The tomatoes are dead…

…which is to be expected at this time of year.  The donkeys had a delightful time cleaning up the green tomatoes that I didn’t use and chomping on the vines I threw over the fence.   Sweater weather is certainly here.  Mom has a bone scan tomorrow, and an upper respiratory infection.  I’m not sure how she will make it through the scan without coughing up both lungs and a spleen, but since she can number the new cancer spots which are popping up daily, she doesn’t want to wait.

I’m still grumpy.  Today I went to our local thrift store, as I do often on the first of the month, to scan their new additions to the dollar rack.  We send clothes up to a church which feeds the homeless in the city, and at this time of year more than a few sweaters are needed.  And jeans.  And shoes.

Last night, papa went up to help with Wednesday night dinner, and there was one fellow who needs shoes.  Size nine, but he had one swollen foot.  There were no size nine shoes. Well, one pair with the sides ripped out.  He couldn’t really get his foot in, but since they were the only option, he took them.

The thrift store had no size nines.

The shoes are never included in the dollar sale anyway, but the thrift store will gather up what they don’t sell sometimes and send it with us for the folks in the city.  Last time the boxes they sent held too many high heels.  Those aren’t terribly practical in the rain.  Or when one is sleeping under the underpass.  Every pair of high heels was claimed though.

I don’t wear high heels much myself anymore.  Not much call for them in the garden.  And they are terribly bad for the feet.  Feet are fairly important after all.  Life is much more of a challenge without them.  I partially tore my Achilles tendon on my left ankle a few years ago.  I didn’t know that was the problem until I finally had an MRI in China.  I had been told I had a cyst.  I had been given an injection that helped for a while.  I had been told to just hit the lump and maybe it would pop.  Yeah.  So, my ankle is not a huge fan of mine.

I’m going to see if I can find some nice sturdy size nine wide shoes on sale somewhere.  Feet are important after all.

Grumpy

Amy of Hummingbird Hill View All →

I’m just someone trying to figure out how to juggle ten acres, work, a mama with stage four cancer, and a whole lot of grumpy. This blog started out as “Grumpy Gal’s Guide to Gratitude,” but since all I really keep typing about is the garden, I figured I might as well own it! So, thanks for joining me as I try and figure out how the heck to kick myself in the booty and get on with life.

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