Mother returned from Wal-Mart a few days ago, and was greeted by a covey (is that correct?) of cops.  They asked if she lived in the apartment complex.  She said she did and they accompanied her to her door.  Of course, like any human, she asked what was going on.  They told her that they were looking for a young man whom they had been told lived in the unit above her.  They told her he was to be considered armed and dangerous.  “Go inside and lock your doors.  Don’t let any one in you don’t know.”  Obviously they don’t know my mother.  Those are things she does out of habit, anyway.  Then they showed her a picture of “some black man” and asked her if she had seen him in the area.  Well bless her heart, she told them “you know, they all kind of look alike to me.”  Yes, we all shuddered when she told us what she had said.  But mother is an old southern woman.  The fact that she said black man is a sign of just how far she has come.  Believe me, before we all became more enlightened I have heard her say much worse.

Well, since then we hear daily about the cops coming to her apartment.  The story varies a little some days.  We might hear what the police officer said in a little different way, but the end result is always the same.  Go inside and lock your doors.  Don’t let any one in you don’t know.  Over and over…it has become her mantra.  The day after the incident, she called the local police station and asked them if the young man had been apprehended.  They told her they didn’t have anything in the computer about an incident occurring in her apartment complex.  Well that turned in to a conspiracy.  I tried to convince her the police officers might not have filed and incident report yet, and if that was the case there wouldn’t be anything in the computer.  She still insisted that it was really fishy that nothing was in the computer.

She won’t go out after dark now.  One of us must be with her for her to make an appearance in the moonlight.  She locks all three bolts on her door.  She watches absolutely everyone who walks down her side walk until they enter a building.  If the person on the walk is an African-American male, she is damned near convinced that “he’s back.”  Then we play Place the Neighbor.  It’s a simple game.  It begins when any male walks down the sidewalk headed for the apartment complex.  Mother starts with her usual “he’s back”, and then which ever daughter happens to be with her tries to place the neighbor.  Mother counters with “I can’t tell” and we continue with our descriptions of him so that she can help us place the neighbor.  The last time I played we started the usual way, but as the game came closer to and end I told mom that the man on the sidewalk was Caucasian.  That fact alone put him out of the running.  She countered with “Michael Jackson looked white too.”  Now personally I don’t think he did look white, but that has absolutely nothing to do withplaying place the neighbor.  The point of the game is to try to recognize the person outside.  Well, I didn’t know the man walking down the walk, but I knew one truth.  And this is what I told mother, “He’s not Michael Jackson.”  I thought that was enough, but mother is not one to be put aside.  She looked at me like I was the stupidest person on Earth.  “I know he’s not.  Michael Jackson is dead.”  So that’s the reason she knew he wasn’t Michael Jackson.  I thought there were other more obvious clues.  Like the fact that he was six feet tall and bald.  He also weighed about 250 pounds.  I could get ugly and say he didn’t have a Boy Scout Troop with him, but I won’t.

I’m thinking about creating a page and topping it with a header to make it look like a newspaper.  Then I am going to write an article about the incident at her apartment and have it conclude with the capture of this fugitive.  I may even include a quote from a  reliable source who lives in the apartment and use the words that mom says she used so she will know she was the source. (She would love that!)  Then when I list what he did, I’m going to say it was a hot check warrant.  Because right now in her mind he is a murderer or a rapist.  She is also thoroughly convinced that the weapon he was armed with was an automatic rifle.  So I think I am going to have him armed with a pocket knife.  I think this article would give her some peace.  It wouldn’t keep her from worrying.  Nothing does.  But at least it would keep her from worrying about taking her trash out after dark. To tell you the truth,  I’m surprised she opens her window curtains.  I guess she has to so she can place the neighbors.  She had to get out on the 4th to watch the fireworks show, but we picked her up and took her home and my sister was there with her so it was okay to venture forth.

Don’t ever get me wrong, I love my mother.  She is the sweetest woman on Earth.  She would do anything she could for any one of us.  She is always ready to help.  She never goes to Wal-Mart without calling and asking me if I need anything.  If any of us want any particular food all we have to do is ask mom and we will have it as soon as she can purchase the ingredients and cook it for us.  She is an absolute dear.  So trust me when I say that I am not making fun of her.  She is scared.  I feel that it is probably unnecessary to be as afraid as she is, but I am not the one living in her apartment.  I asked her if she felt afraid enough to want to move, and she said “oh no, that last move was really hard on me.  I don’t want to move again.”  And that’s fine.  I just wish she could relax.  On the other hand, I think she enjoyed the excitement just a little bit too.    Whatever is going on in her head is fine, as long as it is not tragic.  I don’t want her sitting around composing nightmare scenarios in her spare time.  It is just unnecessary. 

So if you talk to her and she tells you that she was in quoted in the paper, just smile and say “that’s great!” and go on.  Pretend that you are surprised, but please don’t ask for a copy of the article.  I’m about out of black ink in my printer and I don’t want to have to buy more…that s*@# is expensive!

I’m sorry I have kept you waiting so long for another blog, but I have had some issues.  Some have since been resolved and some are hanging on.  I know after the last blog you might have been concerned that I had committed suicide.  Nothing that juicy.  Too many celebraties are dropping right now for me to get the attention I deserve so I am hanging on.

Anyway, to one of my issues (actually it’s two)…I have a growth on my foot that is disguised as a blister.  This thing woke up with me on Thursday of last week.  One is just below the nail on my big toe, and then almost connected to it is a blister poser that looks like a small lake.  Now here’s the thing.  I didn’t do anything to cause these blisters.  I haven’t worn shoes that rubbed right there.  I haven’t burned my toes.  I would know these things.  Yet, here I sit looking at the twin peaks perched on my toe.

I know not to pop blisters.  I’ve been telling my children that for years.  You don’t pop blisters.  The skin beneath a blister is raw and painful.  If you pop the blister that skin will be exposed and can get infected.  See I know all that crap, but the thing that is keeping me from popping the blisters is simple.  They hurt now and I don’t think they are going to feel all that much better if I pop them.  So I baby this foot and keep all sharp objects away.

Here’s the other thing…they are growing.  When I woke up on Thursday morning I noticed these little pin sized bubbles and thought that I should probably wear shoes that wouldn’t rub them.  I chose flip-flops.  By the end of the day I had two blisters about the size of a dime.  Friday I woke up with one that was a little larger than a dime and one the size of a quarter.  By Saturday, no one could believe how large these blisters were and today they are ridiculous.  I told Boppy we need to take a picture because no one would believe how big these suckers are.

Everyone has a theory about what caused them.  The overall favorite is a bug bite.  The only bug I know that creates blisters is a (surely you can guess) Blister Bug.  I am fairly certain that I did not have a blister bug in bed with me on Wednesday night.  I think that I would have more to show for it if I had.  In addition, Boppy hasn’t got so much as a pimple anywhere on his body.  Now, I suppose it’s possible that an irritated blister bug jumped in bed with me, did his thing and crawled out without being recognized. (It wouldn’t be the first time some vermin crawled into my bed and did his thing and left without waking me up) I haven’t found him anywhere.  There is another theory that I wore shoes that rubbed these blisters on my feet on Wednesday, and then went to sleep only to wake up malformed.  I do take pain meds during the day.  I have never pretended that I don’t.  However; I don’t have anything strong enough to numb me to the point of not feeling the irritation that would cause these blisters.  I have received blisters from ill-fitting shoes or extremely long walks and I knew well before the blisters actually occured that I was going to have them.  Here is my theory.  I have taken so much crap for so many illnesses that my body is now producing acid and I am blistering from the inside out.  It’s like internal combustion but not to the point of flame…only to the point of extreme blisters.

I do wish my dears that you could see these mammoth blisters.  They look like very small mountain climbers should be along the front slope.  Sometimes I think I can feel their little hooks at the end of their tiny ropes piercing my skin.  Then I feel them digging their hands into non-existent hand holds.  They have no chance of reaching the summit because everyday it flattens more and spreads out to cover more area.  You know,  now that I think about it, it’s more like a liquid glacier.   Yes, I know that technically all glaciers are liquid but I also know that when we think of them we think of them as solid “ice” floes.  My blisters, however; are very gooshy liquid.  They feel really weird if I should happen to run my hand across them.  If that happens though, it is completely accidental because touching them hurts like hell!  I hesitate to wash them in the shower because of the pain.  My mother thinks I should contact the doctor because of the size of these things and the pain they cause.  I refuse to call our family doctor over a couple of blisters.  I know how to care for blisters (see the paragraph about not popping).

I suppose these creepy creatures adorning my feet could be the world’s smallest case of small pox.  Do you see the humor there? Small case of small pox?  Oh well, I was vaccinated with the other middle aged people in existence so I feel that small pox is out of the question.  I am still baffled by these things on my big toe.  I only have so many pairs of shoes that they don’t touch when I put them on.  You know like maybe 50 or so, only because flip-flops count.  So if you have any ideas about what this might be let me know.  You know, if I am not only one who woke up on morning and by the end of the day Vesuvius was on her big toe, share your ordeal and let me know how it all comes out in the end.  Other than that I will just have to keep you posted.  I do this as a personal favor.  You too could wake to ever growing gelatinous masses on your feet.  Wait, I saw this in a movie…it’s The Blob!