say?), go out the door as if I am really going somewhere, and then I will be "gone" but not really gone. I'll pretend like I'm going out of town and go to Wally World and the garden instead. Then, I will wait, wait, wait....see if any poop starts shooting out or crying increases. This might be genius!

Here's a photo of Freckles howling through the screen door, Lucy in the background, wondering what the heck is going on.

Freckles has always been a guard dog. Over the years, she has been especially loyal to the wife. Whether it be guarding after the wife's surgery in 2008 or guarding after a long, painful day, Frecks is always at the ready. It really isn't too surprising that the dog would sense and be affected by the wife's pain. Freckles "knows." Well, as much as a dog can "know" anything.

I'm not quite sure it is the dog that is affected by the wife--it may be the other way around. Perhaps it is a two-way street, each having quite the effect on the other. They truly do understand each is in pain.  The chicken and the egg arrived at the same time.

I try to focus on some form of normalcy but none is to be had these days. We no longer have normal conversations in the Addiverse. We spend time talking about dog poop or pain. We spend time looking at poop, wondering about poop, asking each other if we remember how the poop used to be. We spend time contemplating vomit: Freckles threw up her dinner tonight right after eating it--is this a symptom of a current medical crisis? Is this just because she's a pig and has always done this since we got her? Is this a long-standing symptom that we've overlooked for 10 years? If you have a symptom for ten years, does it really matter? We talk about whether or not Freckles should take her Benadryl, if I've killed her by giving her Benadryl over the years. We don't speak aloud of how Freckles is or isn't doing, as each time we whisper words of joy, she gets sick again. We wonder if she is in pain.  We then turn to the wife. We talk about the wife's efforts to function while in such pain. We talk about the merit of pain pills, of taking or not taking pain pills, of ways to feel better for a minute or two, of "making it" without ibuprofen 'til the day of surgery, of me taking pain pills.  We then talk about how we need to not focus on poop, illness, pain.  We need to focus on what we want, what will need, what we have just for the asking.  We need to be thankful the poop is fine before the poop literally looks fine.  We need to talk about the weather or the most recent episode of Modern Family or enjoying the company of friends or about getting a new tattoo for the civil union. (I just threw that one in there.  There really isn't any talk of this.  Although.....)

The wife has little worry dolls sitting on the kitchen table, one for each of us. "We" lay on the little alter, waiting for the worry to seep away. So far, the dolls look no worse for the wear and we look like a truck ran over us.

She needs to get some bigger worry dolls.

Actually, I need "I feel helpless" dolls.  All I can do is be nice, be understanding and try to mow the lawn the way the wife would like it mowed.

And so, we play the waiting game, waiting for the wife's day of surgery to arrive, waiting for prolonged pooping success by the dog, waiting for me to go out of town, waiting for the pain meds to kick in.  We forget what we want to talk about and worry about things we are trying to let go.  Thankfully, the wife has announced she wants to buy an iPad before the surgery so she has something to do while recuperating.  This is music to my ears.  Something happy for her on which to focus.

I know that once the wife's surgery is successfully completed, the dog will rebound and the wife will be delightful.  The relief will probably be felt across the nation.  Gas prices will fall, world peace will reign, responses for the civil union will pour in and every dog will have its day.

The day for surgery can't come soon enough for me...and, I'm not the one in pain.  Hit the road, misery-- you make for lousy company.

Saturday, May 07, 2011

Of Ear Condoms & Motor Scooters


With all the nonsense that's been going on in the Addiverse, I've been neglecting my Decorah baby eaglets.  Suffice it to say they are quite large--boy, they grow FAST--and, are keeping their parents busy by screaming for food.  Here's a picture of a proud parent feeding one of the babies--no, it's not blurry....one of the birds pooped on the camera and so now everything is seen through a murky lens. (Those babies can really shoot some poop.  Just sayin.') It's not like someone can go up there and clean it, so we bow to nature and see what we can through the bird poop.  Maybe a blinding rain (blinding but safe for eagles rain) will head through Decorah and wash it clean.  For the record, it is rather disgusting to watch an eagle r-r-r-r-rip some animal product parts off the animal carcass to feed the peeps, but know that this is reality.  I may be able to eat tofu ice cream but in the real word, chunks of dead bunny is the breakfast of champions.

In the frenzy, I haven't celebrated the release of Gaga's second video ("Judas"), I haven't sought out a friend with HBO so I can watch Gaga's Madison Square Garden concert tonight and I haven't been yipping about the release of her new album (slated for May 23rd).  I feel like I've let Mother Monster down, but I'm back on it, so watch out, Little Monsters!

If you get a chance, watch the video for Judas.  Oh my.  Thank goodness Madonna paved the way for Gaga, as if Madonna hadn't, people would be piddling all over themselves about this.  The apostles never looked better--black leather biker gang, with thorn-of-crowns Jesus in the lead. Love, love, love the aesthetics of this video. (I also think Gaga looks good in a bandanna.  I think I might have to rock this style.) Everyone will be busy lamenting over the religious context and thus miss the point of the song--being cheated on three times and still being in love.  Actually, if Madonna hadn't made her 1980's and 1990's music videos, I doubt Gaga would have been able to make this video.  Think, "Like a Prayer" by Madge.....a black, blood-crying Jesus comes to life while Madonna sings in front of burning crosses. Heresy in the day--boring, tame stuff by today's standards.  I love Gaga but know that without Madonna, Gaga would not exist.  Props to the Queen of Pop!  You know I will always be True Blue to Her Madgesty.


If you dont' like Gaga's new song (or, Gaga at all, I suppose), she suggests you wear an ear condom.  At least that's what she says in "Judas."  How can you not love a Holy Fool who is in love with Judas who suggests you wear an ear condom?  So, grab an ear condom and ignore the hype if you must.

You know, I think you need to see the video.  If you start to get nervous or hyperventilate, just keep repeating to yourself, "IT'S A METAPHOR!" After reading the rest of this blog (me first!), watch the video (link below at end of my babbling) and let me know what you think.  I give it two paws up.  I think I'll post a Madonna video, too--for comparison and in homage.

I hate to admit that I've neglected the civil union stuff, as every time I went to mail the invites or what not, the dog and/or the wife would spiral into a deep, dark place and thus I needed to tend to them, not the civil union preparation.  Well, I am back on it and will be sending out the invites soon--most likely later today.  If you don't get one, you can always ask--this is no time to be shy. Due to mounting vet bills and a moment of sanity, I've cut back on the number of invitees, but am always open to including those who ask. (I've probably also lost a few of the invites along the way, as they've been in various locations in the car, in the kitchen, in my office.) If you are looking for some civil union merchandise, go to Book de la Face and type in "got civilized."  You can check out the products for sale (stickers, t-shirts, bracelets) and "like" the site at the same time.  A local woman came up with the idea.  She's using a local woman to produce the wares, so that's even better. Support local business while showing your civilization pride!

Today will be a busy day, as the wife has much she wants to accomplish before her surgery.  We won't be able to go out of town to see her family as anticipated--she can't ride in a car that long.  She won't be able to ride in a car tomorrow to see my family, either--too long of a ride.  Instead, I will drag her around town in short spurts of getting-business-done trips, drive her right up to the door, pick her up right at the door and encourage her to take breaks along the way.  I told her she should use those scooters they have in the box stores....she didn't take too kindly to that idea, so I think I won't mention it again.  But, c'mon--can't you just see her zipping up and down the aisles on one of those things?  Who needs a motorcycle when you've got a scooter? She could get all hopped up on pain killers....wear studded black leather, a bandanna and fishnet stockings while cruising down the aisles of Wally-word....perched on one of their killer scooters, singing "Judas," throwing dog treats, naughty snacks and frozen pizzas in the basket.

Quite the visual, don't you think?

Compare, contrast, contemplate and have a nice day.

Gaga:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wagn8Wrmzuc

Madonna: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lA983t3Rdzs

Wednesday, May 04, 2011

Hump Day Babbling

Ah, the Warrior Princess sporting pot holders.  Truly a sign of improved health and great karma.  Today was her first day without diarrhea, so it's safe to sport pot holders.  If the diarrhea should return, the pot holders will have to go.

The wife, on the other hand, is not sporting pot holders.  She'll be having back surgery in two weeks.  She's gonna need more than pot holders to get through that ordeal.

Allow me to brag about the wife, won't you?
She is such the over-achiever.  She doesn't waste time having a simple bulging disk or a regular ol' herniation. She goes for the gold with the blow out extrusion. The neurosurgeon kept saying how "huge" her extrusion is....kind of like how impressively large her now-extinct uterus was, I'm guessing.  The guy referred to her delicious disk as "a huge, dramatic rupture."  For those of you wondering how huge it is, I tell you this: it is filling her spinal column--and, I do mean filling. Those cross-section MRI photos were enough to hold my attention.  Thankfully, she will be having the surgery at a Catholic hospital--the place her uterus was last seen and home of the habit-wearing 150 year old nuns. I am confident all will go swimmingly.


Now that Freckles is on the mend and the wife's surgery has been scheduled, I can mail out the civil union invitations.  I've been driving around town with them in my car for the past two or more weeks. First, they were on the front seat; then, I put them in the trunk, only to end up throwing them in the back seat. Today, they went back in the trunk so I could put Freckles in the back seat (another trip to the vet). I wasn't sure there would be a picnic, but the wife has given me the go-ahead to mail them.  Party on!


Speaking of party on, I would like to wish my parents a very happy 50th anniversary.  (They got married when they were 5 years old, so they are very young celebrators of 50 years.)  That is an amazing thing.  I hope you will congratulate them when you next cross paths.  Of course, if you do not know my parents (and, I assume the three of you readers do not), you can leave a message here.  Perhaps they would like a copy of Lady Gaga's new album (which is coming out May 23rd) as a gift for this momentous occasion.  I mean, what better gift is there after 50 years of marriage? What can better say "congratulations" than that?  Nothing.

Well, nothing except a pot holder.  Pot holders say "I love you." Pot holders are perfect for all occasions.  

Except for times of diarrhea...then, not so much.