Archive | August, 2019

Don’t Bury Me at Sea.

25 Aug

The Squire and I were sitting in the den this afternoon, working at our respective computers when the water pump kicked in. Mind you, we just had a go-round with the pump in June, so we both got up to see what was going on.

A pipe leading to the water heater has split.  When the men installed the tank three years ago, I told them they needed to use plastic pipe. “Our water is so acidic it will eat through the copper in no time.” Sorry, ma’am, but the county code calls for copper. County code be dammed, is my attitude, but I couldn’t talk them out of it. So here we are.

The split is just about at eye-level, and everything from your shoulders down is wet, clear to the floor.  Lovely.  The Squire turned off the pump, and began picking up bags of pet food, and anything else that was either wet or in the way. I called Mac and ran over to borrow their wet-vac. (At this rate, we ought to buy one for ourselves!) We called the emergency number on the side of the heater, but apparently they don’t take Sunday emergencies into their schedule. That will be the first call tomorrow morning.

So – we have cold running water, but not hot. I heated water on the stove to wash the dishes (The dishwasher was loaded.) and we did them the old fashioned way. We can still flush the toilet, but showers may be a problem. I think I’ll wait until tomorrow for that.

Enough with the water problems. Just don’t bury me at sea!

 

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Try to Behave

21 Aug

A few weeks ago The Squire asked our GP about the arthritis in his hands. That good man suggested the problem might be my husband’s CMT* attacking his upper extremities.

A trip to a neurologist, Dr. Thomas, who agreed that this was the problem. He was surprised that The Squire had not even gotten a diagnosis until he was in his mid-30s, and astounded that he was in as “great shape” as he is. Most people with CMT are in a wheelchair – or worse – by their 70s. They discussed the three-times-a-week trips to the gym; keep on keeping on, but try not to overdo it. While The Squire can prevent too much more deterioration, he can’t build muscle, because there really isn’t anything there to build on. The doctor didn’t think the hearing loss was related, as there are no muscles in the ear.

“Now, let’s take a look at those hands.” A nerve conduction test was scheduled and performed, and there is, not surprisingly, a good deal of weakness caused by the nerves dying. One thing the doctor pointed out was that The Squire should be very careful of where his hands are and what they are doing. “You may think you have an item in your hand, but drop it because you don’t have a firm grip on it. Also, when you reach for something, your hand may not go as far as your brain says it has, so be careful of that.” Twice, The Squire has grabbed for the egg turner and touched the side of the frying pan instead, and now it makes sense.

So – he came home after getting the results of the nerve conduction test, and relayed all of this good stuff to me. He wandered around a bit, and then came into the kitchen to clean a bag of fresh string beans I’d gotten from a friend in our knitting group. “I have to find a way to keep busy without messing up my hands and feet any worse than they are.”

Today, he went outside and took rocks out of the stream, tossed them into the cart, and took them away to toss into another spot. So much for not messing up has hands and feet.

Try to behave yourself.

*CMT –  Charcot-Marie-Tooth syndrome is named after the three doctors, Jean-Martin Charcot, Pierre Marie, and Howard Henry Tooth, who first clinically identified it. It is an hereditary condition which causes the nerves to die and the muscles atrophy. If it “kicks in” when you are a child, the bones “warp” to a certain extent to accommodate this, but if it begins in later years, the pain of the tendons pulling against the bones is so severe that some patients have a leg amputated, rather than endure the torment. There is no cure, only palliative care. The Squire has donated his body to the anatomy board.

Quote Without Comment

10 Aug

immigrant+children (2)anne frank

Lost in the Past

4 Aug

Many years ago, when I was still in high school, my girl friend and I were up in her attic reading National Geographic magazines and drinking iced tea. Lynn’s mum called to her and she went down to see what was up, telling me she’d be right back.

Sometime later I floated to the surface and realized it was getting dark, and Lynn hadn’t come back. I went downstairs to discover the house was empty. They had gone out and forgotten I was up in the attic, with my nose in a magazine.

I went on home, carefully locking the kitchen door behind me as I left.

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