Falling-apart Friday

I’d like to trade in this 60 year old body for two 30’s. Yesterday was more grueling than usual, and various bits ache, and I would very much like to roll over and go back to bed. I have already made a fruitless run to Wally World, in search of under-bed storage boxes to match the ones I have had for 15 years (I do realize the likelihood of that happening) and an ironing board cover whose pattern and/or color doesn’t make me gag.

I will be stopping at Target after work, to pick up a gift card for the second wedding reception of the week and to see if my inner domestic engineer has any better luck there. We have a very nice, sturdy, non-rusty ironing board, courtesy of Beloved’s mother’s storage unit; all it needs is a new cover.

Work has gone very well this week, thus far. I got through the rest of my mail yesterday and tidied up some of my To-Do’s, and we got another lawsuit to enter. Attorney B has several reports which are due out today, so the new suits may have to wait until Monday. I closed another case yesterday, and we have several more dismissal orders sent off to the courts, so I may be able to close more cases in the next couple of days.

I think I got half a round done on the sleeve yesterday. My attorney took three of us out to lunch, so no knitting there. Just walk, sweat, eat, walk, sweat some more, and back to the grindstone. The lunch I took for yesterday is still in the fridge at work, so I won’t have to do more than grab some fresh fruit and git.

I have to laugh at myself, a little. On Wednesday after my shower, I put on three separate topical creams in various places, for various issues. I wonder if my skin gets confused? Good news is that I did not need to put any on yesterday, and I think I may not need them today. The chigger bites no longer bug me (pun intended), and my ankles are pink rather than fire engine red. We count all the small victories.

Breakfast is down the hatch. Raisin bran with cow’s milk on it (not much, but enough). Know what? After a year of not drinking cow’s milk, I find that I’m not crazy about the taste of it. Crazy, perhaps, but not about milk.

Hark! I think I hear a banana calling my name.

♥ Happy Thursday to me!

Work went really well yesterday. I walked into my cubicle, set my bags down on the other chair, and surveyed my desk. The managing attorney had not been idle in my absence. A new file to open. Don’t ask me when the answer is due, because I only got most of the way through Friday’s mail before scooting out the door at 5:00.

Today I have a report to type for Attorney B, and I hope to finish Friday’s mail and Monday’s and maybe get the new case opened. I think somebody opened one in our absence (but it may only be a monitoring-for-service file), as there are two new case names on our docket. One more case is a little nearer to closing, and I got through most of my email as well.

I came home to pot roast in the crockpot (with wonderfully spicy potatoes, yum!), and then we lit out for a wedding reception. I was delighted to discover that the brother of one of my good friends in this new ward, is somebody who is best friends with a non-LDS attorney in my office. They’ve been buddies for 25 years! Can’t wait to get to the office and tell Attorney C (yes, the other one I back up when his regular secretary is out) that I saw the big dude last night. I met him years and years ago, when I was still working switchboard in our office.

Not a lot of knitting yesterday, but I did get the hem sewn on the sleeve I’ve been working on. I hope to do more knitting today, although it is chemo-lite today, so I will spend more time than usual on the road before work, which severely curtails my knitting time. The actual knitting on this sweater is simple, but I spend a fair bit of time on the contrast row (every sixth row) making sure that the contrast yarn sits to the left of the base yarn, so that when I knit the following row the contrast yarn will be on top. (You may now check the physics-of-knitting item off your list for the day.)

Not sure if I mentioned it, but Beloved’s cancer count is rising, so we are back to chemo every week. We are still waiting to hear from M.D. Anderson.

I am going to shred a small sheaf of mail and then get ready for breakfast. Oh yeah, forgot to mention that the cat is back, safe and sound, and spent a good deal of last night winding possessively around my ankles. Sure wish he would earn his keep by catching the cricket which is mocking me, under Beloved’s desk.

We’re baaaaack!

Observations: The average driver in California, at least in my sampling over the past five days, does not understand the Texas concept of “drive friendly,” making our Lexus drivers look humble and our BMW drivers look polite.

Newport Beach is lovely. We walked out on Balboa Pier, and I saw jellyfish in the water, and we debated photographing somebody parasailing and trying to convince you it was Ms. Ravelled.

The Crab Cooker of Newport Beach claims to have the world’s best clam chowder. It is excellent, but in order to be the best it would have to be New England style, not Manhattan style. They do make excellent oyster crackers, however, and we ate a fresh boule and took another home to Beloved’s sister’s house.

We have been in California since dark-thirty last Friday morning and got back home this afternoon. The memorial service was lovely. I got to know my new siblings a bit better. I ate too much. I found a cream designed to help eczema outbreaks, which is steadily reducing the redness in my ankles. The chigger bites are nearly gone.

Beloved has washed and dried the majority of our vacation wardrobe. I have had a manicure and made a batch of mac and cheese. We very sadly emptied out the freezer in the garage; its door flew open in our absence, spoiling 450 tomatoes that were scheduled to become sauce later this week, 28 pounds of premium frozen berries from Bothell Farms in Oregon, roasts, steaks, salmon fillets, and all manner of frozen vegetables. Beloved estimates at least $400 of food now taking up space in the garbage can. He will see if he can get a special pickup from the city, because I don’t want to think what that is going to smell like if it sits outside until next Tuesday morning.

The freezer is wiped clean and appears to be working. Who knows what caused the great escape?

We also don’t know where the cat is; he bolted out of the house on Friday, so we left his food in the garage (thankfully undamaged by those lemmings in the freezer) and a huge bowl of water.

Perhaps he opened the freezer door in retaliation?

I am roughly halfway up the first sleeve.

And somewhere over Amarillo I came up with a scathingly brilliant title for this post, but it seems to be gone with the blackberries and the phyllo dough.

Back to the salt mines tomorrow. But for now, Olympics and knitting and an early bedtime.

Try to be a good wife, and what do you get?

Historically, the answer would be “pregnant,” but in this case the answer would be “chiggers.” Sunday night Beloved asked me to help him gather almost the last of the tomatoes. I love Beloved more than I love air conditioning, so I went out into the garden, amongst the basil which threatens to take over the backyard, and feathery weeds up to my knees. I came in and washed off my legs, but apparently I missed somebody, because yesterday afternoon I started itching in the usual-suspect places and sure enough, Ms. Ravelled has cooties. I read online that Cool Mint Listerine does a number on chiggers, so last night he swabbed me down with mouthwash. [Yeah, makes me giggle a little, too.] And this morning I had him dab the bits I can’t see/reach with hydrocortisone cream.

Says he, “Too bad you have to go to work.”

Says I, “Too bad you’re wearing that chemo pump.”

In other news, I got my mammo-Gram (teehee!) this afternoon, and civic duty won out over family fun and Knit Night. I did not go hang out at Secondborn’s until time to knit with my friends. Instead I came home and voted in the runoff election. In the process, I figured out where downtown Garland is (the runoff is being held at City Hall, rather than the elementary school where I voted in the primary and will vote in the general election this fall) relative to our house and relative to the Italian restaurant where we ate with the Empty Nesters (not the same place where we got that fantabulous pizza last Saturday night).

There really is a downtown Garland. They have a proper City Hall, a police station, an arts center (!) and something called Garland Women’s Activities, which apparently is a private club? Maybe it’s where Junior League members go when they age out of the organization? Or maybe it’s a place to go when the monthly comes, and gorgeous but mute men serve dark chocolate and peeled grapes and Midol with no expectation of reward. Or maybe it’s a hangout for the League of Women Voters? I asked Beloved, but he says they’ve never invited him. “That’s discrimination,” says he.

Everything is out of the storage unit. He and his sons are all properly sweaty and exhausted. We have a new file cabinet (which is going right back out tomorrow) and a new bookcase, and maybe a new door for the back of the house.

I have wiped out the last of the goat’s milk and the low sodium Frito’s and am heading out to the living room to watch the Olympics and nosh on leftovers and knit swatches for the next project, which is the KnitPicks Classic Lines sweater, two strands of Gloss Lace held as one, and a strand of handpainted Shadow tossed in every sixth round. The teeninetsy four-inch DPs I bought last year are really coming in handy for the circular gauge swatch. I will have to slice and “swim” my swatch(es), as silk and silk-blend yarns grow when washed, and I will need to allow for that when I cast on for the actual sweater. This will be my first steeked project.

Deja move.

Today’s blog post is brought to you by the letter D, for deja move, and also for disheartening. The good news is that very little remains to be taken out of Beloved’s mother’s storage unit. The bad news is that the vast majority of its former contents are boxed up in our living room and dining room. Most of those boxes have other people’s names on them; i.e., they have been sorted through and prepared for shipping to Fern Parts. Some still remain to be dealt with. But for the moment, our living room and dining room look as if there has been a time-warp back to late January.

I neglected to tell you that Beloved and his brother have fixed the commode in the guest bathroom, so we will not (yet) need to shell out $200 for one of those spiffy new dual-flush commodes. I am going to see if there is a peel-and-stick tile I like as much as the spendier flooring options that I’ve seen, and we will repaint the cabinet beneath the sink, and we will be done in there until it’s time to put in a new sink and faucet, et al. They fixed the problem for less than $20. I will start hanging pictures in there, forthwith. Or possibly fifthwith. (Thank you, Victor Borge.)

And the next major project will be a closet of my own. I am hoping to start on that next month. We will need a little (OK, a lot) more room in the dining room before that can happen, so that all the stuff currently stacked in the dining room closet can come out while we seal up that entrance and turn two small crowded closets into a single, spacious one. I think we would both be happier if there were no boxes of his mom’s stuff to get tangled up in ours.

Beloved got his sleep last night in 45 minute increments and was still wiped out when the alarm clock went off this morning. I suggested that he might want to just stay home and sleep, if he could. Which he did. I was a good little Do-Bee and went on to church. The talks were good (I took notes); my students and I all survived Primary (loved that Sharing Time was 100% music time today); came home with a large baggie full of ghost pepper cheese from one of his friends at church. I lost too many brain cells in Primary to be able to tell Beloved from whom.

And now we are heading out to bat cleanup on our home teaching and visiting teaching for July, after which I most devoutly hope there will be an obscenely long nap for Ms. Ravelled.

And the truth shall make you broke.

Yesterday did not go as planned. This is not necessarily a bad thing.

Beloved and I were bickering gently and lovingly about the word “late” as in “You’re going to be late for your appointment.” His sister and brother were already at the house, preparing for a long day of packing and sorting. I had an 8:15 appointment with my allergist (love her!) and needed to be there fifteen minutes early. I was not leaving as soon as Beloved thought I should. His siblings are delightful, and I was enjoying the visit. Beloved’s idea of on time is half an hour early. My idea of on time is (usually) skidding in at the last possible second, breathless but still technically on time.

I made it to the doctor’s office with a minute to spare. I made sure to tell Beloved about that as we were drifting off to sleep.

My allergist is a good ‘splainer, Lucy. She told me what the testing could and could not establish or confirm. The most important being that it is easy to find and treat allergies for which there is an IGE presence or reaction. I am guessing that IGE is ImmunoGlobulin[E-something]. That list is shorter than I’d thought, with a few surprises: no allergy to shrimp, nor to penicillin. ‘Tis a puzzlement. To be cautious, we did a penicillin challenge and a blood test for shrimp. I aced the first, and we will get the results on the second in about a week. We will be getting one of those allergen barriers for the mattress and pillows (dust mites; who knew?). I also learned that the casein in cow’s milk is identical to that in goat’s milk, sheep’s milk, and everything but mares milk. There is a distinct dearth of lactating mares, chez nous.

Now all this does not mean that I do not have sensitivities to all the things that the alternative practitioner tested me for, last September. It does mean that I now have a prescription for a nasal steroid spray that I am to start taking about a month before my seasonal allergies (cough: ragweed) and am to get an industrial size bottle of Zyrtec next time we are at Costco. And about $500 more in debt for my half of the testing yesterday, which I will start paying off, next payday.

I did not make it to my mammogram yesterday afternoon. We got stuck in traffic in Dallas, so through the wonders of cell phone technology, I rescheduled en route. This left us with five hours until the Rangers game, and Beloved was looking pretty weary, and the idea of sitting in the sun was not particularly appealing to me, so we blew off the game and dropped our tickets at the office for one of my co-workers to use. Then we came home and went out for pizza with Beloved’s brother and sister. No reaction to the salad, the salad dressing, or the slab and a half of pizza I inhaled. We came home, worked some more on their mother’s stuff, and called it a night around 10:00. I woke up several times, but nothing like it has been in recent weeks, and I got somewhere around six or seven hours of sleep. My ankles are suspiciously quiet this morning, not that I am complaining.

The sibs will be back for breakfast shortly. Beloved is making biscuits and gravy. With cow’s milk. I will wash mine down with a slug of goat milk and a tall glass of juice, and then it’s off to Secondborn’s for BittyBubba’s fifth birthday party while Beloved and sibs tackle more paperwork and memories and stuff.

I regret the necessity for their visit (I had already fallen in love with their mother, easy peasy), but I so enjoy having them here in our home and doing what small things I can do to help.

In knitting news, the pillow back has just a couple of repeats left, and the garter stitch border, and then the sewing-up. I most devoutly hope I will finish that today.

And in dolly news, Hope is here; she is every bit as enchantingly lovely as the picture on the website. I found Temperance’s black turtleneck and wrangled that on over Hope’s fancier hands (which are not held on with magnets like Chutzpah’s) and the black bloomers I got earlier this year cover her nether bits, so she is modest with a side order of Goth. Freud would probably have a field day with that. Her hair is a dark blonde, and very very long, as in longer than Crystal Gayle long. Her wig is an inch or so longer than she is tall, but it’s wavy, so she just manages not to step on it. Right now she is in a basket with Faith, Charity, Temperance, and Chutzpah. Once we get all the boxes from the storage unit emptied out (it looks crazier than when I moved in with all my stuff), then I can think about having my doll-inclined kids over for a play date.

This is the part where I put on what I’m wearing to the party and go out and flirt with the cook.

It’s my Friday (and I’ll cry if I want to).

Thankfully, I don’t want to. Decent night’s sleep last night, and another repeat finished on the pillow back since I woke up this morning. A condolence card written. A modicum of pondering. A little bookkeeping. Beloved is snoozing on the bed behind me, and it seems a shame to wake him up for breakfast.

This is my long day, but no chemo for Beloved, so no drive-by drop-off. It’s just work, and service in the temple tonight, and then home. I’m off tomorrow, but I’m scheduled out the wazoo: allergy testing in the morning, the annual girl-mashing in the afternoon [a/k/a mammogram], and baseball in the evening. With a side order of relatives: three-fourths of his siblings arrive tonight to begin inventorying their mom’s stuff in the storage unit and various of our homes. Our dining room will be Command Central for that. Boxes out of the storage unit, over here, inventoried, repacked into keep/sell/whatever, and back into storage. The family’s goal is to empty the storage unit before the end of this month.

I am finally getting useful information on the track/ship website for my doll. She should be here tomorrow!

The bathroom is looking amazing. We are nearly done with the painting. We have had an interesting discussion on crown molding. We want to find some that is simple, modest, and does not make the baseboards look boring or tacky. (Ours is a tract home from a quintessentially quirky home builder. I find it charming. Over the course of the next several years, as we repaint and do minor upgrades, I want to keep it simple, tasteful, and aesthetically consistent. This, I most devoutly hope, is our age-in-place home.) We are still having discussions and not arguments.

I like this.

♫ Mutual Admiration Society ♪

Old song from the 50s. I grew up on Teresa Brewer. Let’s see if I can make this link work.



In other happy news, my doll ships out from Denver today. Doll + wig + eyes + faceup, and while I thought I had ordered an outfit for her, I did not, so she will have to borrow from her siblings until I can get something made. Shipping from Denver Doll Emporium is quick like a bunny, so she should be here by the end of the week. I was afraid I would have to write DDE and ask them to ship her to the office. I didn’t want her to get here on a day when neither of us is likely to be home much, and have her damaged by the Texas heat.

In other, other happy news, I am two-thirds done with the second back piece for the pillow. And now I am on a mission to finish it before Hope arrives.

Beloved caught most of the spots I missed when I was touching up the paint in the bathroom. And I got most of the blue painter’s tape down off the walls and ceiling. Along with a bit of wallboard in one corner. He and I had discussed getting some of that featherweight plastic crown molding in a very simple style and putting it up in the bathroom. Looks as if I have officially made it a necessity.

If all goes well, tonight we can put up the shower rod and the curtain(s). I know where the soft yellow plastic liner is (on top of something in the dining room; where would it be in your house?) but not the gorgeous cloth one we got at Pottery Barn that got this whole redecorating ball rolling. The yellow one will do for now and will be the perfect liner when we find the other one.

As Beloved says, it’s in the house.

And I am [ ] this far from being able to start hanging artwork in the bathroom. Jazzed? That would be me. Happy Wednesday, everybody. I’m heading out to the kitchen for some of Beloved’s delicious banana bread, one loaf of which will might be going to work with me.

Good weekend.

Enough naps, enough food, enough quiet time for thinking, and enough time with friends and family. Truly does not get much better than this. Found the last pieces of paper I need in order to do my name change at PayPal. I will fax that all off tomorrow. Nice stack of thank you notes going out, and letters to a couple of would-be creditors as well. In knitting news, I finally reached the halfway point on the second back piece for the second pillow cover. The Genealogy Fairy, bless his heart, has left me alone this weekend, although I can feel his influence lurking just around the corner. I want to finish this pillow cover. I want to shorten the first one. And then I want to knit something not-grey-alpaca-blend-tweed for the next month or so. The house is still tidy after the cleanup we did yesterday before our dinner guests arrived. I am going to enjoy it for however long it lasts, knowing that Beloved and I have both mastered the art of the pile, although we both desire to be messies-in-remission. I chuckle at the stuff that gets not quite thrown away when one or the other of us is working on a project. Bread twistie ties (we both loathe them), yarn labels that leap aside as they flutter down, down, down toward the wastebasket. I love how I feel when later arrives and I pick up a small handful of whatever and dispose of it properly. No further sightings of wolf spiders, jumping or otherwise. Lentil soup for dinner tonight. Always better when reheated; tonight was no exception. When we had the first of it a couple of nights ago, I told Beloved that while it was excellent I would not sell my birthright for it. At which point he snorted, I suggested something else, and we both succumbed to silent, helpless laughter. I love being married to this man.

Noodling with numbers

I’ve spent a good part of the morning working on the spreadsheet. There were two credit card statements that I thought I had shredded in error. I found them in the stack of to-be-shredded stuff and have entered those numbers on the spreadsheet. Procrastination, every once in awhile, turns out to be a good thing.

I also found the photocopy of my driver’s license, created for when I ordered my new passport, or maybe my new Social Security card. I need it, and a copy of the marriage license, to change my name on PayPal so I can retrieve my balance. So that will get faxed on Monday.

I am feeling better and better about our finances. I haven’t run the numbers for the end of the month, as payday is next Friday, and I don’t want to see what next month’s statement is like after charging two plane tickets, our lodging, and a rental car for the upcoming memorial service, but overall we are moving in the right direction.

The shredding is now done, and the last shredder lubricant sheet used up. Breakfast has come and gone, and we are about ready to go grocery shopping. Friends are coming to dinner (they’re bringing the steaks!), and when I come back I will be wielding the Swiffer and the vacuum. You should probably alert the media, but at least you may rest assured that while my hands are cleaning, my brain will be knitting.

Beloved gets the chemo pump off in a couple of hours. No chills or fever last night, even though he got zero sleep the night before. We are so thankful.

Name of that truck that hit me?

Last night I got to serve as a temple patron on my shift. I was proxy for a woman who died the same year as my mysterious great-grandmother, and whose surname matched that in one of Beloved’s lines. So when I got home, I looked her up on NewFamilySearch. They share common ancestors, seven generations back on her side and seven or eight on his. And one of the girls in my Primary class has that same surname. Beloved will talk with her dad one of these days and see if they can find a connection.

I had a little excitement here at the desk last night while I was typing. A wolf spider, about three inches long from front talons to back, popped up. I am not ordinarily a scream-for-the-spouse type, having lived alone for many years. But I hollered last night, mostly because I was startled. You have never seen a man with a chemo pump move so fast. He hit it with the bug spray first, then whacked it with the newspaper, and then there was a brief and unceremonious burial at sea.

I know that wolf spiders are good guys. I also know that they jump. This one had been dancing a little polka on the corner of the desk, but no more.

Not a whole lot of knitting this week. I keep getting distracted by dead people. I have spent more time working on family history (mine and his) this week than I have in years. I suspect a few of my ancestors are turning cartwheels, over on the other side. As a dear friend from my Hill Country days used to say, dead people are so much easier to get along with.

Did I mention that Beloved is a lineal descendant of Pocahontas? Eleven generations back.

Beloved’s chemo went well yesterday. He spent the afternoon dozing in his chair and communing with John Wayne. He slept not a wink last night.  This happened in June, the weekend of the family reunion, also the weekend of the trip to ER because he developed chills and fever. We are hoping for no repeat of that tonight. We discussed (not a euphemism for had an argument about) what to do next time, and we think that maybe if he just comes home and goes right to bed and sleeps however long is necessary, rather than dozing with the TV on, that might solve the problem. Or it might be backlash from all the Benadryl they give him to forestall other side effects. He was mighty sniffly this morning. Might be rebound. But he is off to serve in the temple, because that’s the kind of guy he is.

I didn’t sleep well, either, and I do not have the luxury of taking the day off. I don’t know if I am now sufficiently married at six months that we truly are becoming one-flesh, so that if he doesn’t sleep I don’t either, or if it is something else, but I woke up fifty bajillion times, CPAP notwithstanding, and I feel as if I had been dragged through a knothole sideways. Good news is that I have finally finished all of my antibiotics so in that sense am starting to feel like me again.

It’s been a busy, productive week at work. I am so glad that the other secretary is coming back from vacation on Tuesday because I was about this far from childbirth words while putting out the day’s mail and her attorney emailed me that we needed to get an answer out on a case before quitting time. Thankfully, she had already prepped it, and I went through their email interchange before tweaking it, so all I really had to do was create the transmittal letter and get him to sign off. Sheesh!

I only have one case left to open, and it’s his, and then whatever new stuff he throws at me. My attorney has been wonderfully understanding all week, and we’ll send out the answer on our third case that’s due Monday (making four in total that I will have opened this week), because I prepared that on Wednesday because we work seamlessly together, and ahead of our calendar.

If I leave in ten minutes, I can stop at CVS for another bag of those mythological raspberry dark chocolate M&M’s. You can just about bet the rent that this is going to be a Cherry Coke day.

1302

Really. I was noodling around on newfamilysearch.org last night, adding some of Beloved’s people into my tree (connecting the dots as it were), when on a whim I clicked on one of my own names. And went back. And back. And back, through English names and anglifications of Germanic names, into Austria before I stopped paying attention to where and started paying attention to when.

A few years ago I found the connection between the earliest paternal-name ancestor whose name we had, and his father, and I was pretty excited to find myself back in the 1700’s. But holy cow! Twenty generations, and I’m a lot more German than I thought, with one ancestor who was born in Holland, although his father was born in Austria to German parents, and his son was born in Bavaria. Wonder what took my family to Holland in the mid 1500’s?

The one I cannot seem to find is a great-grandfather who was born in 1810. [You read that right. I am the caboose of a caboose of a caboose.] His wife was born in 1820. Family lore says in Bavaria. Family lore also says that her family was so poor that they couldn’t afford soap, so they beat their clothing clean in the waters of the Rhine. One problem with that: I can’t find any place where the Rhine flows through Bavaria, unless either the river or the principality(?) was a whole lot larger at some point.

I did find a man with his given name and no surname, married to a woman with her given name and no surname, in Germany, but no dates, no parents, no children. It was entered into Family Search through name extraction, and I will have to go to the stake family history center to make heads or tails of that information. I am pretty sure, from the spelling of that line, that it was anglicized when they came to America, because I know just enough German to be dangerous, and to recognize that surname as not-German.

This evening I went back on another line to 1278, but I don’t feel like changing the title of this post. I come from a long line of long-lived, exceedingly fertile people. That great-grandmother had her first child at 35 and her last, my grandmother, at 43. I wonder what her love story was with my great-grandfather. He died fighting a prairie fire at the age of 58. My great-grandmother lived until Dad was a little over a year old. I wonder if she ever got to hold him?

I found a couple of ministers tonight. And a doctor. And an earl, unless that ancestor’s parents thought it would be a really cool given name. The children’s father’s father’s middle name was Lord; when we sent out the wedding announcements for the marriage-that-was, a social climbing partner at the accounting firm where I worked thought I was marrying into the British peerage.

I am not my stuff.

As we speak, the rocking chair I watched my father build, back when I was sixteen, after he traced it off one belonging to Mom’s best friend, is out on the curb. It has gradually come apart, growing a little more jumbled with each successive move, but I have saved (most of) the bits, all but the part I gave to a friend to create a new [don’t know the technical name for it, but it connects the legs]. I keep thinking I will get it fixed. Other things intervene. And I am finally ready to let it go.

Dad has been gone twenty years now. I cannot type that without tearing up. We have done his temple work. Throwing out a chair made by my quiet, dutiful father is not the same thing as throwing out the memories. He was a good, good man; like me, an interesting mixture of reserve and warmth.

Mom’s best friend was married to Dad’s best friend, a wonderfully convenient truth. We would get together once a year or so. For most of my youth, they lived on or near the Oregon coast. Dad and Bus were Army buddies, their friendship forged in the horse cavalry in Wyoming in the 1930’s, or possibly earlier. And when they got together, the whiskey and the stories would flow.

One visit, Dad took a squint at Dot’s rocker and decided to make a copy. He laid it gently on its side, on top of a sheet of newspaper, and traced around it. Sides, back, seat, rockers. It was a Victorian folding rocker that had crossed the plains with one of Dot’s ancestors.

Mine was the first one he made. He used a fruitwood stain that was a little redder than Mom preferred, so he made her another, one for Dot, one for Mom’s sister, one for mine, one for Gram, each upholstered in a fabric to suit the taste of the recipient. Mine, naturally, had burgundy velveteen.

I have lugged this chair around for forty years. I have long since passed the point where I could sit in it. The people who pick it up from the curb tomorrow will have no idea what it symbolizes, the love that went into its making, my appreciation for Dad’s craftsmanship, my frustration with the children’s father for his lack of a fix-it gene, all the laughter and tears it has witnessed in four decades.

When I come home tomorrow, the chair will be gone, and I will be a little sad until the next good thing happens. Which it will. It always does.

Because this happened at our house.

Movie Mom shared this link. Those parents handled it much better than I did.

My husband is so cool. ♥ I taught the Captain Moroni and the Title of Liberty lesson today. Beloved reached into a drawer and pulled out a Title of Liberty on an old pillowcase, ready to attach to his walking stick. The text on the flag reads: In memory of our God, our religion, and freedom, and our peace, our wives, and our children.

I only had one student for most of the class. I shared with him how the Nephites likened the Old Testament and the record of the Jaredites to their own situation, just as modern prophets have counseled us to liken the scriptures to ourselves. I told him how the Nephites at that time were not fighting for power, but to protect their homes and families, and how Heaven blessed them to know when to fight and when to flee. Near the end of the lesson, another student who had overslept came into class. We caught her up. I sent the extra handouts home with her, as it is her turn to present the lesson in Family Home Evening tomorrow, and there were just enough handouts that everyone still living at home could get one.

And then I came home, ate a PBJ, and died for about four hours. Seriously. Beloved came in about 5:00 to make sure I was still among the living. I had leftover spaghetti for dinner. He had some of his nuclear leftover Spanish rice. The TV was on to some show about how pastrami, bologna, etc., is made. I nuked my dinner about the time they started talking about head cheese, and I ate in my studio with the door closed. I told him to let me know when they stopped talking about gross stuff.

We watched the entire Shaun the Sheep video that I won from Movie Mom. Sweet, funny, and in this woman’s opinion, entirely suitable for the Sabbath. He wanted to save Mask of Zorro for tomorrow night and is watching something else on the History Channel. I thought meh and came in here. And now I will play a few rounds of Mahjongg Dimensions (or as I call it, Dementia) before heading back to the studio for another round of puttering. I may get the last of the touch-up painting done in the bathroom while he is asleep, because a four hour nap will make sleep well-nigh impossible for quite awhile.

Antibiotics seem to have kicked in with no side effects. Nothing hurts for the moment. And I have less than a dozen rows to go before the first back panel is done. Easy peasy.

Plan R

Happy birthday, Middlest!

In other news, I am reasonably close to finishing the first section of the pillow back tonight. If not tonight, then tomorrow after church. More stuff on the wall in my studio, less stuff on the table. I am this far from being able to set up my sewing machine and do a little mending.

Had a two-hour nap over the lunch hour. Beloved is out in the kitchen, turning our incredible bounty into tomato paste.

I watched the last little dab of Tomb Raider on TV. Nice touch that her father played her father, but it was weird hearing him with an English accent. Part of another movie about assassins, at which point I asked Beloved,“Do you think this movie was rated R when it was released?” Probably. “Do you think we should be watching it?” Probably not. *Click.*

Wives. Spoiling fun for our husbands since the Garden of Eden.

I have my referral to the allergist. I will call her on Monday. We also have the date confirmed for the memorial service for Beloved’s mother. I will call our corporate travel department and have them find us an inexpensive (or relatively so) flight. Beloved was wrangling with multiple website when I remembered, “Hey, one of the perks of my job is access to free personal trip planning.”

We are editing our vacation plans for this fall. The trip to see my sister, his brother, old friends from his ward in Oregon, et al, is being pushed back to next year. We cannot afford two trips in rapid succession, and so we have decided upon a shorter staycation, with a side trip to Galveston if/when he gets accepted into the program at MD Anderson. Still have not heard back, but I am telling myself  “no news is good news.”

In the dolly irony department, when I was online last night to get a gift card for Middlest, I noticed that they had the doll sculpt I ordered in stock, but in a different skin tone. Patience, Ms. Ravelled, patience. [That should probably be the next virtue I acquire in doll form, but I am still leaning toward Joy.]

The knitting is calling my name. I’m outta here!

May cause ~~ what???

Another trip to the doctor yesterday, and another prescription. [So this is what old age feels like!] Thankfully, we had the money for both. And today is payday. All the bills but one are checked off the list, and that last will bite the dust next week.

Yesterday was chiefly an exercise in frustration: 15 minutes late to work, PT to cover that; email from the office manager because my email telling her I was there, arrived later than she would have liked; more PT because my doctor could get me in to check the latest symptoms; Rx for that plus specific instructions on what and what not to do for the next week; potential side effects that are potentially worse than the problem for which I am taking the Rx; and a general wish to curl up in a corner somewhere and snivel.

On the other hand, while at the pharmacy I scored a bag of the elusive, mythological Raspberry Dark Chocolate M&Ms, most of which are awaiting my return to my cubicle at work. And I had a sublime experience while serving in the temple last night, one of those confirmations that I was exactly where I needed to be, doing exactly what I needed to be doing in the service of Heaven. By the time Thursday night rolls around, even in a perfectly ordinary week, I am second-guessing whether I should request a sabbatical. And time at the doctor and pharmacy equals more time for knitting.

Beloved is off for his own stint of service at the temple. Time for me to put away the checkbooks, inhale some breakfast, and get ready for work. No obligations this evening. My vote is for turning off the ringers and chilling with Beloved.

No news.

Other than that Denver Doll is currently receiving the stock they ordered two weeks ahead of mine, which suggests to me that I will be entirely finished with the pillow project by the time Hope gets here.

I updated our medical expenses into the hydra of a spreadsheet last night. My HMO has shelled out over $225K on our behalf this year. A minuscule amount of that is for me. If you are at an age where you might want to consider getting a colonoscopy, consider this a thumb on the scale pushing down heavily on the side of “yes”.

I got my nails done last night. I continue to like that salon.

The first back section on this second pillow is nearly two-thirds done. That is probably enough math for one blog post, don’t you think?

I took a loaf of the zucchini bread to work yesterday. It was gone well before noon.

My co-workers gave us a lovely card and a huge plant that is taking up nearly half (oh dear, more math! sorry, math-phobes!) of our dining room table. Sometimes people are just so good, and so kind, that it makes you want to cry.

Lunch is packed and by the door. Ditto my temple bag and purse. This is the part where I do my impression of a (mute) Taz and start/finish getting ready for work then scoot on out the door. Second day in a row when I would rather just sit here and eat banana bread all day. Temple tonight. Life is good.

Not sure when I woke up.

Beloved was up before the chickens, getting dressed to go fishing. I have been paying bills and working on our finances for about an hour and a half. His organizational skills and mine have begun to mesh; therein lies peace and happiness and (eventually) improved cash flow.

We had yummy banana bread for dessert last night. He made zucchini bread, too, and I am about to head out to the kitchen for a slice. I am taking leftover fajita stuff for lunch.

We should hear today if the tentative date for the memorial service is a go. And if I remember correctly, this is also the date we will hear from MD Anderson about the clinical trial.

Not much happening, chez Ravelled, which is a merciful change from the past three weeks. I came home last night, ate dinner, loaded the dishwasher, did one quick errand, and came back to my knitting and Beloved. Not necessarily in that order. Tonight I will get a manicure and then come home. I am fixin’ to pop a nail, so this has been put off long enough.

I managed to stay reasonably productive yesterday and have one small self-appointed task to finish this morning, and then a project for a friend that, if I am lucky, will fill up the rest of the day. I sent out a “will type for food” message to the other legal secretaries on Monday, and thus far they have had little to pass on to me. Either their desks are uncharacteristically calm, or they are so busy they can’t perform triage.

I am now going to putter in my studio for five or ten minutes and then eat breakfast. The only sounds I can hear are the ticking of the clock in front of me, the whir of the air conditioner, bits of birdsong outside the window, and the rumblies in my tumblies.

Life is blessedly calm at the moment, and I am ever so thankful.

Update (progress?)

The meds are working, on my foot.

Dinner tonight with the Empty Nesters was fun, and tasty. We went out for barbecue, and I had chopped beef and butter and chives on a baked potato that deserved its own zip code. I fully intended to save half of it for lunch tomorrow, but between the laughing and the listening and the talking and the bending of the elbow, it mysteriously disappeared. I will know in a couple of hours how much salt was hidden in all that deliciousness.

I saw my PCP this afternoon. She agreed that an allergist is the next step in my line of defense and has submitted the referral. She confirmed, as much as she could within her own expertise, that some of my symptoms are probably related to Beloved’s chemo, and that I should talk with his oncologist as soon as possible. Which I will do.

My attorney is on vacation. I caught up my desk from Friday afternoon, closed two cases and prepared to close a third, handled the mail that came in this morning (at least the portion which had been scanned by the time I needed to leave for my appointment), handled two small items for a co-worker who just returned from her own vacation, and still had 20 minutes in which to look busy.

Le sigh. Methinks it’s going to be a long, long week.

I put away 20 items on my worktable in my studio this morning before breakfast. I plan to do the same tomorrow morning, or whatever number seems reasonable. It’s nearly bedtime, and I have no desire to go putter in my studio before bedtime. But I did get a nap when I got home from the doctor’s office, and who knows what that will do to my ability to get to sleep tonight?

Famous last words: it seemed like a good idea at the time ;)

I may find myself in there before midnight, puttering away. But for now I need to fold a little laundry, and I’d like to be asleep within the hour. Wish me luck!

Who can? Diflucan!

I couldn't get in to see my doctor yesterday, but I have an appointment on Monday, and I saw Beloved’s doctor yesterday, coming home with two prescriptions for the athlete’s foot (one oral, one topical) plus the business card of an allergist who is in my system. I will ask my doctor to get me a referral when I see her. Meanwhile, the most urgent symptoms are getting taken care of, and the pain in my neck has faded away.

The yarn I ordered last Friday was here when I got home, and it is the perfect shade of yellow. It has been duly entered on Ravelry, as well as the pattern book (Knit, Swirl). I finished the front of the second pillow yesterday. I made it two repeats shorter and am already more than 10% done with the first back.

I woke up around 5:00 this morning after a decent night’s sleep, threw on the nearest clothing to hand, and tiptoed past my sleeping brother-in-law (out in the living room) and into my studio, where I alternated sessions of tidying with bouts of knitting. Four hours later, I came back in here. Beloved was awake and on the computer. Brother was still sawing logs. I was glowing with accomplishment. And a little dusty, and a lot sweaty, and ravenous. Mel and Squishy came by and picked up Brother. Beloved and I had hotcakes and eggs over easy and cherries and juice and a modicum of flirting. Then I went back into my studio until it was time to take him to get the chemo pump off.

I’ve hung five pictures in my studio. It never quite feels like home until I’ve banged a few holes in the wall, and this is the first artwork I’ve hung since I moved in. When I am done it will look like Victorian museum overkill, which I wouldn’t necessarily want for the public areas of the house, but which is pritnear perfect for in there. I found stuff (tools) that I didn’t remember I had, and instructions for using some that I did, and the box with the half-built jacket from the seriously cool Burda pattern that I started when we lived in the penultimate apartment. I still like the jacket design. And there is a better than average chance I may be wearing it before the end of the year, but for now the last will be first, and the first is gonna hafta be last.

I am only mildly disappointed that I couldn’t justify spending the money for that limited edition doll whose ordering window expired on Wednesday. When you see her, you might understand why she took my breath away: SOOM really *can* make a doll with a happy face. Lookie here!

I’m tired. I’m happy, and I’m not in pain, and I’m really happy about that, and I’m tired. So I am going to log off and take a nap. Happy Saturday, y’all!

Ms. Ravelled is a tough ol’ bird.

But one which is feeling increasingly plucked, these days.

In the past two weeks I have had two separate incidents of the Sneezing Olympics (can I say that without bringing the USOC down on my head?), hives, the usual swelling/redness/itching from eating something I shouldn’t, a pinched nerve which has mostly resolved, and a couple of other symptoms that I really do not want to discuss here on the blog. Nothing life-threatening, plenty that goes way beyond annoying. Yesterday afternoon, about the time I was getting my mail out, my left foot started itching in a familiar way. It would appear that the Athlete’s Foot Fairy swung by sometime after lunch and smacked me with her prickly little wand.

I took my itchy, swollen self to the temple last night, and what to my wondering eyes should appear, right there in the lobby, but the children’s father sitting with his back to me. And the Spirit did not let me off the hook. I walked around into his field of vision, greeted him, and sat down on the couch near his chair. He asked how Beloved was doing. I told him we had just lost my mother-in-love, and he offered condolences. I was glad to be able to tell him about the clinical trial we hope to get Beloved into, and that we should hear shortly.

And then his ride walked out into the lobby, was introduced to me, and asked in a gently humorous way, how I could ever have divorced such a nice guy. And I was totally speechless for the second time in less than a year (the first time being when Beloved surprised me with the engagement ring at the dance at my last-ever singles’ conference, Heaven willing).

Brigham Young said that he who takes offense where none is intended, is a fool. (And that he who takes offense when it is intended, is a greater fool, but it was quite obvious to me that none was intended. The good brother’s wife probably chastened him once they got into their car, or after they dropped the children’s father off at the nursing home.)

The children’s father was never not a nice guy, at least not to me.

So I was a little bit of a basket case as I walked back to change out of my street clothes, but dinner took care of most of that, and my responsibilities kept me productively occupied. My symptoms backed off enough that I could focus on what I needed to do, but remained just sufficiently there that I had no difficulty staying awake.Rather like the fleas that Corrie Ten Boom’s sister was thankful for.

Beloved’s younger brother is here for a couple of days. We likes him. I will be dropping him off at the VA Hospital for a checkup, before heading into work. And then I will be calling my doctor’s office, to see if she is in today and if they can fit me in. If not, I will Gold Bond my way through the weekend, and I will see her as early as possible next week.

I want a nutritional workup. I want a referral to an allergist. And I want to discuss with her, and with Beloved’s oncologist, whether some of my symptoms might be connected Beloved’s chemotherapy. I also want to get checked for lupus, fibromyalgia, and whatever else might be taking punches at my immune system.

We are, most likely, having dinner up at OlderTwin’s house tonight. While there I will have my guys give me a blessing. I am tired (but not sleepy), and I just want to sit in a corner and weep into my knitting. (I hasten to add that I am not depressed. I am just sick. And tired. And determined to be well again, whether I need food supplements, physical therapy, a personal trainer, my own private pharmacologist, or whatever. Let me just say that Biofreeze on a trigger point is an amazingly lovely experience.)

Life is still very good, very sweet. Just hand me that box of Puffs, and don’t even think of getting between me and my knitting. I have eaten a nice, sensible breakfast: raisin bran and whole-wheat toast. Time for a banana, and to figure out what I want for lunch, brush my teeth, grab the bro, and go.

And...she’s gone.

Just about sunrise, on Independence Day, not a bad time to leave a broken body behind and step into eternity.

Beloved is handling this very well. He got some practice at letting-go, three years ago when his wife of 35 years graduated from earth life. It is harder for his siblings, none of whom are currently active in the church and thus are without that loving safety net which he and I share.

As it stands now, cremation in a few days, up in Wisconsin, and then a memorial service in her old ward in California in a few weeks. Possibly the rental of a huge van, large enough for eight adults and four children, and two twenty-hour drives with each of us taking a shift behind the wheel. We’ll figure it out. In the meantime, please keep this tribe in your prayers.

As Beloved says, she died with her boots on, doing what she wanted to do with people she loved. (And she didn’t have to go into assisted living, which was planned for October or thereabouts.) Three families are negotiating over who gets to keep her dog; I think the great-grands will win.

I wish I had had more time to get to know her better, but I am thankful for what time I’ve had. She was a remarkable woman: smart, funny, feisty, and kind. We will miss her.

We [yes, we] just picked 103 tomatoes (100 of them off of four plants); better than 450 Romas since we started picking, and some Early Girls for grilling. Two three-pound zucchini. Three dozen jalapenos, two dozen serranos, a couple dozen cayennes, five bell peppers. Sundry crookneck squash.

Looking into my crystal ball mixing bowl, I foresee zucchini bread in the very near future. Grilled tomatoes with our steaks later today. A batch of tomato sauce simmered up and bottled.

Our produce runneth over.

Oye.

Life, as they say, is what happens when you are busy making other plans. Thank you, John Lennon.

I see that Blogger is no longer speaking to Firefox. And they want me to try Google Chrome. Since this is not my computer, we shall have to see about that.

But blogging is the least of my concerns. My neck/shoulder issues are resolving, thank you. I came home and took two acetaminophen, ate a delicious dinner not-cooked-by-me, enjoyed a couple hours of quiet chatting in the living room with Beloved, and just about the time we were ready to call it a night, our phones blew up.

His mother has been visiting a granddaughter in Wisconsin and spoiling the great-grands silly. They have an above-ground pool. She decided she was going to join the kidlets in the pool. She had a stroke while climbing the ladder. The paramedics were there in a jiffy and took excellent care of her. The last word we got was that she would be helicoptered to the larger hospital in Madison. Beloved’s sisters are flying to Wisconsin this morning. One of his sisters has been watching over their father (not Beloved’s father, but his cherished stepfather) and stepmother for several months, so her plate already runneth over.

Our wonderful bishop has emailed me names and phone numbers of several bishops in Madison. I have forwarded that to Beloved. I will call the temple in an hour or so (it is closed on Mondays, and especially on Monday nights, which are for Family Home Believ’ning, as one of my kids used to call it) and put her name on the prayer roll. We called all our kids last night and have them praying, and I emailed my sister, who is adding her own prayers and positive thoughts. Beloved will make the phone calls that will get the missionaries to the hospital to give his mom a blessing.

All of which puts the wistfulness I was feeling on my drive home from work last night, about the SOOM limited edition doll I discovered when I had run out of work and was killing the last few minutes before leaving the office, whose last day for ordering is tomorrow and which I cannot afford, squarely into perspective. She’s lovely, but she’s not family, and it is family that matters most, after God.

I hope you have a blessed and peaceful day. Thank you for your love and friendship, hope and prayers.

Squirrel grenade.

One of my friends posted the link on Facebook. Not to be read with a full mouth, or bladder. Squirrel Grenade.

I tried to make it a pop-out link, but Blogger apparently has the hiccups this morning, and I kept having to undo it. So please go read it, and then come back.

I awoke at 4:00-ish, with my neck and shoulder seriously unhappy with me. I don’t know if I slept wrong, if there’s an issue with my pillow, or if it’s just some of my natural cussedness trying to express itself. It is not unlike the pain I felt about 15 years ago, when I was livid with the children’s father and unwilling to say anything about it, so my neck went into spasm and I had to borrow Firstborn’s cervical collar for a week. I can’t think of anything that I’m angry about, or should be angry about. It may simply be that I did not drink enough water after Squishy worked on my neck last night, and this is lactic acid having its way with me. I’ve been up for two and a half hours now, and it’s eased somewhat. Three rows of knitting and half an hour of puttering in the studio gave me some sense of accomplishment, at least. When I first got up (which was a major undertaking in itself) I was wondering if I needed to call in dead and drive over to Fort Worth to see my massage therapist to see what my body was willing to tell her. I’m not having any difficulty typing this, so I will probably be fine at work. But I will definitely go talk this over with Beloved at breakfast.

Which he just announced will be ready in four minutes, so I am going to figure out what I want to wear to work and then start ambulating in the general direction of the breakfast table.

I do love being married to this man, and not simply because he feeds me so well.

Rangers 7, Knitting 2

So maybe I don’t hate all sports?

I don’t know if our mugs made it onto your TV’s. I do know that I didn’t get a lot of knitting done. Also that when Beltre hit that first home run for the Rangers, a primal redneck WHOOOOOOO! sailed out over the ballpark with about 46,000 others.

Yeah, I know. Somebody hand me a bottle of Pace to pour over this generous helping of crow, wouldja?

I asked Beloved, “Would it freak you out if I said I wanted a Rangers hat to wear to the game next month?”

“No, we’ll go to Academy.”

“Or Albertsons.”

“Or Albertsons.” Nod, nod.

Yu Darvish didn’t pitch last night. I think the boy is seriously cute, but not in an “I’d better repent before I go teach Primary” way. I wonder if Beloved would freak out if I told him I kinda sorta want a Darvish shirt to go with my [hypothetical] Rangers hat. We’ll see how next month’s game goes.

I had better have other knitting to take. That alpaca pillow cover was a wee bit warm, up there in the stands.

In other news, Beloved found my fishing license. In the case with my travel fishing pole. I think we glossed right over it. I was expecting a long white strip of paper, not a small red carrying case that said Wal-Mart, with the license all folded neatly inside it. Utilizing the female logic which he acquired from 35 years with Wife1.0 and the additional six months with me, he grinned and quipped,“Female logic says that since I found your license, and we don’t have to pay $10 at Wal-Mart to get a replacement license, I can add that $10 to my Father’s Day gift card and spend it at Bass Pro, right?”

I cannot argue with that logic. Especially if I want a Darvish shirt next month.

Apparently 4:00 is the new 5:00?

Because that’s when I’ve awakened at least three mornings this week, including today. You would think I still had a child in early morning seminary!

I have not just been sitting around, twiddling my fingers, however; I spent most of the past three and a half hours in my studio, moving things around and growing increasingly more pleased with each tweak. The walking about, shuffling of boxes, emptying and moving and refilling bookcases, bending and stretching, et al, have been like a really productive variation on the theme of yoga. The standing and thinking and scratching my head about where to shift the tower bookcase have sent a good deal of the lymph in my body racing for my left ankle, and to a lesser extent, the right. I need to spend an hour or so on my back, with my feet up a wall like I learned in yoga class when I was rehabbing my broken leg (and frankly that was my favorite part of the class, as it was the only part where I felt like I halfway knew what I was doing).

I have also done a modicum of knitting this morning, always a pleasant thing to do. I need to figure out what I am taking to the ballpark this afternoon. Yes, I am stepping waaaaay out of my comfort zone. I bought inexpensive seats for a friend’s daughter’s fundraiser several months ago, and this is the day when I get to watch my sweetheart and some of my friends enjoy the game. Lest I sound like a martyr, there is something in it for me, as well: we are dining first at Chop House Burgers, and picking up two T-shirts which Beloved ordered. We are looking forward to wearing them to the next Empty Nesters dinner. They say something on the order of “Practice safe eating. Use condiments.”

Beloved found the folding cooler. He already has some bottles of water in the freezer, and others chilling. We are going to pick up some snack foods, although if I clean my plate at Chop House, there will be no room at the inn so far as I am concerned.

Breakfast, first, and then shopping, and then a nap, and then you should pray for me, or for those sitting around me who will be subjected to my general ignorance [nay, agnosticism] on the subject of baseball.

If you’re watching the Rangers game, and the camera pans across a woman who looks suspiciously like me, melting in the Texas heat and looking anywhere but the field, do not adjust your set. Or your meds. You’re not (necessarily) hallucinating.

Whisperings

There is a marvelous article on the last page of the June Ensign about learning to recognize the workings of the Spirit. I had one of those experiences yesterday. I was catching up on Firstborn’s blog, and she mentioned that one of her dearest friends from high school was undergoing Major Trial. My daughter did not name the friend, but as I read, a face popped into my mind. Oh no! I texted Firstborn from work, and she confirmed it.

Did this happen because I am a perfectly saintly woman? Of course not! But I serve in the House of the Lord once a week, as does Beloved (he is there, as I write), and I serve in my ward, and all week I have been reading an article or two from the June Ensign in the quiet early morning hours, and the ground was fertile.

Think about those moments when you just know something, and you know that you know it. (And then you think about it some more and realize that Heaven wants you to do something about it. Which is why I am teaching Primary when my natural inclination is to hang out with grown women. Or at least teenagers.)

You may have read that caffeine can impair short-term memory, which for some of us may already be iffy at best. Last night was proof of that. I had the slows all day. And I slugged down four styrofoam cups of Cherry Coke over ice, something on the order of a liter of the stuff. I felt as if I were moving through a sea of molasses, and when I drove off to the temple, I was still yawning. Thankfully, my assignments last night required me to keep moving, and that helped enormously.

When I came home, Beloved was watching the Rangers while posting on Facebook (yeah, a man who multitasks; I told you he is extraordinary). And the cat was in. Cricket padded over to my chair, put one paw up on my lap, and looked me beseechingly in the eye. I patted my skirt with both hands, and up he came! This was a first. He sat in my lap for fifteen or twenty minutes, until I had to walk over to Beloved to watch something funny on his laptop.

It’s payday. Tithing check is written and ready to go to church with us on Sunday. Gas card is paid off. I am still more comfortable paying cash as I go, but I am OK with putting it on a gas card as long as I can pay it off on or before the due date (which I did). And I have placed an order with KnitPicks for a book at 40% off, and some discontinued yarn for not-the-next-sweater but the one after that. And we still have money in the accounts.

This was the first, third-payday since I married. In the past, it was my time to catch up anything that needed catching up, and to have a mini-splurge. I have been reminding myself for two or three days that that was then, and this is now, and you know what? I do not feel the least bit deprived because I “can’t” hit all my favorite stores online and off, and come home with bags of new clothing or things for the house.

There is a pair of lace-trimmed leggings in another catalogue, in a color that would be useful under one of my skirts which is in the mending pile. (And I know were the bobbin cover is for the Bernina, so there is a slight chance I could get that done this weekend, but I’m not holding my breath.) If I do not find a similar item at Wally World when I pick up a new pair of jeans (I just about wore out the current pair scratching hives a couple of weeks ago; looked at my nails and there was all this navy blue fuzz under them), then I will order those as well. I need a new/improved closet more than I need new clothing. I seriously need to replace my sneakers, which are two years old, or maybe three. I bought them when I had the gym membership in Fort Worth and was riding the train to work. Long ago in a universe far, far away.

I have oodles and oodles of time before I need to hop in the car and go to work. I think I might French-braid my hair this morning. And I’m grabbing that other catalogue, just in case.

Commodious

Tomorrow is Big Payday, the one we get twice a year in those months which contain three paydays. Taxes come out. My 401K contributions come out. And that’s it. All the little piddly things that add up, sit around in cyberspace twiddling their thumbs and waiting to pounce on the paycheck after that.

No chemo-lite today. Beloved’s doctor says this is warm-up for the treatment at MD Anderson, assuming he gets in. They will want him off chemo for a bit before he goes. I am certainly enjoying the break (I will not have to drop him off at the cancer center on my way to work, although it is my pleasure and privilege to do so). I woke around 4:00 (aGAIN) and wandered out to the kitchen for a bowl of cereal and some of Beloved’s most excellent sourdough bread with a slathering of marionberry jam sent by a friend in Oregon. Thence to the living room for the first reading of Sunday’s lesson. And now here to type up my “homework” labels for the kids.

I shot an email to Secondborn and 2BDH last night, inquiring about the make and model of the commode in their guest bathroom. I think we’re on track to get the new one for ours this weekend, and maybe also the new tile. While I was rooting around in my studio yesterday, I found one of the two little tin-lined copper cups acquired when we lived in the Hill Country. It is now up in the cabinet over the current commode, where it catches the light wonderfully while holding a small army of bobby pins.

Tonight is temple night for me. I am still dragging from all the excitement of last weekend. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to serving, and to bringing that sweet holy peace home with me tonight. My temple bag is by the door. Ditto an insulated shopping bag, for the individual cups of Blue Bell I will be picking up in an hour and a half, when I get the cupcakes. My knitting bag and my purse are still in the rocker, and I have no idea what I’m taking for lunch today. Maybe the last stuffed tomato and that wee chunk of manchego with a sleeve of Ritz crackers. Yesterday’s carrots are still uneaten in the fridge at work.

The alarm just went off, for the umpteenth time. Have I mentioned that while I cherish my husband, I loathe the snooze button? One of these days when it scares the dickens out of me (for the umpteenth time), I am just going to reach back and snatch it off the desk and pitch it out the window, over his head. One more thing for the yappy little dog next door to get excited about.

The squirrels have eaten every peach off our tree. Beloved has been muttering about humane traps and squirrel stew for the past several days. (Squirrel stew: not exactly on my bucket list. Just sayin’.)

Yesterday’s fishing trip was enjoyable but rather unproductive. One fish, and I’m not sure if it was his, or his grandson’s. They were off the lake by 10:00, as it’s hotter than the hinges of Houston lately. I am so glad that I took his counsel and got the A/C fixed in Lorelai last year. I go from our air-conditioned house to my air-conditioned car to my air-conditioned office, and except for the stretch in the parking garage at quitting time, or the dash from the car to our front door, I have to take it on faith that it’s miserable out there.

My thoughts are skittering around like drops of water on a griddle. Must be time to send down some protein after those delicious carbs. I would really rather just turn off the lights and go back to bed. Beloved is not-quite-snoring, three feet behind me, and I’ve been up for nearly three hours. I suspect it’s going to be another Cherry Coke day.

I am grateful.

Ka-choo! Grrr. Whew!

I woke up yesterday around 4:00. As soon as I sat up, my sinuses started doing a crazy Chinese fire drill inside my head. I honked and sneezed most of the way to work, where it only intensified. I killed a third of a box of tissues before leaving the office. I also managed to pick up a headache toward the end of the workday.

I knew, going in, that I had a report to transcribe for Attorney B, and that I would be backing up Attorney C, whose secretary was taking the day off. When I opened my Outlook, I discovered that another secretary had decided to take the day off. Attorney C's secretary is the universal, default backup. Could I back up Attorney D as well? I girded my loins and forwarded the message to Attorneys C and D that once I had finished the report for Attorney B, I would be available to help them both. Then I went into my attorney’s office and let him know what was up, and that if he walked by my desk and my hair was on fire, that would be why.

And then I got to work. Report? check! Monday’s mail folder dealt with? check! At which point it was past time for lunch.

Thankfully, yesterday was a light mail day. When I returned to my desk after lunch, I sent off Attorney B’s report, went through Attorney D’s mail and filed it electronically but did not calendar anything, making a note of same for his team to read. Ditto for Attorney C. At which point I was free to read and work my attorney’s mail and do anything else that was needful.

Around 4:00pm I got a semi-frantic call from Attorney E, who was working outside the office. His secretary was also off. The default secretary was also out (see above). As I had done something for him in the past when his secretary was swamped, could I handle something for him now? I told him that I was already backing up two extra attorneys, and that J was his backup secretary, and that if she were unable to help, I would be happy to do so. I then transferred him to J.

J is an experienced secretary. She has a lot of adjunct responsibilities in our office. And she is rarely at her desk, for one reason or another. She was away from her desk when I transferred Attorney E. I don’t know if he left her a voicemail, but the next thing I knew, there were two emails from him to me, the first requesting assistance (and I’m not sure if he sent that before or after we spoke on the phone; I was seriously impaired after a day of honking and sneezing) and the second saying something like unto, “J says that you are the backup to the backup. Could you handle this for me?”

At which point I got my Irish up and went looking for J, who was in her attorney’s office, with the door open. I popped in and asked if she had told him that. She replied in astonishment that she had not, that she had not spoken to anyone that day (other than her attorney, obviously). By the time I walked back to my desk, you could have been scalded by the steam coming out of my ears. And about three seconds after I sat down, I heard J’s phone ring. It was Attorney E, and I could hear her reassure him that she would take care of it.

I got the rest of my attorney’s mail taken care of and fired off a letter to the other two members of the hospitality committee (both of whom were out of the office yesterday) that if I felt as awful this morning as I did at that moment, I would not be coming in. And since I spent Monday catching up from being out on Friday, and yesterday wrangling 4.5 attorneys, I had not had the chance to call and order the cupcakes for tomorrow’s birthday celebration, could one of them please handle it? With a copy to the office manager, who is not exactly on the hospitality committee and not exactly not.

I was so sick, and tired, and frustrated when I left the office that I was on the verge of tears for most of the drive home. Beloved remarked on how quickly I’d gotten home. The traffic fairy was as merciful yesterday as the mail fairy had been. He gave me a big ol’ hug, and I started to simmer down.

I love our home. Within half an hour I had stopped sneezing and was calm again.

Before I left the office, I told J that I wanted to forward Attorney E’s second email to our office manager, with the comment that J had said no such thing. I would have had no problem whatsoever had he said that he couldn’t reach J, could he take me up on my offer to help? That, my friends, would have been honest. I used to like him, and now I have lost all trust in him. J said it wouldn’t do any good to say anything to the office manager, and I should just let it go. Maybe I should. I don’t feel all het up about it anymore. But I also do not have one speck of warmth toward that prevaricator. So I will be praying for a forgiving heart, and maybe I will put his name on the prayer roll at the temple when I’m there tomorrow.

In other, happier news, Beloved got a callback from MD Anderson: they need more information. He shot off an email to his new oncologist, who will get that information from Parkland and send it on to Houston. If MD Anderson decides that Beloved is a good candidate for their clinical trial, then they will contact our HMO to request authorization. So maybe some of this will be covered by my insurance after all? That would be seriously cool! In the meantime, Beloved is already getting a much higher level of healthcare at the new facility than he was at Parkland, where they are overworked and understaffed (and while I am somewhat sympathetic, I am also unimpressed, although grateful they were able to keep him alive long enough for us to get better care for him).

We should know in a few more days. Time for me to sluice off, head to the office, order the cupcakes, and see if I can get some knitting in before my workday begins. I went to bed a little after 7:00 last night and slept until about 10:30, then got up and puttered in my studio for a couple of hours before coming back to bed and sleeping (with only minor interruptions) until the alarm went off.

Beloved and his second grandson are fishing this morning. It’s gonna be a scorcher today. I hope they don’t bring pre-baked fish home later this morning.

Going to work so I can rest.

The size of my Primary class fluctuates from week to week. We had lots of good discussion yesterday. I came home, inhaled some lunch, and then Beloved and I went home teaching. We saw two of our families, came home, and napped.

I followed Firstborn’s excellent advice and transferred Beloved’s meds and chemo protocol into retrievable form. Next time we go to the ER, if there is a next time, I will be significantly more prepared.

Knit happened, although not quite as much as I would have liked. I am a little over halfway done with the second pillow front. I am twelve days out from its commencement, and it’s doubtful that I can finish it by Saturday and start on the back. My pace seems to be lagging, notwithstanding all that lovely knitting time at the family reunion.

While I was on the computer yesterday, I spent a little time scheduling bills over the next three paydays. This has been a spendy month. The cash reserves which delighted me so, last month, have gone to cover expenses. Legitimate ones, I am happy to say, not foolish splurges. Nevertheless, I am looking forward to plugging the last numbers into the balance sheet when I get paid on Friday. We should still be several hundred dollars closer to our goal, notwithstanding our having had to put the ER visit on plastic.

The new Knit Picks catalogue arrived on Saturday. There are new colors in their lace yarns, and a book I want is 40% off. I am hoping to score both, and some of their discontinued colors, on Friday.

It’s 6:30. Not the best night’s sleep I have had, but at least I woke up on the right side of the dirt! I need to get moving, so that I can take a bag of tomatoes and other veggies to a friend’s porch on my way to work. Ms. Ravelled is still in the drive-by fooding business.

Life is good.

Some. Week.

I cannot believe that it has been nearly a week since I posted. Monday was the only night that I was home after work. On Tuesday we had ward temple night. It was also RS temple night for the ward into which Beloved’s twin sons have moved with their families, so I got to sit next to the delightful spouse of the younger twin.

Wednesday was something of a mixed blessing. A friend of ours, who went through chiropractic school a year ahead of the children’s father, has specialized in nutrition. We were invited to attend a lecture on nutrition. Dinner to be provided. When we got there, midway through his presentation I realized it was a carefully crafted sales pitch. While I learned a good deal that will be useful about nutrition, and connected more dots about my own health challenges, I came home feeling Amwayed. And hungry, as dinner was heavy on delicious fruits and vegetables and light on the things that make me feel satisfied and full.

Thursday night was the meet-and-greet for Beloved’s family reunion, which might more accurately be described as genealogy-on-crack. These people have been seriously smacked upside the head by the spirit of Elijah! And I have already started making connections and friends among the women, some of whom are skilled needlewomen, one of whom is an intermittently-active member of the church (and possibly a relative of Robi; she has a lot of information on your maiden name, and I will try to connect you two via Facebook).

On Thursday, Beloved had big-chemo at the new facility. He was in and out in about four hours, as opposed to the all-day marathon at Parkland, and he came home with a plastic sleeve holding the business cards of [almost?] all of the personnel at the new facility. I will be updating my contacts list with that additional information. He did not sleep well, about two hours’ worth toward the end of the night, so he was already tired when Friday began.

He also brought home the news that we will be hearing soon about the clinical trial at M.D. Anderson. He should know by 11 July. We might be down there by 11 July. I will keep you posted as we learn more. I figure that if it is Heaven’s will that Beloved is part of the clinical trial, Heaven will also open the way for us to pay for it, as it will not be covered by my excellent insurance. I have no worries on that score, only hopeful curiosity.

The presenters yesterday were good-to-brilliant, and I now know rather more about Stephen F. Austin and Sam Houston than I was ever interested to learn ~ there are connections with Beloved’s family to both of those Texas giants.

My connection to Sam Houston runs more along the lines of this. Can’t believe that that was five years ago, almost to the day!

Friday was lo-o-o-ong. Good, but long. We were both very tired; if he doesn’t sleep well, I tend not to sleep well, either. But I’m so glad we went. As I said, the presenters were worth the trip. We were not far from an In N Out, so we went there for lunch. The afternoon meetings were over by 4:00 or so, and we came home, and I made two batches of macaroni and cheese: one to my taste and a more traditional one for Beloved (so he could tart it up any way he liked, and mine would approximate my own preferences). He steamed a nice mess of spinach, and we had that and watermelon and grapes that needed to be eaten up. I portioned out the mac and cheese for future meals: blue lids for his, red lids for mine.

He was in bed by a quarter to seven, and at 7:00 he asked me to bring him the blanket that lives on the back of his recliner. He was shivering. I brought it. A few minutes later he asked me to bring him another. I added the brown fleece blanket. A few minutes after that he asked for more. It is June. In Texas. It was probably 90+ outside and in the mid 70’s inside. I put my quilt, doubled, on top of the pile and lay down next to him, outside the covers, and pressed my back against his. That helped a little. Finally I climbed under the covers, and the tremors began to calm down. He had been shivering so hard that I could hear his teeth chattering from out in my chair in the living room.

A few minutes later he was out in the kitchen, getting a drink of water and some pain relievers and one of his anti-nausea pills. And he was burning up. I did the back of hand on forehead thing and guessed that he was somewhere between 99 and 101. He told me where to find the thermometer. It was an old mercury thermometer and probably older than most of our children, and I couldn’t get a reading.

At this point I was getting concerned, so I grabbed the sleeve of business cards and called the oncologist, getting the answering service, which called back twice before the doctor on call was able to call me back. (They follow up on things at that office. Good to know.) The doctor had an Asian accent and a bad phone connection. Even after he called back from a different phone, it was still hard to understand him, but the upshot was that they needed a reading, and if Beloved’s temperature was over 101, I needed to get him to the ER.

So I got in the car and drove to the nearby pharmacy and bought a new digital thermometer with the disposable sleeves that I call thermometer-condoms. I took Beloved’s temperature:101.5, at which point I did not bother with the niceties. I just ordered him into his clothes and broke land speed records to the ER, which is right behind his PCP’s office and half a block from the cancer center.

I called Squishy and asked him to call his brothers. I called Firstborn and asked her to call her sisters.

“Do you want me to come?”

“I don’t know; it’s awfully far.”

“Mother [said in that tone], that’s not what I asked. Do. you. want. me. to. come?”

“Yes, please.”

“Do you need me to bring anything? Food, books, anything?”

“No, I have my knitting, a couple of bottles of water, and some Lara Bars.”

“OK, we’ll be there in about an hour or an hour and a half.”

And they were. 1BDH came with her. At that point we were in the back. Mel and Squishy were there. Younger-Twin had showed up; Older-Twin was home with a very sick wife (bona fide influenza).

The staff took blood from Beloved’s arm and his chemo port, took a urine sample, and checked his temperature, which had dropped to 101.3; at this point Beloved kept repeating, politely, that he just wanted to get his temperature down enough that he could go home and sleep in his own bed. Which was what we all wanted. As we waited for lab results, 1BDH and Younger-Twin gave him a blessing.

Mel and Squishy followed us home, because I was starting to fade, and I didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel. They went home with some tomatoes and lots of hugs. Beloved and I rolled into bed a little before 1:00am.

We will get the formal lab results back tomorrow or Monday on the blood work (he is supposed to follow up with his PCP on Monday), but there was no obvious source of infection. They gave him a sulfa tablet and a prescription for more. I filled that after dropping him off at the reunion this morning and was barely late myself.

This morning’s session was nearly as good as yesterday’s. We skipped the business meeting this afternoon in favor of coming home for naps, and we went back for the dinner session feeling significantly more human. Dinner was good. The entertainment was fantastic (country/western singer from Corsicana), and we came home.

It is now nearly 11:00pm, and I am teaching tomorrow, and I haven’t read the funnies, and I haven’t touched my lesson manual, but I really, really needed to write.

Oh, and I spoke with Middlest earlier today, who called to check up on us.

We have amazing children.

And I sure hope next week is significantly less interesting. That Chinese woman better watch her back, is all I’ll say...

In which your intrepid heroine skins 47 tomatoes.

He blanched them. I skinned them. He bagged them. This was the second batch to go into the freezer; one or two more batches will be enough to thaw and turn into tomato sauce or spaghetti sauce.

The hives continue to disappear. I have a (as in one) new one that cropped up yesterday, but we seem to have them on the run, rather than vice versa.

Had fun teaching Primary this morning. He taught the lesson in the high priest quorum.

I got a 3-4 hour nap this afternoon, while he dozed in his chair. Now he’s ready for bed, and I’m ready to head back out to the living room and knit until I can’t keep my eyes open one moment longer.

He liked his Father’s Day card, and the present I gave him: four pens that I found in the June issue of Real Simple, in the form of a hammer, a screwdriver, a wrench, and a ginormous screw. So nobody can say he has one loose. Although technically he does, as it’s still out in the living room rather than here on his desk. In the spirit of Father’s Day, this is a link to a book about Darth-as-dad that I found on Movie Mom’s blog.

I have the munchies. I know where the chocolate almond milk ice cream is hiding. Seeya!

♫♪♫ Meeting the new oncologist. ♪♫♪

*So* impressed. From the flowers growing at the entryway, to the smile on the face of the receptionist, to his assistant’s offer of water or juice while we waited for the doctor to join us in the examining room. There is a mural (for lack of a better word) that you see upon entering the building, with a brass panel overlaying a housebroken waterfall (slipping down between two panels of glass, but still plenty lively), which reads, “Cancer Should Not Have the Last Word”. There is a poster in the elevator announcing a class next week on guided meditations. We brought home a plethora of pamphlets and other publications. Also our new doctor’s business card with cell phone and email address. [We like this young man!]

Our doctor also sent a referral to M.D. Anderson for the clinical trial that Beloved has been hoping to get into, that his doctor at Parkland did not [would not? could not?] refer him to. Our doctor did it on his laptop in a matter of minutes. He gave a thumbs-up to everything Beloved is doing in addition to the chemo: nutrition, positive attitude, supplements. We trust him.

Most important, when we stepped into the elevator to go up from the foyer to the office, and I saw the flyer for the meditation class, the Spirit washed over me. This is a place that Heaven touches on a regular basis. Beloved will be safe with these people. And I can work with them.

In lesser news, the knitting is coming along nicely. And the last news that Beloved gave me as I drifted off to sleep last night, was that we have been assigned to home teach / visit teach the family whose move from my old ward preceded my own; I used to teach their middle daughter in Primary. And my hives began to shrink and vanish, all afternoon, until most of them are now little red pinpricks on my legs. I still don’t know what caused them, but it’s clear that my stress level was higher than I thought, and that the release of that stress in the elevator at the oncologist’s sent a wave of healing throughout my cranky, spotty hide.

When I was sitting in the temple last night, talking with a fellow ordinance worker, she asked how I was, and I replied, “Fine,” to which she responded, “Why am I not entirely convinced you’re telling me the whole truth?” So I fessed up to the hives, and it turns out she gets them, too, so badly that they send her to the hospital.

It’s been a rough week physically, but a grand week spiritually. While I was in the shower this morning (I do some of my very best thinking there) I wondered if I should get myself tested for various and sundry autoimmune conditions. Starting with allergies, which I’d already promised myself I would do this year, and also testing for lupus and fibromyalgia. There is something going on. I can pretty well ignore the ankle that ebbs and flows. It’s a lot harder to ignore quarter-inch or bigger hives, especially when they start to form constellations in their circuit around my thighs.

I wish I knew more about reflexology, and how various bits of the body are interrelated. I think the ankle thing, and the TMJ thing, and the pinched nerve in my neck, and the hives, and maybe the sleep apnea, are all hooked together in a pattern that would make sense to somebody with a different skill set than I possess. I’m still at the point where I panic a little if the cat comes near my legs. A simple touch on a healthy patch of skin can trigger fierce itching all over my legs. An endlessly twitching cat’s tail is currently not my idea of a Real Good Time.

But as I said earlier this week, it’s not leprosy, or bubonic plague, or a whole host of truly miserable things. I have had moments of inspiration and joy, notwithstanding the itching that drove me to scratch so hard I bruised my legs (one downside to acrylic nails, dreadful sorry Clementine).

I am now going to proofread this and pour myself a big glass of water and knit a little and see if I can be asleep before 10:00.

The Father’s Day gift for Beloved arrived in yesterday’s mail, and while it’s not as snazzy as it looked where I first spotted it, it’s still charming and more than marginally useful, and I hope he will like it. I did find a truly inspired card to give him.

Aveeno + aloe + 1% hydrocortisone = (some) relief!

You could still call me “Spot” and not be far off the mark, but I am looking much better. Last night when I peeled out of my street clothes and showed my poor legs to Beloved, he exclaimed, “Oh. Wow.” but not with the same intonation he usually greets them. I did make a run to the drugstore to ask the pharmacist what might reduce the itching and general misery, since I cannot take Benadryl. I came home with a tube of Aveeno-et-al. Beloved swabbed me down thoroughly, and I slept fairly well. After my shower this morning, he doctored me again. (One more reason to like being married: having someone who can reach the bits that are just out of easy reach.) After lunch today I doctored as much as I could, and I’ll have him swab me again before bedtime. My right leg, at least the part I can see, is healing rapidly; the left leg, less so, but still progressing.

What I would like to do, is sit in a big tub full of oatmeal slurry for about a week and a half, although I suspect I will be healed long before that. And besides, it would interfere with my knitting.

The first pillow cover is all sewn up, and the pillow is now ready to support my back in one of the wicker chairs. Heavenly. I have the second cover cast on and am about to head back for more knitting. I came home to BLT’s with homegrown tomatoes and freshly-baked bread and reduced-sodium bacon. I am contemplating some of the last of the strawberry/raspberry sorbet for dessert, but Beloved thinks we might prefer one of his cinnamon-laced (unsweet) rolls with a glass of milk, instead. I have an unopened quart of goat’s milk in the fridge.

Tempting.

At least it’s not boils, right?

This is one of those times when I’m thankful that the glass is half empty. I broke out in hives yesterday. For awhile, I looked as if I had those little red stickers along the crease of my knees and up the back of my thighs. As if I were a really great deal at a garage sale. I’ve already consulted the Google and Thummim, and it can’t be shingles, because shingles only shows up on one side of the body at a time. It doesn’t look like chigger bites, either, although the itch factor is pretty much equivalent. Aloe gel seems to help. I woke up in the middle of the night and wandered out to the kitchen for some vitamin D3 and one of Beloved’s turmeric capsules. The cat ambled out from wherever he’d been hiding and rubbed along my legs. Aughhh! I love you, Cricket, but I seem to have acquired a case of please-do-not-contact dermatitis.

Mostly, I am laughing about this. Or at least grinning. One of my favorite sayings in the church is that we are not mortal beings here to have spiritual experiences, but spiritual beings here to have mortal experiences. I am definitely feeling my mortality today. But it’s not boils, or skin cancer, or radiation poisoning, or bubonic plague, or leprosy. It’s just hives. And sooner or later, they will go away. The Google and Thummim says generally within 24 hours, which is lovely to contemplate, because that means I might be normal (stop laughing) before quitting time.

I wondered if it might be the new, improved laundry detergent, but Beloved says he’s been using it for the past two or three weeks, and the hives are localized. And it blew up mid-afternoon, so I think it might have been something at lunch. I’m wondering if it’s the green peppers (which would make Beloved weep; we are having a bumper crop of peppers this summer, everything from bell to jalapeno to habanero, and he has Plans).

In happier news, I have six more pattern repeats and then the garter stitch border, and the second half of the pillow back will be done.

I would love to stay home and have Beloved slather aloe on my legs every 15 minutes while I lie on my stomach and knit, but he has other things to do, and so do I. If we had a hot tub I would fill it with chamomile teabags and steep all day.

(No) film at 11. ♥

Knitting, not stabbing.

Finish-itis, and a crazy week ahead.

Lots and lots and lots of happy knitting yesterday. I went from one-third done with the second section for the back, to half done, to nearly two-thirds done. Woke up a little after 4:00 and passed that mark. So, barring complications, I will finish the first pillow top in the next two or three days and cast on for the second one.

Mel and Squishy came by last night to pick up her Time Out for Women DVD and to bring me a present they bought me at A-Kon (the anime convention) last weekend: a black rubber bracelet with today’s title emblazoned on it. I will wear it to work today with my dressy black T-shirt and black slacks and conservative jewelry, just because I can.

Time to roust Beloved so we can have breakfast together before I scoot on out the door. Although he looks so cute and innocent while he sleeps, it’s tempting to just let him snooze until he wakes naturally, but he wants to get out in the garden while it’s still cool. There are weeds to slay and squirrels to fend off from our peach tree: they are already making depredations, and he’s talking about borrowing a non-lethal trap from the city. Apparently we are having a bumper crop of squirrels this year, because the winter was so mild. Rumor has it that they got in an extra breeding cycle?

Tonight we are having Chinese with the empty-nesters. I am hoping for Knit Night tomorrow but not holding my breath. I am in desperate need of a manicure; they’ve grown out so long that they’re hampering my typing, and it’s either tomorrow night or Wednesday.

S is for Saturday, and also for Shopping

I went to Charming Charlie but found nothing sufficiently charming to wipe out the balance on my gift card.

I went to Container Store and bought a small lacquered box (bright orange) to hold elastics and a wee plastic tote (shocking pink) to corral my headbands. There were other pretties, but I passed them by.

Next was a 40% off sale on many items at my local yarn shop, but the things I wanted were not on sale. However, they were relatively inexpensive, so I bought them anyway.

Then I stopped at Wally World long enough to pick up a half gallon of dark chocolate almond milk and a loaf of frozen garlic bread. I’m “cooking” tonight, and I’m in the mood for spaghetti with obscenely garlicky bread, which equates (in this woman’s world) to baking a loaf of Cole’s.

On the way home, I discovered that we have a Whole Foods a whole lot closer than the one which is on the way home from work. I filed that away in my mental file cabinet but was not the least bit tempted to check it out. All I wanted at that time was to come home, put my new organizing stuff away, enter the knitting needles on Ravelry, eat a turkey sandwich, and take a nap.

The headbands and elastics are now brightly corraled; the knitting needles are logged in and will very soon be put away in my studio; the turkey sandwich is down the hatch.

Naptime!

Whew! [smile]

It’s been a good week at work so far. None of this hurry up and wait nonsense, just a steady stream of projects to cross off my list. I need to open a new suit for Attorney B today, and I need to tweak something for my attorney before turning it over to him for more tweaking.

I woke up dark-thirtier than normal today. On Fridays the alarm goes off fifteen minutes earlier than on other days, so that Beloved will be on time for his training as a temple ordinance worker. He got no sleep last night, he tells me. None. Nada. Zip. He says this happens about once a month. Yesterday was Big Chemo, and I am wondering if it is a reaction to something in his cocktail?

Nevertheless, he woke up cheerfully. I made two turkey sandwiches: one for my lunch, and one for his breakfast. Also found the unopened container of dishwasher detergent pods (love those!). Breakfast for me was a bowl of raisin bran. I am showered, shampooed, dressed, lunch packed, knitting in my bag, and I’ve located the triangular table that I want to put in the guest bathroom to hold the baskets which formerly went on the back of the commode and in the ugly-shelves that came off the wall when the cupboard(!) went up.

And it’s only 6:30.

My hair is (finally) long enough to French-braid. It’s a little off-center in the back. I’m calling it a design feature. It’s been about 15 years since I wore my hair this way, and last time there was only the occasional thread of silver among the dark chestnut brown. But we likes it. I wonder what Beloved will think? He is long-since out the door for the temple.

Hardly any knitting yesterday. Hoping for significantly more of it today, beginning in about ten minutes. I don’t need to leave for half an hour.

Weird. You may want to check the space-time continuum in your neck of the woods.