IntrinsicTina

Can a chocoholic have other confectionary favorites?

My poor, put-upon husband (he thought), when pressed into service, for household chores, dumping cat sand, and trash to his many cans system (his method to avoid exorbitant garbage curb service). He would go into a dirge and sing: I'm the Cat Poop Man, I'm the Cat Poop Man, that's all I am, The Cat Poop Man.  Then, as he slunk out the back door, he conversationally tossed out, "...And I don't even like that cat."  Neither the cat, nor I, believed him.

Grandma had the power. She could make boo-boos feel better and mend a shattered, little girl's self-esteem.

Grandfather drove bus in Hollywood during the golden age, "You go Vilshure, you go Wine?", the little Jewish men would ask of him. He was a very attractive, well-pressed man about town, intent upon rising above his humble, poor, dustbowl beginnings.

I've just put a cap on the final episode of a Sons of Anarchy binge fest, and I'm reflecting on my own life experience with bikes, bikers, and outlaw motorcycle clubs.

I learned a bit about Danner ancestry. My sister, Dawn, is an avid genealogist, since joining Ancestry.com. During her visit today, she revealed that our great, great grandfather was a war hero, dying in the civil war; fighting and dying, from dysentary, after being wounded in battle. I was relieved to hear that he fought on the Union army's side, fighting for social justice and human rights, specifically the equality of black people, the abolishment of slavery. She mentioned that she had poor grades in history due to lack of interest. She told me that always felt that history didn't pertain to her. Frankly, that's true for me as well. Memorizing dry dates was so disconnected from our lives, that their significance was lost on us. I felt cheated out of our heritage; she must also feel the loss. Somehow, our 92-year old uncle didn't impart the knowledge to our father. The first Danner to land in America, did so in 1727, nearly 50 years before we became a country. He ...

Renee´ was my sister, my youngest, my first baby. She was born in sunny California, near the beach, amid palm trees, bus exhaust, row apartments, and strip malls. Mother was bartending the waterfront, in dive bars like the White Stallion. Daddy was a wet-behind-the-ears sailorman, seven years her junior. Despite the baggage of having two children, he was lost to the allure of the shining star spitfire, that was our mother. Renee´arrived to the delight of her older siblings, since we already had a neighbor baby, whom we coveted for our own. Two weeks before Christmas, we were gifted with our very own precious blond-haired, blue-eyed cherub. For the sibs, the bloom fell off the rose quickly as our "fetch me" list never ended.  Fetch me the diaper bag. Where are the diaper pins? Get me the baby's bottle, the rubber pants, my cigarettes, my car keys, the clothes pins... After the fetch me list came the chore list. Play with your sister. Watch your sister. Wash the poop ...

Ya got me! Blatant false advertising; I have no intention of talking taxes. In my defense, I figured nobody would read a post titled Upon My Death. Am I right? 😼 ...Not that tax is sexy...

   My daughter is the pride of my life. She amazes me continually. She is strong, so much stronger than myself, at the same age. I've seen her do a yoga move that has her balancing on one hand, while she looks as if she's sitting cross-legged, suspended in midair. She is lithe. She does yoga poses on the paddleboard. One foot planted on the board, the other drawn up gracefully behind her, and held aloft, while the other hand poised high. All while balancing in the bay. She is mentally strong. I saw her end a 6-year long love relationship that she decided wasn't working for her anymore. Then go on to maintain a cordial relationship in the aftermath. Who does that?! It's so...Healthy...no character assassination, no hateful backward glances. Nothing but a status change on Facebook. She went out rented a new apartment, ordered up new furnishings online, arranged for friends to help her move out, then pulled the trigger on the deal. Then she went about the business of r...

Contrary to popular belief, I do not save up my gas to sadistically torture my caregivers. I smile when I break wind because I always have. Like any eight-year-old boy, and some little girls, I find bodily functions hilarious. My family was so poor, that our main source of entertainment was each other. When you eat commodities, you get powdered eggs, powdered milk, and a humongous chunk of fart-producing, fake cheese. A quiet night in front of the tube, was, invariably, interrupted by an SBD, or a ripper. What is an SBD? An insidious noxious cloud that explodes inside the nostrils, inspiring either retreat or battle stations. Within our family, it was battle or die. You may be thinking that this was a mere pastime among siblings; you would be wrong to exclude the parental units. Dad was a sneak attacker, waiting until us kids were mesmermized by a television show... Rrrrrrrip! We'd get an aromatic flutterblast right at eye level. Mom wasn't quite so disgusting but neither...

Flop goes my head, muscles have given up the ghost in the left side of my neck. Another day in the life of the ALS patient. I'm not sniveling so much as documenting for posterity. Losing my neck muscles is problematic in the sense that it's difficult for caregivers to place my head properly.  Additionally, caregivers operate on old information; they don't really get the progressive nature of my disease. Consequently, my head doesn't get properly supported. I'm struggling with my toes curling as my tendons contract, my muscles have died. It was so much better when my husband curled my toes! I may have to resort to wearing glamorous moon boots lined in genuine simulated sheepskin.  I spend 99% of my time lying or laying in bed. As a result, the skin at my heels is getting sensitive to pressure and my left knee and thigh are in near constant spasm. Both conditions are painful. It's winter in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, with winter comes dry ...

Patriots win Super Bowl LI (That is 51 in Roman numerals, Jack!) You can get that 4-1-1 on your twitter feed, FaceBook, Yahoo, television, radio, your Uncle Gary, that obnoxious Patriots fan in the next cubicle, etc. Some people judge the Patriots on star quarterback, Tom Brady, and the whole Deflategate scandal. Who can blame them? I don't want to rehash that debacle in this forum. Where do I weigh in? Suffice it to say, I was rooting for Atlanta. My husband, on the other hand, was rooting for the Patriots, despite making digs about deflating footballs, when New England played abysmally the first three quarters. Neither of us could believe the cred-saving comeback of the Patriots in the fourth quarter!  They actually tied up the game! The first tie game in Super Bowl history and I witnessed it, in the comfort of my hospice room, with my loyal football-loving husband. Worse, I watched the Patriots win Super Bowl LI, when they took the sudden death contest when they scored a...

What did you get for Christmas? Or what did you give? Unfortunately, I  did not give anything, not that I did not try. Just another unfortunate example of what I cannot do for myself, even though I have an augmentative and alternative communication device. After a Christmas morning of quiet, personal lamenting and escaping reality through sleep, my family showed up with gifts and laughter.  Precisely what I needed to lift my flagging spirits. My sister, my surviving sister, the one who, allegedly, doesn't cook, cooked a whole Christmas dinner. My family invited my husband for the Christmas dinner and he brought my mom and dad out to their place in Puyallup. Part of me was jealous that I wasn't even given the opportunity to participate, but a bigger part of me was grateful. I was grateful for the knowledge that my family has fully enfolded my husband into the family, and he won't be alone after I'm gone. I also benefited from her Christmas dinner preparation, the...

Tina's Twelve Days of Christmas (full version) ♫ On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♩  On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♩  On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♩  On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♩  On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Five red heart ornaments, four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♩  On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Six bags of kisses, five red heart ornaments, four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pic...

Getting right to it, Tina's Twelve Days of Christmas nears it's crescendo:  ♫ On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... eleven Trophy Cupcakes, ten Snowman bright lights, nine Fran's dark chocolates, eight Christmas crackers, seven cotton candies, six bags of kisses, five red heart ornaments..........four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♫ I have to share with you, the effort my husband is making. He brought me a few different choices for the eleventh day of Christmas: Eleven candy canes, eleven Lindor truffles, and eleven Trophy Cupcakes. Of course, I cannot possibly eat all of the nummy goodies, so my caregivers are, deservedly, getting tasty holiday treats.

24 24 24 My favorite Christmas took place in West Yellowstone, Montana. My husband and I took my daughter to snowmobile Yellowstone National Park. Sixteen, curly, honey-blonde, lightly-blemished, a new driver, full of the cockiness of youth, exuding the air of boredom that only a teenager exhibits when confronted with unfamiliar circumstances. We procured a room upon arrival, the Best Western, abandoning our habit of driving into the night, and sleeping in the car, in a bear-threatened campground. We walked the tiny town, amid parka, polar fleece, wool, and boot-wearing tourists, browsing souvenir shops and dodging sports utility vehicles towing personal snow machines, mobbing the ranger station for tour permits. Snowmobile Rentals, flurry of trying on snowsuits, gloves, and boots, Should we buy balaclavas? Let's get this party started! We depart with a guide, my husband on one machine, myself and my daughter on another, six other snow machines in our caravan, You are entering ...

♫ Ten, ten, ten, ten, let's sing a song of ten. How many is ten? ♫ Like, literally, millions of kids, I grew up watching  Sesame Street and The Electric Company. I watched those programs well into my teens since I was the eldest of four kids. Longer if you factor in seven year gap between the middle children. Of course, I introduced my daughter to my old pals. Is it any wonder that I naturally think of ditties when I hear numerals from one through ten!? Anyway, this is the next verse of Tina's Twelve Days of Christmas...  ♫♫On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...Ten Snowman bright lights, nine Fran's dark chocolates, eight Christmas crackers, seven cotton candies, six bags of kisses, five red heart ornaments, four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree. ♫♫  We are getting ever nearer to the end of the song. Wonder what that husband of mine, has planned for the finale? 

23 The ninth day of Christmas, and I'm peaved. I was so excited to see a Fran's Chocolates bag, and so disappointed to find out that five out of nine were dark. I don't like dark chocolate! I know, I know, I'm terribly ungrateful, and I'm not proud of myself. On the contrary, I'm ashamed of my attitude. I fully understand that I am not owed anything. I know full well the consequences of ingratitude. I am lucky that my husband visits me as much as he does, much less brings me gifts, tacky or not. And still, I was powerless to stop my train wreck to crazy town. Nevermind, that I am worn out by well-meaning caregivers. Some days one after the other, for everything I must do in a day. By the time he shows up, I'm done with patience, tolerance, and kindness. If I ever ever even woke up with any... Oh, admit it, nobody always awakens joyful and happy. I woke up happy then I had a bad hair moment. Here is the most recent installment of Tina's Twelve Day o...

Got a chance to let my party goblin peek out a little at Bailey Boushay House, in Seattle, Washington. God, I love these parties!!! They are a real boost to my spirit. Day in and day out, I am in my room, pleasant as it is, I get starved for new understanding peeps to interact with. Additionally, I need new foods to pass over my bored palate. (Sorry, Daniel, as good as your food is, I am not accustomed to the limits set by institutional standards, for my level of dysphagia.) Thanks to Chef Daniel, I got a chance to sink my teeth into...wait for it...Beef Wellington, Stuffing, Sourdough Bread, Caprese Chicken, Cranberry Pear salad, and Broccolini. Following a fantastic meal, Chocolate Lava Cake accompanied by thick, rich, and creamy Egg Nog. How do I convey the deliciousness? My eyes rolled back and my taste buds practically sang. Mmmmmmmmmmmmm. ♪ Tis the season to be jolly, ate my fill, plus cake by golly. Fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la ♪♪ Not only did we dine, we got to listen to...

...On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me... eight Christmas crackers , seven cotton candies, six bags of kisses, five red heart orns, four rein-dogs poopin', three chocolate Santas, two red poinsettias, and a glass pickle to hang in the tree.  What the devil is a Christmas cracker?! That is my question. They look like brightly-colored, wrapped candies but they are not. I hope they are not firecrackers; I hate firecrackers. Oh well, they look beautiful, bright, and shiny.