Anyone remember the song "Rambling Rose"? For some reason it popped into my head this morning. I haven't heard it in years. My thoughts are rambling all over today. The pulled muscle in my back has returned-yesterday morning at work. I thought I was going to pass out. Nsaids and not moving too much is helping. Not much work to work on, and tomorrow I am covering for the upstairs secretary.

I was thinking about my father last night. Or actually, both my parents-really. When my mother was not sick, life would get into a routine. Mondays and Wednesdays Mom would come home from work, start supper, lay down and take nap-usually reading her magazines. She would tell me what steps to do with the meal or what time to wake her up. Dad worked late Tuesdays and Fridays, and had Thursdays off. After supper at 6, there would be times they would watch tv together but by 9 at the latest she would go back to the bedroom and he would stay in the living room watching tv. He didn't go to bed till after 11-after Johnny Carson, she'd be fast asleep. Now she did get up at 5, he didn't get up till after 7, so I guess this makes sense. The nights Dad worked late, mom would tell me what to make for supper and she'd basically go to bed right after work. She ate a little, but not alot, and supper was usually leftovers. Thursdays, Dad would go grocery shopping and make dinner-usually something Mom would never try. But Mom would still be in bed early. And later on when I would start cooking more she did less. I loved cooking. I even got into trouble with her over it....
I think I was about 12-7th grade-
There was a roaster chicken defrosted in the refrigerator. I got home from school at 2:30. I looked in the cookbook and found a recipe for a rice stuffed chicken. So, I made it. Used Minute rice, and oranges, and had it in the oven before Mom got home at 3:30. Even had the salad prepped. I was so proud. She was furious! I told her everything I had done-step by step. The pantry was clean, I knew how to clean up (washing dishes was my job since age 7). She grumbled and went and laid down. Dad came home and she complained to him-no sympathy from him! It was even better that the supper was delicious-she had to admit that. But it was understood that I wasn't to get any ideas into my head anymore!- At least not while she was healthy. When she was sick and in the hospital, well, what she didn't know, didn't hurt her. And my Dad enjoyed my cooking.