"Private EarthQuake"

So.

You know,  I was having a little trouble after having the surgical procedure to bust up this kidney stone and I really wasn't able to keep any fluids down for a couple of days, which you need to do to flush out the fragments of the aforementioned broken-up stone. I'd even gotten to the point of calling the charge nurse in our ER and getting dressed and promised to go if things did not pick up in exactly 1 hour after "pounding in some fluids", but they did, and I got a couple hours of sleep, and then my mother called to say she had fallen...so...Hubby and I went down to pick her up and dust her off, but she hadn't really just fallen. She had had a stroke.

Her "own private earthquake" as she described it as her chief complaint at the registration desk and I'm sure you all can imagine how extremely helpful that is in an emergency room while at the same time being impressed by the poetry of the sentiment.

We took her to her hospital of choice, TheHeartHospital, and what a fantastic education that's been. She will not be staying, but moving on to BigFatTeachingHospital for rehab. And that's all I'll say about that situation other than to someone at TheHeartHospital if they actually give a shit. That's right, they've driven me to curse. Okay, short road. Very. Short. But, geeeeeezzz, guys, could you not be freakin' idiots every damn time I have to step foot in your hospital? 

And, the adventure continues. Bring it.




My Mother Gives Me Her Recipe

by Marge Piercy



Take some flour. Oh, I don't know,

like two-three cups, and you cut

in the butter. Now some women

they make it with shortening,

but I say butter, even though

that means you had to have fish, see?



You cut up some apples. Not those

stupid sweet ones. Apples for the cake,

they have to have some bite, you know?

A little sour in the sweet, like love.

You slice them into little moons.

No, no! Like half or crescent

moons. You aren't listening.



You mix sugar and cinnamon and cloves,

some women use allspice, till it's dark

and you stir in the apples. You coat

every little moon. Did I say you add

milk? Oh, just till it feels right.

Use your hands. Milk in the cake part!



Then you pat it into a pan, I like

round ones, but who cares?

I forgot to say you add baking powder.

Did I forget a little lemon on the apples?

Then you just bake it. Well, till it's done

of course. Did I remember you place

the apples in rows? You can make

a pattern, like a weave. It's pretty

that way. I like things pretty.



It's just a simple cake.

Any fool can make it

except your aunt. I

gave her the recipe

but she never

got it right.