Life in the fast lane

 

Christian giving skinny Sophie her insulin.
She's so good about it.

Many days I go from morning to night with only Sophie for company (I’m not complaining!), but it sure was a busy place around here today. I began the day with—gulp!—an 8:00 a.m. appointment with my favorite dermatologist, a man I’ve known for more years than either of us want to count. He presented me with a choice of treatments for a small lesion on my scalp and therefore gave me another dilemma. I told him I do not need another dilemma in my life right now.

Got home just in time to meet the dog groomer who came to give Sophie a much-needed haircut. She’d had a bath at the clinic, so I didn’t realize how badly she needed the trim until I saw my new, lean dog. With her coat trimmed back partly for summer and partly to smooth out the bare patches where the vet had shaved her, she suddenly looked half the size she had. Christian has been joking that she was getting broad in the beam, but tonight she has skinny hips and hind quarters. Today she is much more interested in food, and I am almost free feeding, giving her a bit whenever she wants. She is one of the dilemmas in my life: I want to feed her enough to restore her health, but I don’t want her to get used to eating six or seven times a day. And of course, her ongoing health is another dilemma: if she has another crisis I will be forced to make some hard decisions. Meantime, we’re taking it day by day, and today was a good day.

Yesterday was not such a good day. She refused her breakfast and was clearly confused. You know how you go into the kitchen for something and then have to stop and ask yourself, “Why did I come in here?” That’s the look she had. She’d walk a few steps and then stop and stand still, looking puzzled. And she stumbled occasionally. I called the vet, who said she needed to be in the clinic. He called back in an hour or so to say her blood sugar was extraordinarily high; they were giving her IV fluids and insulin, but he was quite adamant he did want to keep her overnight. She was, he said, clearly unhappy at being there again. We brought her home mid-afternoon, and she ate her dinner. So now I’m again figuring out medication schedules and cajoling her into letting me spray the bedsore on her leg, etc. She’s worth it, and as I said, today is a good day.

Back to the rest of the day: the young man (really, he is) who owns the lawn service we use came by so we could discuss bushes that need trimming, the dying grass in the front yard (he says it doesn’t get enough sun), and the bare spaces in my native plant bed which has, miraculously, survived the winter and a plumbing crisis (piles of rock among the plants). I have cut back on plans for taking out the vines on the back fence (really old honeysuckle which is not flourishing) and replacing it. We had great dreams of crossvine, but the fence does not get enough sun.

Then the new handyman we’ve discovered (he really is handy) called and said he could come replace the flexible screen door in the cottage. By that time, I was ready for a nap, and we agreed on tomorrow morning. But we need a new screen—after Sophie got her foot caught in a hole near the bottom of the current screen, Jordan took scissors to it and cut off about four inches. As a result, I have had a convention of mayflies in the cottage—a fatal convention apparently because I find their delicate dead bodies all over. The wonderful Zenaida will also be here tomorrow to clean the cottage—another busy day. And then we are expecting company for supper. I am reminded of the May Sarton poem:

“I always forget how important the empty days are, how important it may be sometimes not to expect to produce anything, even a few lines in a journal. A day when one has not pushed oneself to the limit seems a damaged, damaging day, a sinful day. Not so! The most valuable thing one can do for the psyche, occasionally, is to let it rest, wander, live in the changing light of a room.”
~ May Sarton, Journal of Solitude. Thanks to Marilea Rabasa for posting that this morning on our small writer’s group listserv.

 

 

Monday fun—sort of

 

         

What I loved about this Monday—a cozy nap in my bed, with warm flannel pants. But wait! Life is about more than napping. I also had a good laugh about the rumors that the flying objects being shot down right and left are extraterrestrial in origin. One poster online said he was going to be so tickled if that proved true, and even my Jordan said, “I’ve aways wanted to see an alien,” though I don’t think we can yet expect them to come tumbling out of spaceships. The general in charge of the security for US and Canadian air space has officially said the reason we’re hearing about so many more is that the Chinese balloon sparked changes in the way our country monitors air space. So probably these smaller objects have been there for a long while, and we’re only now spotting them. Apparently, military pilots have reported sightings for some time, but no one paid attention. I am waiting, however, for this to become a big political issue. Good ole Mitch McConnell has already started it by accusing President Biden of not being transparent about the matter. Republicans are so eager for an issue to jump on.

And the Super Bowl aftertaste lingers, which Rhianna not getting a lot of approval, beyond Henry Winkler and a few others. Most seem to think the show was dismal, the padded white suits—whatever they were supposed to be—ungainly. I did hear one person praise the choreography. And several praised Rhianna for her control of the situation—and her bump reveal. Although one woman said she was surprised the entertainer would risk the life of her unborn child on the unstable platform. Can’t please all the people all the time. But I wonder—did anyone watch the game or was it all about the halftime show? Maybe next year we could just cancel the game and have the show? And boo to Lauren Boebbert and MTG for dumping on the “alternate anthem” and the “wokeness” of the show.

I am really worn out with all the fuss about wokeness which people can’t define anymore than they can that big bugaboo word, socialism. Wokeness, FYI, comes from an African American term and means generally aware of the social world around us, with its distinctions and prejudices and lack of equality. You think that will hurt tender little children? IF so, you need to get a life. Our children will be just fine if you stop hovering over them—and that includes banning books that introduce them to the wider world of reality.

Oops. I got on my soapbox and got carried away from my topic which is/was Monday. I started the day in the dermatologist’s office with a full body check for suspicious moles and the like. I am one of those people—blond, blue-eyed, and fair—who grow senile keratoses at a rapid rate. They’re ugly but harmless. The doctor said people like me should warn their children, and then looked at Jordan and said, “This is your daughter?” Jordan was quick with, “Yes, but I’m adopted.” Nonetheless, she has now scheduled herself a full body check, and I think it’s something everyone should do. I will do it annually because I have had three skin cancers.

The nice part of the day came with happy hour. My guest was James Lehr, marketing manager of TCU Press. We chatted about the press, books, and a whole lot of unrelated things, with a lot of focus on food and restaurants. A most pleasant way to spend a couple of hours. James brought the makings of margueritas, and I felt a bit guilty to tell him I don’t drink anything but chardonnay. I did fix a basket of mini spanakopita—we ate several, but when James was leaving and I saw him to the door, Sophie got the basket and ate all the rest. I know better than to turn my back on food on the coffee table—it doesn’t take her a minute. She seems to have no ill effects.

The family had leftover ragu for supper. One of those recipes that keeps growing—there’s still enough for two servings in the fridge. Tomorrow will be a cooking day, as we are slated to take dinner to Subie and Phil. She had knee surgery a week ago, and her sister/caretakers have both left now.

See anything about writing the great American novel here? No, I don’t either. Not even anything about promoting the one that is about to be published. I need to update my web page and write a newsletter—in between cooking and entertaining. Maybe my priorities are off?