While converting my go bag to an overnight bag, I found a thick folder of papers I'd been handed at the hospital with instructions to read it when I'd sobered up.
With the exception of the suggestion that a fried cheese sandwich might not be the best option for my first meal, I'd followed all the instructions. And I had eaten some crackers in the recovery room.
When we left for overnight, I left four half cups of dry food for Al: one in his regular dry-food dish, which is a soup plate that is a shallow bowl, two in soup plates that are plates —flat on the bottom, with turned-up edges— and one in an oatmeal dish.
When we came back, the two flat-bottom dishes were empty and the two bowls looked untouched.
So I emptied the oatmeal dish into one of the soup plates, and set it beside his regular dish. The next morning the soup plate was mostly gone, the regular dish hardly nibbled.
So I emptied his regular dish into the soup plate and that's going to be his regular dish from now on.
We were gone less than twenty-four hours. We left after lunch, and got back in time to have lunch at home.
The doctor changed Dave's stick-on prism, which helped his crossed eye. In August, I think it is, they'll look again and consider surgery to tighten one muscle and loosen the other.
I forgot to return Grossnickel's call about re-scheduling the appointment that was post-poned in April, and now I'll have to wait until Tuesday.
I wore the mask that I basted together in the hotel room to church this morning. Seems to work well, but I'm going to have to shorten the middle tab half an inch. (Which is why it's basted instead of sewn.)
Last fall, I emptied a mustard bottle and thought it just the ticket for carrying switchel concentrate on the bike, so I stuck a sticker that said "oat" on it so I'd know why I saved it, and stashed it at the back of the fridge.
This morning, I couldn't find any of my eight-ounce pocket-size water bottles, and noticed the mustard bottle. It's just perfect for carrying water in a pocket. I can flip the cap up with my thumb instead of unscrewing it with both hands, and I can stick it under a mask without fear of spilling.
I wore the new mask to hang up clothes yesterday, and the tab is perfect — I just needed to tie the forehead band half an inch higher. I also found that the slot is wide enough that I can put my glasses on after I put on the mask, which pulls the middle up over the keratosis on my nose.
Yesterday I decided that I've healed enough that an extra layer of Banana Boat lipstick is enough when I'm going out for less time than it takes to put on a mask. I don't wear a hat when I don't wear a mask, which makes me keep my back to the sun.
We've been worried about Al all weekend; he threw up his evening treat on Saturday and hasn't eaten anything since, but there was ample vomiting and yowling. Yesterday we took him to the vet and she found a blocked urethra. She wanted to leave the catheter in overnight, and someone will call before nine today to tell us to come and get him.
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And at nine this evening, we gave him 1.5 ml of amoxicillin. He seems normal, if tired, but the partial can of renal-support cat food they sent home with him has lasted all day, and I expect some to be left for breakfast. I've been giving him about half a teaspoon of food and a teaspoon of water, because he doesn't like lumps in gravy and he doesn't like anything with "renal" on the label, and this is both. But in tiny servings, and with some of the lumps crushed to release nutrients into the water, it goes down, and sometimes he asks for seconds.
With horizontal-spined critters, should one say "It goes back."?
I gave him his Cosequin in renal-support food, and I think he got most of it. I rinsed the medicated food with a few drops of water after he'd eaten, and he took that too.
I'm going to Grossnickle on Monday at 3:00. I forgot to ask who I'm going to see; probably Dr. Hickman or Dr. Lifferth.
I guess the niqab is right out while I'm getting my eyes examined. If I go by bicycle, I'll wear the one-tie pleated mask. I can put it on, then pull it down into a puff around my neck, then pull it up again when I get off the bike.
How time flies! I looked out to see a flock of ducks waddling by and wondered why there were no drakes. After a bit I realized it was a duck and a clutch of ducklings.
Department of thin excuses: I can't do the dump tour, so today I'm riding to Panda Express to pick up a bucket of entree to serve for supper.
I'd really, really like to go into Meijer and buy some pants hangers.
I'd like even more to upload this file after I log out. I must go through my files and remove "comcast" from all links in Rough Sewing.
With any luck, a few weeks later I'll go through and remove "gmail".
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Well, that was a water haul. I waved my debit card and yelled, but couldn't get the attention of the drive-up window. The microphone doesn't turn on until a car is detected.
They don't have buckets on the drive-up menu anyway. The closest I could come would be to order a two-entree meal. Or a fifty-four dollar "family feast". So I said "just as well" and went to the Chinatown Express, only to find that some trasher had wrecked their drive-up menu.
Chinatown Express is the middle of a long string of fast-food joints, but none of those that weren't hopeless had drive throughs.
After I'd come home, but before I'd gotten ready to take a shower, the heavens opened up and poured down rain. I said "Wow, I got home just in time!", but it was over so quick that the patio was only speckled. I'd have *liked* getting caught in a rain like that — I sweated off four bandaids. Which was as many replacements as I'd brought along. Now there are eight 3/4" bandaids and two 1" bandaids in my notebook.
I came pretty close to emptying the three bottles (water, ice water, and tea) that I'd brought along.
I was showered and dressed in time to go with Dave to pick up our groceries. It started to rain just before we got there, and by the time we were parked it was raining so hard that the clerk couldn't hear us on the phone, and hailstones were sliding down the windshield. The stones got smaller as they slid, and few made it to the bottom.
All we didn't get was the sandwich thins, which are never available, and the bacon-wrapped stuffed pork loin. Missing that was lucky even though I had my mouth all set for it; when I ordered it I had forgotten that Dave had ordered a whole chicken, and I didn't notice it when I looked over the shopping cart.
We had Johnsonville brats for supper. I fried them on keep warm for an hour, with two mini potatoes, some winter-onion bulbils, and a few slices of zucchini.
Tomorrow, chicken stuffed with Johnsonville brat.
I was cleaning up my inbox, and reflected that since we are dumping Comcast, I don't need any of these notices from Xfinity. After I'd deleted half a dozen, starting at the bottom, the next one that popped up said "xFi Advanced Security is now free with your Xfinity Gateway" and I laughed out loud. "Advanced Security" is the trojan that forced us to quit dithering and dump Comcast.
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This morning I told Dave I'd tried to back up the Banner, and it worked. So we checked whether I could view our site. We could see my pages, but his were from my cache.
This evening he said that everything was working. It's too little too late: the guy from Century Link is to come here on Monday.
I'm sure I have some unchanged addresses scattered around.
Yesterday, a box truck rammed into a car that was stopped for a light and pushed it into a semi. When I opened the e-Edition of the Times Union today, that was the top headline, and the picture made me say "Aha!"
The box truck has "Budget" on the side and the back.
When I share the road with a truck, I'm thinking "professional driver"; if it's a rental truck, that opinion flips to "amateur in over his head".
I weeded the multipliers today. They'll be ready to harvest soon. My side of the garden is an untidy mess. I plan to tackle the leeks, giant garlic, and garlic next. The winter onions are dominating the weeds in their row, so they go last.
When we undressed in our hotel room, I said "Awk scrickle I forgot to bring a laundry bag", then remembered that I'd seen a folded grocery bag when cleaning out my overnight bag, said "it isn't taking up any space", and left it in.
It must have been in the bag for *years*; I don't remember ever going to Busch's Fresh Food Market. The bag says "A local Michigan company", so I presume it is or was near Tecumseh.
So I DuckDucked. It's still in Tecumseh, among other places.
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Al is pooped, I'm pooped, and Dave isn't feeling all that brisk. We just gave Al a dose of steroids, followed by a dose of amoxicillin.
And I have a few puncture wounds on my fingers. Tomorrow, we go straight to crushing the pill and putting it in with a syringe. And I'll measure the water I dissolve it in, so I won't have to squirt twice.
Dosing the cat goes a bit easier now — we all three know the drill. Al thinks that getting a second squirt is unfair.
So he threw up both of them this morning. Tomorrow we'll let his antibiotic settle before we give him his steroid.
This morning, I gave in and opened a packet of bisque, saying "the little guy has to eat *something*", and he wouldn't even taste it. But a few hours later I gave him another spoonful and he cleaned the dish. I'll try him with Hills KD or Dave's Restricted Diet after a while.
Yesterday I washed only one load of clothes, in the interest of getting to the eye doctor on time. (All is well, come back next July.)
This morning, I washed the second load of wash. Don't recall accomplishing anything else. I meant to bake a loaf of bread, but when the time came to mix it up, I didn't feel like it.
The Century Link guy came and we are now on dial-up. I haven't noticed any slowdown in my net access.
I bailed halfway down the top story in today's paper, feeling very glad that I'm not on the jury and don't have to have an informed opinion on that mess. I did notice that the miscreants are being asked to reimburse the victims for their expenses, which is a hopeful (but probably misleading) note.
I have been out! On the way back from the eye doctor, I stopped at the teller machine. I carried my "fast fifty" and the receipt out to my bike to put them away so I wouldn't have to put my wallet on the shelf.
I was very glad I wasn't in a car; my vision was still wonky hours after I got home. I kept cleaning my glasses and finding out they weren't dirty.
I need to carry more water the next time I ride. I had enough, even though I kept swilling it down from the first sip in the driveway all the way to one last chug in the garage while putting the bike away, but I had only half an inch of left-over water to pour on the rosebush.
On the last leg, all the water still in the pannier was frozen, but after I dumped ice into the remaining warm water, it melted faster than I drank it.
Keeping my water on ice and taking out just as much as I can drink up before it gets warm is a major help in keeping hydrated. According to my notes, I started drinking my twenty-ounce bottle of tea at 12:04 and finished it at 12:41. The other two bottles lasted a bit longer, and I took a bag of ice cubes.
Despite missing my nap, I feel pretty good. I can do twenty miles next time, if I can find a place to go.
My calendar says Pickle Festival Thursday through Saturday of this week. I haven't bothered to find out whether it was cancelled. Snivel, whine, etc.
I've been ignoring the Helman trial, but this morning I read in a correction in yesterday's paper that the woman who actually instigated the incident is not among those being sued.
Cynically, I suppose that her pockets aren't deep enough to make it worth the trouble.
I sent Dave a lot of texts during yesterday's ride, but he didn't get any of them until after I told him in person that I'd sent them. While I was out having fun, he was getting fitted for a heart monitor, and it came with a special phone that he has to keep on his person at all times, so the phone I was sending texts to was not in its holster on his belt.
Every time the sensor detects something, the phone makes an alarming bebeep — not loud, but it definitely wakes you up — and an ominous hum. When I first heard it, I said to Dave "That's enough to *give* you palpitations."
Surely there must be a way to silence it when one is in bed.
When his hearing aids are out, Dave can't hear high-pitched noises, so I suppose it isn't as loud to him — but I did feel him react to one of the alarms last night. I fell asleep soon thereafter, and stayed out of it until time to get up.
Teaching one to ignore alarming noises is a bad thing in itself.
The phone doesn't have an "I'm trying sleep; don't ask what I'm doing" mode, but the volume of the alarm is adjustable. Dave turned it down last night and neither of us heard it at all.
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Al looks back wistfully whenever I herd him back into the house. I'm beginning to feel a great deal of empathy.
Yesterday, Dave peeled off his sensor so that he could change the battery. Before he put it back on, he shaved his chest.
We have deduced that I came back from yesterday's ride with heat exhaustion. That accounts for the crash on Fort Wayne Street. While approaching Detroit Street, I tried to go a bit slower than was possible while paying attention to the traffic, and steered the bike out from under me. Luckily, everybody was stopped for the light.
I must get a spray bottle for dampening my jersey.
Though it *was* fairly damp most of the time. I put it into a bucket of water to soak the sweat out as soon as I took it off.
The radio announcement — and the story in the Weekend Times-Union — about the work on traffic lights on SR 15 at Prairie, Winona Avenue, Winona Avenue, Market Street, Center Street, Main Street, and Fort Wayne Street said "While pedestrian ramps are being replaced, there will be no pedestrian access at that intersection for several days. Pedestrians will need to use the next cross street to safely cross the street."
When I heard that on the radio, I thought "Wait a minute! At Prairie Street there *is* no next cross street!"
Another moment of thought reminded me that there is no pedestrian access at Prairie Street *now*.
Yesterday I cut my Italian oregano to the ground and threw it all away. Horribly wasteful, but I don't want flavorless seedlings coming up in the herb bed. I'm allowing the common oregano in the ground-level herb bed to go to seed, in the hope that it will spread into the lawn the way the oregano I grew in New York did.
I harvested my multiplier onions today.
And today Dave and I got joybeeson@centurylink.net to work. I'll mail this Banner from it.
Unless I absent-mindedly use the address copied from June, in which case it won't go. I'm still getting mail at the Comcast address, but can't send from that address.
While I was washing myself last night, the bathroom mirror showed me a spectacular bruise on my right elbow, and I wondered how I'd overlooked it. This morning, I discovered that by daylight it's invisible. It's not a bit sore.
I've been worried about the abrasion on my knee because it had a sick-looking white spot in the middle that didn't wash off.
After today's ride, I found that all it needed was a good long soak in the shower. It's also a lot smaller than it looked before I showered off the silvadene. Seems closed over, but I put a blob of Mupiricin and a fresh Band-Aid on it.
The shower didn't take off the gray lines left by the edges of the bandaid tapes. I'll go after them with a brush next time.
Dave took my temperature while I was undressing, and found it normal. I said "It pays to walk up the hills, keep my jersey damp, lie down in the shade, and keep track of what I'm drinking." He reminded me that it was ten degrees cooler today than on the Saturday before last.
I didn't even sweat the band-aids on my nose and donor site off, though they *were* very wet and somewhat loose when I got home.
I had gone to the vet to buy cat food, having figured out a way to get there without using more than half a mile of Husky Trail. But when it was time to go home, I couldn't face re-tracing that half mile of Husky Trail, so I stayed on 300 N to Airport road, crossed over to 350 N, crossed Detroit onto Sheldon, and zig-zagged around to avoid a one-way hill and half a mile of gravel road on my way to Fox Farm. That brought me past where The Farm used to be; the only evidence that there had ever been a farmstand there was a faded sign saying "closed"; it didn't say whether that was "until the corn is ripe" (unlikely, since the burma-shave signs have been taken down), for the plague year, or forever.
The Farm got new owners last year; this was not a good year for a start-up.
The rain that was supposed to cool me off during my ride went south of here, and was last heard from in Cincinnatti, where it delayed a Cubs game.
Yesterday, I was thinking that since we had a fresh head of lettuce, I'd serve Caesar salad for supper. Then I noticed that the pound of ground beef we'd bought had to be cooked *now*, as in don't wait until supper time.
So I set out to make taco meat, wondering what I'd serve it on, since we have no tostadas and Dave can't eat carbs anyway. Ta Dah! Serve it on Caesar salad!
If you ever want something delectable and very low carb, just make a taco salad and hold the tortilla chips. The oil off the meat makes a great salad dressing, especially if you add a drop of tabasco vinegar after the first tossing.
I had no taco seasoning, so I put in a rounded teaspoon of oat flour, a teaspoon of cumin, and a teaspoon of chili powder. Before putting that in, I fried veggies in the meat: a pepper I'd taken from a pile labeled "hot", but it had no zing (I didn't taste the seeds, but I did lick my finger after putting the seeds on the garbage plate), a mini-sweet pepper, and a few quartered winter-onion bulbils.
After making a roux of the meat and spices, I dumped in a cup of V-8, since the instructions on the taco-meat mix say to add a cup of water.
And it was very, very, good. I might not buy more taco-meat seasoning when the plague passes and I can go into stores.
I do miss poblano peppers, and we are out of canned corned-beef hash. Aldi's house brand is so much better than Hormel that I'm not willing to buy canned hash from Martin's.
I checked the Martin's site to verify that it *is* Hormel hash that I don't want, and clicked +1 on Martin's house brand. I've never eaten "Our Family" corned-beef hash, and it might be packed at the same house-brand cannery as Brookdale.
I've figured out how to peel winter-onion bulbils in quantity for seasoning: just cut the bulb in half, catch the tough layers with your thumbnail, pop them off.
Not much help if I want to pickle them whole, but I'm more likely to want to flavor cucumber pickles.
Flowers, but no sign of fruit on the cucumbers yet. I must keep a close eye, because I want teeny cukes for pickling whole this year; we still have worlds of sliced pickles from last year.
It's getting very close to time to dig up the giant garlic.
This morning I plowed a furrow, and put all the undersized winter-onion bulbils in it, with a flag by each clump. I must remember to haul a couple of buckets of water out at sundown.
While planting, I found that I needed the tablespoon I keep in the herb bed, and came into the house to put away some fat bulbils I'd harvested incidentally. Al suggested lunch, and when I'd fed him, the doorbell rang.
I wonder whether the UPS guy wonders why I was wearing a veil in my own house.
I imagine that he was too busy wondering whether we'd be angry that he'd delivered the package to the woman across the street, and she'd torn it open before he noticed the mistake.
While polishing the format of this file, I learned that I used no question marks, and lots of exclamation points. That says something, but I don't know what.
I think it was yesterday that Dave took his heart monitor to UPS to be sent back.
Today I made a quick trip to the dentist, where it was determined that the white chunk I flossed out of my front teeth was tartar, not tooth. They took an X-ray to be sure . Great relief all around. I already had an appointment for cleaning, so the doctor rounded off the sharp edges and I checked out.
It isn't raining much, and I wouldn't mind getting caught in it, but I don't want to go to the farmers' market enough to start out into a rain.
Perhaps I should call it the farmer's market; there is only one vegetable booth left. But I think I'd call her a truck gardener.
The garden really needed this rain, and it's exactly the right sort.
I ran this file through the validator and didn't recognize the response: It said "Congratulations" — that is, no mistakes.