Once upon a time, every pill had to be a different size, shape, or color from any other. If somebody showed up in the ER – or the police station – with pills in their possession, it was easy to figure out what those pills where.
Now, in an effort to avoid artificial colors, most pills seem to be white. I take three pills in the morning, each for a different condition. Can you tell them apart? Neither can I.
Thanks to Microsoft and their “upgrades” the last time I was able to post on my computer was in October. A lot has happened since then, and I am using another computer to do this.
The biggest news is that I nearly became a widow. This is NOT something to which I have ever aspired.
In the wee-smalls of November 24, The Squire woke me up moaning in pain. He had a high fever and was shaking all over with febrile convulsions. While he insisted he’d be fine if he could just lay down and rest, I called 911. The local EMTs hauled him off to the hospital and I followed as soon as I got dressed.
Even if I hadn’t worked in Cardiology at Hopkins, I would have known the EKG looked awful. While most EKGs look like this:
The Squire’s test was more like this. It doesn’t take an MD to know that’s BAD, and when you overhear a nurse whisper “When I see something like this, I almost wish I didn’t know what it means” it can chill you to the core.
Anyway, to cut to the chase, my beloved husband had tachycardia, pneumonia in both lungs, and sepsis. All at once. He spent three days in ICU and four more days in a step-down unit. I brought him home on December 1st. And the next day we went to see our family doctor. Stan poked and prodded, asked questions, listened to The Squire’s heart and lungs, and admitted he was astounded at how good things were.
Honestly, nobody expected my husband to survive. I’m just glad he did.
Thanks be to God!
The median pay during The Great Depression was 22% of the cost of the average home. Today, it’s 14%
That means it was actually easier to buy a house during the Depression than it is today.
That is absolutely ridiculous.
Sears Dedham pre-cut house under $1500, which is $25,000 in today’s money. Even considering you had to do the work yourself, hiring out the electric and plumbing, it’s a lot less than today’s prices.
I have been told many times by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named that my hearing is so sharp I could hear a squirrel fart in a hurricane. In all honesty, I don’t think The Squire could hear the hurricane. The oven whispers when it has preheated, the timer speaks up at little bit, and the dryer has a buzzer that could probably be heard in the next county. I can hear all of it, but he doesn’t hear any of it.
So – after considerable discussion he finally got new hearing aids, and they are really nice. He can listen to the radio and answer the phone with his new ‘ears”, and he can now hear the dryer. All very nice. That being said, they are so very powerful that they drive me nuts. All hearing aids “whistle” if they are blocked, but his whistle if he sits too close to the something. The car window, the den wall, his recliner, just about anything makes his hearing aids shriek – and he doesn’t hear them.
But, boy! I do.
Argh!
We moved out of The Rice Paddy on October 23, 2024, and finally settled on the sale on Friday which was the 26th of September. Not quite a year, but close enough.
For reasons which totally mystify us, the settlement was at an office in Elkridge which is Howard County, on the far side of Baltimore. The agent, the folks who bought the house, and the Rices live in Harford County which means all of us had to drive quite a distance. Do not ask me to explain this.
The buyers are delightful people. They have two children – a son I’d guess is about two and a half and a five-month-old daughter. The wife is stunningly beautiful and very sweet. She likes the way I had fixed up the side bedroom and said she wanted to fix up the Barbie (R) house we had built into the dining room wall. I told her I still have most of the furniture I had made for it, and all she had to do was yell and I’d drop it by. They are well aware of all of the quirks of the old place, but I did give them a note warning them about not overloading the bathroom with too many heat-producing things. No more than two – space heater, curling iron, hot rollers, blow dryer – one from column A and one from column B, as the old Chinese restaurants used to say. Replacing the fuse involves a step stool and a flashlight. As I told them, it is a lesson quickly learned.
As we were driving home The Squire remarked that he hoped they hadn’t bitten off more than they could chew. I reminded him that my parents had said the same thing about us when we bought it!
. . . or maybe just the Rivers of Joppatowne . . . we sat down and wept.
Back in early November – while we were still lugging things from the house to the condo – The Squire hit the back end of a pickup truck and totaled his Kia. I’ve driven nothing but Nissans since the ’90s and loved them. My first Nissan was older than the fellow who came to take it away, and I’ve had two since then. With that in mind, The Squire bought a Nissan Rogue which he also liked very much.
He got a message that his car was due for routine maintenance and took it to a dealer not too far from here. Normally, we deal strictly with Dan, a mechanic we’ve known for about 40 years, but The Squire decided to take it to the dealership instead.
BIG mistake.
We got the Rogue back from the dealer on the 10th, and on the way home Monday afternoon (9/22), the car stalled at a traffic light and then got what I call the “jump-steadies” – coughing and bucking dreadfully. We managed to nurse it across the highway and onto Dan’s lot and called our friend Mac to come get us.
Tuesday morning, The Squire called Triple A and had the Rogue towed to the dealership that had done the maintenance and followed in my little Versa. Instead of waiting around all day, The Squire took the Versa down to a shopping center to grab some lunch – and locked the keys in the car. One more call to Mac, who came and got me and the spare keys and delivered both to The Squire.
The upchuck of the whole business was radiator had blown, and what with one thing and another, we needed a new engine and $10,000. This on top of the $1400 we had paid the first time around.
Not bloody likely. Especially since the notice on the bottom of their bill says they do not offer any warranties on their work.
We left the Rogue and came on home and had some dinner, then The Squire went to the library to take his mind off the entire mess. He hadn’t gotten a mile from home and my car started acting funny. Once again, Dan to the rescue! It turned out to be a small hole in the exhaust pipe – easily located and easily repaired, and The Squire was on his way.
Once this is settled, I’m going to have a nice little nervous breakdown.
thisendoftheswamp 