The Squire and I pulled a cute stunt this morning. Our bedroom clock/radio automatically resets itself according to some signal from outer space, and did so several weeks ago when Daylight savings time was supposed to start. I can’t figure out how to change it back, so just let it go. The Squire gets up when he wakes up, and I don’t think he ever even looks at the clock, as we have no place in particular we have to be.
Except this morning.
He rolled over and looked at the clock, which said 7 AM, so pulled the covers over his head for another dose of shut-eye. He came downstairs at what he thought was 7:50, and discovered it was actually 8:50, and we were well on the way to being late for church. We got there at 9:45, instead of our usual 9:30, so I barely had time to get robed. Our rector was away today, and our regular supply starts his service at 10:00, come Heaven or High Water. I was still tying my cincture when he said, “Well, Dani, I’m going on up.” I told him to stay right where he was, until I had a chance to light the candles and get the cross.
I did so, and then told him, “Well, boss, I’m ready to go whenever you are.”
Gotta keep these clergy in line. I don’t know where they get the idea they are in charge.
Our church is gearing up for an all-the-stops-pulled-out haunted house this coming weekend, and the parish hall is a maze of black curtains, huge spiders, and bats.
I drove over last night for our weekly knitting group, and practically had to leave a trail of bread crumbs to get into the kitchen for a cup of coffee. A bit peckish, I opened the fridge – which does not have an interior light – to see if there was anything left from Sunday’s coffee hour. In the semi-darkness I picked up what appeared to be a half a cookie, and wondered vaguely why it had been left open and not wrapped on a plate.
A VERY realistic piece of plastic liver!
The Squire said everything had been washed before it has been put into the fridge, but the pieces get soft – and even more realistic when they are at room temperature.
After having my wrist and thumb completely immobilized for a month, I have absolutely no strength in my hand. I squeeze the tooth paste between my arm and my body, and by the time I get the toothbrush in position, the paste has slithered back into the tube. I tried to open a jar of jelly this evening and it was “stuck”. I swear, all The Squire had to do was blow on it and the top fell off.
The doctor wrapped my hand yesterday with an ace bandage, which I left off last night, but The Squire rewrapped it this morning. Tomorrow we will see if I have enough strength to turn on the ignition (first step in driving again, y’know) and then on Monday I will start Aqua Arthritis classes again.
One day at a time!
And thanks to everyone for keeping me in their thoughts and prayers.
The Squire and I were at the doctor’s office at 12:50 for a 1:00 appointment to have my cast removed, and out on the street at 1:00. This guy is fast. I now have an opposable thumb, and an interesting wrinkle in my hand. He recommended I use one of those “squeezy” balls to strengthen my hand, and assured me that the pain in my wrist is strictly from trying to use muscles in a way they weren’t intended to be used, and would go away in a few days. I do have an ace bandage wrapped around my hand, mostly to keep the stitches from getting banged. I know we have a dozen of those silly balls in the house, but darned if I can find one when I need it.
I can put on my clothes, but still have trouble getting out of things, so I had to ask The Squire to unzip me this afternoon.
Now, “Unzip me! Unzip me!” is a long-standing joke on our house. For many, many years, my best friend’s husband has been asking me – jokingly – to leave The Squire and marry him, which I have always said I would do, if he stopped smoking, and if I grew up. I have to admit he’s done his part, but there’s no chance I’ll ever fulfill my part of the bargain.
Anyway, about a thousand years ago, the four of us were standing around talking when I felt something crawling on my back. I reached up to brush it off and discovered a wasp or yellow-jacket had gotten down inside my dress, and was busily stinging me on my spine. The Squire was standing across from me, but BFF’s husband – the wannabe – was right next to me, and I turned around and screamed “Unzip me! Unzip me!”
He did so, but complained that he had been waiting years for me to say that, and I had to go and do it in public.
Part of the Group of dancers at the Celtic Festival
The Squire and me, squinting into the sun. I was still in a cast, so everything I wore was a muumuu of some sort. And a sweater. It was cold down there!
Most of the units had their hurricane shutters in place.
For as long as I can remember, I have been tired. My mother used to tell me I was so lazy I was even born late. When I was away at school, we didn’t have study hall on Friday night and could stay up an hour past our regular bedtime; I’d leave the dining room and go straight to my dorm. Even now, I sleep ten hours a night, and whenever possible I take a nap after our mid-day meal.
A few years ago my GP found that not only was my thyroid on the blink, but I am extremely anemic, which would explain my chronic “pale and interesting” complexion. He put me on an iron supplement which was strong enough to plate a battleship, and caused considerable, um, gastric distress. So I have limped along, trying to eat more raisins and spinach, which have the same effect, although mild enough that I can function.
My former endocrinologist retired, and my first appointment with the new one involved the usual interview and review of symptoms, mostly drop-dead fatigue. She also suggested an iron supplement, and I explained I had a bad reaction to that medication. “Nonsense! People get constipated from iron, not diarrhea!” Oh, we are off to a good start! Nothing like somebody who has never seen you before telling you that you don’t know how your own body works. “Take this for a month and come back for another blood test.”
I’m taking half the prescribed dose, and am answering the call of nature often enough for it to be considered a litany.
And I only thought I was tired before.
On a whim, I purchased a super-deluxe ladies razor, with “ribbons” of shaving cream and body lotion built into the head. Some swell, as they say.
Well, I don’t know what was in that stuff, but my legs broke out in a rash from my ankles to my knees. I had to take a second shower, and rub some prescription anti-rash stuff all over, and I still scratched so badly I drew blood.