Going off my myself last night, I drove -- no, even if I have a scooter, I will not use the verb scooted -- to see what was nearby. Okay, I did have an end in mind, which involved caffeine and not in a coffee sorta thing. It's odd how coffee and tea are easy pickings here at camp, but soda not so much. Ah well... Two supermarkets were in sight. Picking one, I drove in with Pepsi Max on my mind. But just inside the door, I saw cookies from Trader Joe's. Yes! I really miss Trader Joe's, and I'd never thought to find something by them in Damnark. Really! They're called Black & Brown, and they're sorta like Oreos but with chocolate creme in the center. They had Black & White, I think it was called, which looked almost exactly like Oreos. Grabbing a box of Black & Brown, I ventured further into the shop. There wasn't much that I needed anyway, but it's entertaining to me to see what shops have on offer, compared with Copenhagen. There were a few other things by Trader Joe's, like dried fruit and nut mix or cereal. Before hitting the checkout, I paused at the Trader Joe's cookies again, thinking to take one of each, but I decided to buy just the Black & Brown. Oh yeah, and I got some fresh peaches, too. Hey, they looked healthy. Driving away from the shop, I thought, 'Okay, did I approach from there or there?' One way looked more promising than the rest, so ... well, let's just say that I found my way back to where I tried to remember the approach direction for another try. Having driven down that street, I didn't recognise anything at all, so I pulled out my iPhone to see a map. Yeah, I'm about as hopeless with electronic maps as I am with paper ones, although paper ones give a bit of something for tearing apart out of frustration. Tucking the iPhone back into its holster, I set off again, quickly realising that I hadn't driven down a road with houses on it, but I did catch a quick glimpse of a black cat or a black squirrel or a black something, but it was gone back into the bush just as quickly as my first glimpse. So... Let's just say that I drove down the third possibility, wondering as I went whether it was going to end in ... ummm, actually, I don't want to write here what was going through my mind. Really. Consulting the iPhone or uPhone or whatever vowel works best, I looked further afield than I'd done before. Right about that time, a man drove up alongside, but at a distance of 10 meters or so. Okay, he was driving a station wagon with a bunch of family vacation crap on the roof. He confirmed that my further afield view was the one I should have chosen from the beginning, so I set off in that direction, mumbling prayers for my safe return, promising that I would never again do this kind of crap. In the end, here I am. Did I get any Pepsi Max? Nope, not at all. Still, I did find these Trader Joe's cookies that are labelled in German. This post was originally made at Feel free to comment here or there, as you will.
Lately when doing some hand exercises here at MS camp, I'll first answer a question with

"I don't know,"

and then I'll go about answering the question a bit more knowledgeably, if that can be characterised as a word.

Having that pointed out to me, I've noticed that I do that more often than just there. I also do that when talking to myself in my room, answering my own questions with

"I don't know."

and then providing a more in-depth answer.

Yes, I talk to myself out loud, and there are no other participants in my own head, in case that was a question anyone had.

My question at the moment is what is that sort of answer? Like a warm-up intro to the full answer, a way of gathering my thoughts, or ... ?

And please don't answer with

"I don't know,"

This post was originally made at Feel free to comment here or there, as you will.


Danish cheese

More than anything else, Danish cheese seems to be eponymous with blue cheese, however you want to spell blue, but it does seem to have come out in other areas, as well.

For example, in front of me now is a plastic packet with cheese in, and part of the label reads as follows:

Bloed smelteost 18% fedt med skinke

There's part of me that wants to translate it as this:

Soft melty cheese 18% feet with ham

Okay, okay, fedt has nothing to do with feet but fat. 

Aren't you guys glad you don't live in my head?

Yeah, if you weren't before, you can start now!
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No smart-assed remarks here!

It is so f#king difficult to make it through a 90-minute presentation on things to help those of us with MS who have urinary difficulties like icing on a cake (not their term, but mine!) without making a single smart-assed remark! 

Luckily for you, my memory is so full of holes that it resembles cheese that I can't remember the name of either!
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Scooter explosion?!

Yes, I have a scooter. Despite my need for such things to get around in larger spaces than our flat, I do feel a bit embarrassed about using it, due to certain cartoon series (SP, perhaps?) or other tv shows discussing how scooters are made only for the fat and lazy.


Last week, I mentioned to Per that the scooter front tire was looking a little flat, so he got out a tire pump and gave it what it needed, and he did the same for the two back tires while he was at it.

The next day, we went to the mall to go shopping for food and stuff, and I did a long round on Gossamer. Yes, my scooter has a name. Yes, I refer to it as 'she'. That's the same as boats, right?

When we came home, I parked Gossamer out on the landing strip or in the hangar or wherever ... oh, okay, I parked her outside our front door, near the stairs.

Last night, Per and I were in the living room when we heard something BOOM from the hallway outside our front door, so he went out to see what happened.

Bringing in shards of plastic, he said that one of the rear wheels exploded. Yow, really?!

He wheeled her in through our front door, where she sits still, her right rear tire flat and the inner half of its wheel/rim that was made of plastic is utterly in shards, while the outer half of the rim that was metal is still solid.

Someone will be coming by in a day or so to fix her up and hopefully to explain how this could have happened.

This post was originally made at Feel free to comment here or there, as you will.


MonSter with one back: mine

MS sucks. We all know it. Still and all, there are so many aspects to this f#€%ing disease that some might possibly sneak up on us when we're not looking.

I'm trying to look out for what could trip me up, even as I'm reallyREALLYreally trying not to look at other things that may well make me sit down in my closet, shut the door and be so quiet as to hope the monster won't know where I am. Okay, not literally. Yeah yeah. But reading bits on MS lists/whatever about someone who was once a vibrant girl, became a vibrant woman, but was crippled into what sounds like a bundle of sticks wrapped loosely with a piece of twine ... yeah, I'm referring to a Mouseketeer, and you can look it all up online, but I'm trying not to do that.

So, to wrap it all up for the day, I'm enclosing a bit from a blog written by someone else who's having a really rough time of it. So:

I’ve always vowed that if these things take me down they’ll take me down swinging, but with so many targets to swing at it’s hard to know precisely where to aim. Especially when taking a swing with a weakened, emaciated, and agonized arm doesn’t amount to all that formidable an attack.

I can still spit with the best of them, though, and if that’s going to be the only weapon left to me, then spit I will. Ha!

(Oh, the subject is meant to refer to the term 'making a beast with two backs', a rather ancient -- if you consider Shakespeare to be from ancient times, which some people might, but other people wouldn't -- term meaning sex. But my rephrase from beast to MonSter refers, of course, to the MS monster I deal with every day. If only I could figure out its tell, I might be able to beat it. Ah well, I'm about as good at card games as I am crap with much of anything else.)

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Not in here for a weak ... or a week

The computer room isn't terribly far from the rest of the flat, but it might as well be in a different state, country, or even planet for all the energy it takes out of me.

There being computer stuff in here ought to be enough for me to get roped into walking this far, and there's a seat in here that I can easily sit in, so how did I not come in here at all for more than a week?!

Really, I didn't venture this far because I just didn't have the energy to do so. The last day I was in here was the last day I was trying to write here, and I just found it, so here you go ...

Weaker than ... ?

I'm weaker than a cat.

No, not any of the Big Cat sort, although any one of those would be able to do what Moxie did last night, and probably with only one claw. No, Moxie didn't claw me at all, as I was holding her kitty Slim Jim or jerky for cats. What did she do? Little more than apply physics, really. Yeah, I was in bed, with Moxie on my chest, holding her jerky in my hand while my forearm was at an approximate angle of 45 degrees. No, she didn't attack me, really. What did she do? Leaned on my arm to attempt to get the jerky a little closer. I couldn't hold my arm at 45 degrees for long, and it went down to 40, 35, 30, and so on, until Moxie snatched the jerky to enjoy the kitty Slim Jim on her own.


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Alf, meet cat. Cat, me-- oh, never mind.

Yes, this is a really crap rip from VHS, but at least it's short!

This post was originally made at Feel free to comment here or there, as you will.



A new word: insistitude, meaning persistence of suggesting activities that verges on insisting, while not fully requisite. 

Yes, Per has to have some sort of gradient for how important something is that he wants me to attend, as in not that he wants me there, but how much I'd be pissed at myself for not having gone.

This word came about because this afternoon, Per said that the cherry trees were in full bloom and were unlikely to last until the weekend, so we drove down to the cherry trees, which had been planted in and around a cemetery. A firm wind blew petals off the trees and onto the heads of those people who were nearby. Every so often, somone would bend down and cup a handful of petals, forming a petalball that they then flung at a friend. Upon a strike with the friend's body or face, the petalball dissolved into so many pink petals and fluttered to the ground.

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Speaking Cat

There are times, many times, in which I've looked at Moxie and said, 'I wish I could understand you. I wish you could tell me what makes you go batshit crazy, so I could try to prevent you from going batshit crazy.'

Not that I think she resembles a bat at all. We really don't need another species of animal involved. I already believe that Moxie is a raccoon in a cat's body. Yeah, trans-species. ( which I am not saying anything about transgender folks, really! I hope you know me well enough to know that!) This comes mostly from the fact that she plays with us for a time, then takes the toy involved and dunks it into her water bowl. That's okay when it's the size of a hair band or somesuch, but not okay when it's something like her knitted catnip trilobite. 

Oh, right! The raccoon! Raccoons are known in Damnark as washing-bears, or whateverthefuck the Damnish word is. Raccoons wash their hands before and after everything. Moxie may not wash her paws as often as raccoons do, but ... yeah, Moxie is a raccoon. Stripey tail, obsession with water, fuzziness... Yeah.

By the way, understand is an odd word, I think. I know what it means, yes, but how did it come to mean what it does? Let's just say that there are some things I don't need or want to stand under so I can get what they're saying. 

This post was originally made at Feel free to comment here or there, as you will.

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