Burning love.

I have to agree with MovieMom: this is my favorite Elvis song, too. (Dedicated to Beloved.)



Elvis, honey, sorry I missed your birthday. It’s been a little intense chez Ravelled.

Yesterday’s sonogram confirmed that there really is nothing more that Beloved’s medical team can do, other than keep him comfortable. He did get to bring home the mask that held his head still while they were zapping the metastatic mass, and they gave him a graduation certificate for completing the treatment. (That + $4.00 or so will get us a pint of Ben and Jerry’s.)

Yesterday was a remarkably productive day at work. In addition to the stuff they pay me for, I prepared a draft for the affidavit of heirship from the patterns we use to create documents at work, and I emailed it to the attorney who put together the quitclaim deed for us. He was out of the office for most of the day but will be there today, because the monthly firm meeting for the attorneys is a command performance, unless they are in trial. I got through all of my tasks for my attorney and typed two reports for Attorney B.

We have a verified case of flu in the office. Thankfully, I have had my flu shot. She is home, and I am her backup, which will keep me out of the pool halls again today. I find that if I take it one task at a time, complete the task, and move on to the next task, my powers of concentration are near-normal. I can do one thing very well, if I do not get distracted by an allegedly urgent item. And then I can do the next thing very well. [My attorney handed me my copy of his evaluation of my performance for the latter half of the year, and I told him he wasn’t supposed to make me cry, but it was a good cry and not much of one at that.]

Yesterday was also a pretty soggy day at work. The metaphor which comes to mind, is a waterbed. If you get into a waterbed all by yourself, there’s a whole lot of up and down at first, and the waves calm down pretty quickly. If you are sharing the bed with somebody, and you are all settled in, when they join you in that bed, there is another big whoosh of up and down, and your ears go a little funny, and eventually it settles down until somebody rolls over. But over time you get used to it, and if you have the bed long enough you learn to sleep through the changing elevation.

My team is all aware of what is transpiring, and by the time I get back from two days’ vacation (a little sad that we will not be heading back to that honeymoon cabin, but oh well) the entire office will know. There are three of us in the hospital with husbands who are fighting cancer. Beloved has been fighting the longest. We both have a sense that he will be here for the blessing of the new grandbaby, and we’re hopeful that we can get the sealing taken care of as well. Last night he did what was on my mind to ask him about: he spoke with one of his sisters and suggested that if there is any way they can move their tickets up a week or two, that would probably be a good idea.

So we will have Middlest with us, and the others staying elsewhere, and it will be a loving madhouse, and we will just roll with it. Best time to have a wake is when the guest of honor is still here to enjoy it.

Beloved did not sleep much, if at all, last night. He is dozing, sort of, while I type. I am trying to type quietly, but I learned to type on an old manual typewriter, so my keystrokes are pretty much BANGITY-BANGITY-BANG.

I’ll leave you with another video. Don’t know if you’re into country music, but this one by Kenny Chesney has been a favorite over the past couple of years. It’s a little closer to home now, as is Tim McGraw’s Live Like You Were Dying, which I also love but will spare you. (Our equivalent of skydiving would appear to be jelly production. A friend is coming over later this morning to help Beloved dispatch the last of the pomegranate seeds. I am going to have the best-smelling house on the block!)



(Ignore his reference to adult beverages right at the end. My beer has roots in it.)