Cossacks and me


I’m having my 5:00 p.m. vodka, and it feels SO good on my sore throat.

Along with from coming down with a cold yesterday, my right shoulder pain returned with a vengeance. That means that the steroid shots are wearing off, and that my third round of physical therapy didn’t work, and that I’m going to have to undergo two surgeries after all.

If you had a cold, the weather was miserable, and your shoulder felt like it had an ice pick sticking out of it; what would you do? Probably what I did. I worked under the house (on the plumbing) where it’s cold, drafty, and filthy, and I have to crawl everywhere. Makes sense, no? Well, no, not if you discount the fact that I am bummed about my health, that I needed to do something that would cheer me up, that physical labor cheers me up, and that working in crawlspaces really cheers me up. In fact, I’m never happier than when I’m working in crawlspaces. If the dust and insulation didn’t choke me, and the spider webs didn’t get in my mouth; I would sing happy songs when I’m working in crawlspaces.

God but this vodka is good!

Ah, but my shoulder will pay for the work I did, but then my shoulder pays for everything I do, and I’m sick of it. Three years of some pain; one year of a lot of pain; and god knows how many thousands of dollars gone for nothing. But I won’t whine and complain. No, not me. After all my fierce resistance, I am reconciled to surgery on my right shoulder followed several months later by surgery on my left shoulder. Things could be worse. I could have lived before there was “subacromial decompression,” or I could be unable to afford it…or I could be out of vodka.

16 comments:

The Beauty Within said...

Hi there...Your post are wonderful and worth reading...Good Day to you!

JOE TODD said...

I love crawl spaces. I live in an older home and one of the basement walls is acrually dirt. Doesn't get much better.
As far as vodka, I can't drink it. I break out.. In the past I have broken out all over the country and didn"t know where I was or how I got there.
Good luck with the surgeries
Joe Todd

Snowbrush said...

Joe, I've mostly lived in basementless places, and had never imagined a dirt wall basement. What does the foundation above it set upon, or is there a foundation above it?

JOE TODD said...

All the basement is block wall except for one 10 ft section which is dirt wall about 5 ft high then crawl space under area where "family room was added to original house.. Hose was built in40"s rest of basement is cement block walls and poured concrete floor..As a kid the house I grew up in had one basement room out of three that was an all dirt floor

Audrey said...

Thank you for dropping by and commenting on my blog. Your perspective was most interesting to read!

Matawheeze said...

Loving crawl spaces definitely means too much vodka! I'd offer you a chance to explore ours except the place is on a cement foundation. Would an attic populated by bats - lots of bats - be a worthy substitute? Or do you have your own?

Natalie said...

Hi Snowbrush, It certainly seems that you have been doing some living!
Knowledge comes from learning about something, but wisdom comes from experiencing something.
So, I guess you are a wise fellow!

Good of you to stop by. :D

KC said...

My dogs dressed in a boa and a tie were more than you could take I'm guessing. I wish you well with your surgeries and hope you can find relief from your pain.

Reasons to be Cheerful 1,2,3 said...

Great blog. Sorry to hear about the pain you are in. Sounds like vodka is the only way to go, it's 3.30 pm here, mmmmm maybe a little early, but it could be a plan for when the kids are in bed. All the very best for the surgery and thank you for your kind words.

KC said...

I'm glad the photo wasn't offensive. Best wishes.

Strayer said...

Snowbrush, I too love crawlspaces! I really do. There was one in Woodburn particularly rememberable. Some cat a woman wanted help catching. Former drug house, abandoned, where she fed it, surrounded by very rambunctiously drunk Russian community.

Had this big idea to block all exits and got through a tiny space into the underworld of that house. I had to rearrange, push and shove certain body parts to get through the hole. The big plan involved one woman shoving a tapeplayer through a hole in one side of the house, blasting Bruce Springsteen, to scare the cat to the section of the underneath where I was at. Beyond that, the plan was fuzzy. I got under there, and had to move forward by pushing myself with my toes, flashlight in teeth, very tight, dirt, garbage, wires, pipes to navigate under or over. I dropped my flashlight at one point and plunged into darkness. When I groped around and found it, and stared ahead, all I saw was a large area of dead animals staring back at me, in various stages of decomposition. Startled me. At this point, one of the two women on the outside, yelled in that the cat had exited through an unknown hole and was staring at them curiously from the next porch and that they were leaving. I finally was able to get back out into the light of day. We finally caught the cat. But not before the caretaker woman backed into a tree, loved by one of the Russians, scraping off a bit of bark, popping open the car door, which prompted the mass escape of various tame neighborhood cats we'd deposited inside so they would not get into the trap. The woman was terrified of the drunk Russians. So, I had spray paint in my car, do not ask why, brown, and we spray painted the small bark skinned section of the tree. nobody would ever be able to tell it had been hit. I later bonded with one Russian over a bottle of vodka I supplied and lots of laughing and jokes I could not understand.

Homeopath said...

Just found your blog...... Interesting.....I’ll be back to read more.

Snooty Primadona said...

OMG! You are a total hoot! Now, I have someone I can gritch with about my aches & pains. I can do that, right? Unfortunately, I can't get in those crawlspaces to tickle your ribs because I've become severely claustrophobic. I think it's a fear of coffins. Call me crazy.

Thanks for stopping by my blog & commenting. I wasn't sure if you were kidding until I looked at this post, lol. You were kidding, right? Right?

Anyway, you have a new fan... me.

Snowbrush said...

Snooty, my wife lived in San Antonio when we met, and I lived in Mississippi, so I know your part of the world fairly well.

I don't care for coffins either (and I've been an undertaker), which is partly why I'm planning a cremation, but I still like crawlspaces.

"Call me crazy."

I can't tell if you do want confirmation or you don't want confirmation.

taitle said...

call me crazy, but why didn't you call a plumber?

And Vodka solves all life's problems, although I am a wine-boy myself.

Snowbrush said...

Homeopath, glad you dropped by.

Taitle, I never call servicemen to my house except for to repair the furnace. Everything else, I can do, and will probably do it better because I'm working on my own house. My father was that way only moreso. He wouldn't even pay to have his tires mounted, but would do the job at home with crowbars. Every try mounting a tire with crowbars? Not I, thank you, having seen how difficult it is.