The current version is usually posted at http://wlweather.net/Pcw/
Strange. I usually start sweating soon after I sit down to read funnies in the evening, and have to change into my seersucker daygown. I never feel too warm when typing or reading in the daytime.
Dave spent very little time with the eye doctor, and his pressure is normal.
Luxury: My appointment tomorrow isn't until 2:30, so I don't have to sort out my scrambled go-bag tonight. Or print out a list of things to pick up at Kroger on my way back.
I always feel a twinge of dismay when I realize that the next step in preparing the Banner is to press "send".
And only later do I remember to freshen and validate the Web copy.
Such a long entry bodes a verbose July issue. I hope it consists entirely of making sagas out of washing clothes.
While dressing this morning, I got to thinking about how hot it was to spend the summer in a winter dorm, and remembered how I came to go to the Montreal fair with Dave's parents. He didn't want any distractions during his final year of graduate school, and 1967 would have been then.
Which means that it would have been 1968 that we spent in Hawaii. But the autograph tablecloth says that we moved to Voorheesville in the fall of 1969, and he went back to teaching at Arsenal for a year after we got back from Hawaii.
I've been wondering for years about the distinct memory of sending a card that said "This Christmas card is just to say/a little gift is on its way/I sent it book rate, it won't arrive/'til nineteen hundred and sixty five.
3:22 PM 7/3/2024
A while back I devised a new system for the recyclable paper: instead of putting cardboard in the bin, fold it and put it *under* the bin. That way it's already sorted out and flat when I bundle the papers.
A few weeks ago I looked at the bin and reflected that there was enough paper to bundle, and little enough that it wouldn't be much trouble, but there was some reason I couldn't do it that instant. After a while there was enough that I didn't have time to finish before I had something else to do, then I didn't want to clutter the living room with a job being done in installments, then "we can't get to the bin, dump it on this box of obsolete records brought down from the attic, and then "I can't face the thought of cleaning up that mess."
This morning I set up a folding chair in the garage and dove in. At nap time, the bin had been emptied, there were weights on the newspapers, and I think I'm about halfway down to the obsolete records. But I've blocked in my bike and I want to ride it tomorrow, and I need to change the newspapers in my insulated pannier, so I'll have to take the weights off the newspapers.
The day after tomorrow is recycling day, but I think I'll leave the stack of cardboard for much, much later. The bottom layers are getting flattened, and most of the upper layers were flat when I stacked them.
15:36 — I'm off to re-insulate my pannier.
18:52 — and I did a beautiful job, but the trip is off. I can't think of anywhere to go that would be open on the fourth of July.
And it's predicted to be cloudy, not too hot, and hardly any wind. The rest of the forecast is wet, windy, or both.
I had a visit on the front porch with Linda instead; she had come to a snarl in her knitting.
The papers still aren't tied into bundles, but there are weights on all the piles and the piles are out of the way of the bike.
And I've pretty much cleaned up from the parties. I still have to wash one section of the egg carrier, which still has a few devilled eggs in it.
The fair starts today. I think I'll attend on Thursday, when there is knitting in the Women's Building.
When reading the fair schedule in yesterday's paper, I was startled to see that there would be a motorized horse show at the grandstand. Dave looked up the phrase on the Web and found an advertisement for a rocking horse that had a motor, joints, and wheels instead of a rocker.
There's two devilled eggs left. Not a lot of dip; I'm planning to go to Kroger today and buy yogurt.
Yesterday morning, Dave drove us to the new meat market south of Leesburg, and I bought a pound of very good hamburger, which we had for lunch and supper and may kill for breakfast today. [We had cereal, and Dave had half of the hamburger for lunch.]
When I entered the receipt into Quicken, I learned that the cream was half what the shelf sticker said, and the frozen pizza was twice. Which made them about the same price.
Living in the Future: Who would have thought that plain cream would become an exotic treat that one has to drive to another town to buy?
I made four half pints of classic PBL pickles yesterday evening. I bought two small cucumbers at the fairgrounds market on Saturday, and Sunday evening I picked all the large winter-onion bulbils I could find — and a lot of undersized bulbils, which I dumped south of the house where I'm trying to start a bed. (When I dumped the garbage, I discovered that Abe had been dutifully weed-whacking along the south side of the house. I shall put up some survey flags.)
While I was cutting the bulbils in half and popping off the shells, "big enough to mess with" got bigger. I wished that I'd bought a third small cucumber, because there was only a quart of vegetable and the onions seemed to predominate, but the onions aren't very visible in the finished product.
I made a full recipe of spiced vinegar, and had nearly a cup left over.
I said "classic", but I replaced the "fresh red pepper (hot)" with a sliced red mini-sweet and all the red jalapeño in the freezer. And put these in with the vegetables instead of in the syrup. I think mom would have said to treat the pepper as a vegetable if the recipe had been a little more detailed. http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/COOKBOOK/PICKLES.HTM
And I put a quarter teaspoon of calcium chloride into the syrup at the last minute before putting the vegetables in.
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10:48
I just put a safety pin into the safety-pin compartment of the desk organizer!
(It's labeled "stamps".)
While brushing lint out of the pockets of a slopping-around shirt I was about to put into the washing machine, I found a safety pin stuck into the hem of one of the pockets and stuck it into the hem of the pocket of the shirt I was wearing. I don't know how many iterations back I wanted to pin a pocket closed, nor do I remember why, but today I broke the chain.
Back to mending two three-corner tears in my daygown so I can wash the stinky thing.
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I did a really good job of basting the patch: when I came back to sew it on, I had trouble finding it.
I should have done the darning before I did the patching.
I haven't put away all the dishes I washed before starting to pickle, and already the counter is cluttered.
We planned to walk around Goshen today, but Hurricane Beryl had other ideas. When it was time to drive home, she had moved on and the weather was beautiful.
Weather Underground says it will continue fluffy clouds and no wind through tomorrow. So I can tour Downtown Warsaw in the morning — there's a circus exhibit at the museum, and we need jalapeños and tostadas — and have lunch at the fair.
The museum was closed, but I had a conversation with the staff at the log house on the fairgrounds.
I picked up _The Dark Lord's Daughter_ at the library, and had pulled pork at the fair.
I think the teeny flies are coming back. For a long time, there was a cloud of bugs over the freezer and I always had to blow dead bodies off before I could open it. Luckily, the air compressor's hose easily reaches to the freezer.
One morning the bugs were gone, the freezer top was clean, and the spider web on the light was clean. The next time I noticed, the spider web was gone. We haven't a clue as to what happened.
Dave saw Nonamalu yesterday afternoon, and I went along. My go bag had gotten scrambled on Wednesday, and my check list had a lot of penciled remarks, so I printed out a fresh check list and spent the morning organizing the bag. And added two penciled remarks to the check list.
The fresh check list proved useful that very afternoon, when Dave needed to attach a note to the paperwork he was filling out and I could look up exactly where I'd put the paper clips.
I've begun keeping my calendar in a separate folder from the other medical papers, and it's *much* more convenient.
The appointment was before we normally have lunch, so we each fried a Spam-and-swiss sandwich immediately upon return, and even though I slept past six, all we wanted for supper was a beef-and-bean burrito each.
We both missed having corn, so I'm going to go to Sweet Corn Charley right after lunch tomorrow.
Or maybe I'll take a long nap instead.
Noon:
This is not a good day for a walk. It didn't feel so very hot, there was a breeze, but the air felt thick and heavy to breathe. It thundered just as I got home from church, and looking out the west window suggests that something is blowing in. It's gloomy out, and there's a brisk wind.
Which changed to a thrashing wind while I was typing. I'm glad I left the service early.
The wind has eased off, but the rain appears to intend to stay a while even though the thunder is now coming from the east.
12:20
Oops, we forgot to bring the chair cushions in last night. I put the east cushions on a bathmat in the entryway, and the west cushions are in the little green wagon in the garage.
When I dressed, I found that my phone had been glowing "extreme alert" all night. Good thing it was on the charger! Perhaps the noises just before the weather radio went off were from my phone instead of Dave's. I don't know what noise either makes for "extreme alert".
We must have had a mite of wind during the night. There are cottonwood twigs in front of the house. A large limb is off the hickory tree. I can't see where it came from, but the leaves match. I dragged it out to the road. Dave dragged one of the dead limbs that blew off the cottonwoods — the one that was impaled in the lawn — to the burn pile. Later on, I dragged another to the burn pile. The large one we're leaving for Abe to mow around. (He's due today.) I think he can just mow over most of the twigs.
When I went outside to comb my hair, I found a peach pit on the walkway, surrounded by a lot of squirrel-bite sized chunks that I presume to be peach flesh. I don't think they add up to an entire peach, so they must be inedible spots or something.
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Abe mowed while we were in Plymoth this afternoon. The big limb in the back yard is gone. I assume that Abe moved it to the burn pile.
After our belated lunch (we were on the road at lunch time), I pulled the garlic and hosed the dirt off, reflecting all the while that it must have been a real bummer to clean garlic before running water.
It wasn't all that easy. The spray nozzle knows that no matter what I do with the hose, it must point straight up — or deviate just enough to point at my face. It takes more force to make it point in any other direction than it takes to wrist-curl a half gallon of grape juice.
Also I got wet all over my front and had to change my pants. High wind is predicted for tomorrow (and also I'm tired of dealing with garlic), so I'll wait a while before pinning it to the line to dry. I might cut off the heads of bulbils and winnow them pretty soon.
Dry weather is predicted from tomorrow until next Tuesday, and not much wind from Friday on. The weather should be perfect for the Tour des Lakes — and I've decided that I doan wanna go.
But I've quite a lot of enthusiasm for going to Leesburg on that day — or perhaps on Friday, so that I don't have to miss the farmers markets. The markets are on the way to Leesburg, but I don't want to haul vegetables around all day.
Yesterday, I bought sweet corn and had a Sprawlmart tour. We had an ear each for supper that night, one ear in corn cakes for breakfast, and half an ear each for supper tonight. I plan to put both the remaining ears into corn cakes for breakfast tomorrow.
I came back from Sprawlmart by way of the Heritage Trail. After the long downhill, one should brake sharply before reaching the bridge. I didn't. I wasn't going too fast to make the right-angle turn, but there were people exactly where I had to put the bike and when I put it elsewhere, I fell off. Much embarrassment, and I had to let them help me up, which wasn't at all comfortable.
I acquired a patch of road rash half an inch long and three millimeters wide on my right knee. While Sara Garin was telling Dave how to care for his biopsy today, I learned that Vaseline is the *only* dressing to use on such wounds. Everything else has ingredients that one can become allergic to.
Also knocked my right brake lever out of alignment, which I didn't notice until I used the brake. Still worked, but distracting.
After unloading my purchases, I tried to straighten it, couldn't, thought of loosening the bolt and then tightening it again, there isn't any bolt. Or any visible means of getting that steel strap in place. Eventually I realized that I needed to take it to the Trail House and have them inspect it for other damage, so I removed various clutter from the panniers and put a hat in the starboard pannier for the walk back, and jumped back on the bike before having a shower.
The mechanic (I've *got* to learn these guy's names; they know mine.) came outside, wrenched the lever back into place with his bare hands, looked over the drive train, and pronounced me good to go, no charge.
The problem with putting petrolatum on my road rash is that it requires so little that no matter how gingerly I dip my finger in the jar, I have a whole bunch left over.
I learned something in Facebook, of all places. Store your canning jars with clean water in them. They will be quicker to clean than jars stored open, and in case of emergency, you can boil the water and drink it.
But I don't use enough jars to make it worth the trouble, and we have a lake to dip boiling and flushing water out of. It would have been worth while when we lived in New York and I had a closet just for canning jars in the cellar, and a bigger garden, and the nearest water was the Hudson.
I suspect that if the water failed, the sewers would also fail — sewage is pumped out of this low area.
Today's schedule is mostly trying to bring enough order to the sewing room that the duct cleaners who are coming tomorrow can get to the register.
And yesterday's was hand sewing on the patio while keeping out of the way. I Also got a load of hot-with-bleach on the line before they got here.
Tomorrow is the Tour des Lakes, but I'm going today. I've been looking forward to it all winter and spring, and I *could* do forty miles if I'm really easy on myself, but as the day approached, it didn't look like much fun — especially the part where I have to be checked in half a hour before I normally get up. (Along about now, having awakened early, so I have time to write before getting dressed.)
So instead of riding forty miles tomorrow, I'm riding twenty today — and I haven't even looked up where to look for marks on the pavement. (I think that last year's route followed one of my usual paths after passing our house, and the routes don't change much from year to year.)
I saw some of the marks leading to Checkpoint Three, and on Saturday I stopped there for a cube of cheese.
Google Maps says that it's 10.9 miles to Owens Fresh Meat Market, and I came back pretty much the same way, so I did ride twenty miles on Friday.
I'd read in "Fifty Years Ago" that a memorial tulip tree had been planted on the courthouse lawn, so I took a lap around the courthouse on my way out of town, and did find a large tree with tulip-tree leaves. It is large, but I'd think a "fast growing" tree would be even larger after fifty years, and there was no plaque.
On the other hand, half the tulip's roots are under the street.
Dave drove me to Grossnickel today and waited in the car while I got my eye stabbed. This series of three is six weeks apart; Dr. Hickman hopes I'll work my way up to annual shots.
I'm washing clothes, including both of my timer-pocketed short-sleeved shirts, so I'm wearing a pocketless "shell". For supper tonight I'm heating up the frozen pizza that we bought when we went to Owen's together.
The ride to Leesburg on Friday was nice, but I goofed up the purchases at Owen's Fresh Meat Market.
Well, the cream was right, but I forgot to bring the old bottle for the deposit.
The ice cream did ride all right between two packets of Black Ice with other frozen food packed into the left-over space, but it was the wrong ice cream. I rejected Heifer Tracks despite yearning for it because I'd bought Moose Tracks twice in succession (first at Kroger, then at Aldi) and we still had some of the second container. After searching in vain for strawberry, I selected Strawberry Blast, which is strawberry with chunks in it. But when I got it home, it was blackberry — the same that we'd bought when I went with Dave, and we still had some of that!
And after all that fuss to buy really-good hamburger, I pattied it too thin and overcooked it crunchy. I did much better with the other half pound on Sunday.
I must remember that I put my alpaca tights in my hope chest, on top of the apron I made for first-year 4-H and the apron Mom embroidered for me.
I've never worn Mom's apron. Once I bought a black skirt for the sole purpose of being able to wear that apron, and was all dressed and ready to go when I remembered that one does *not* wear a hostess apron to somebody else's party.
And I never throw that kind of party. Alice wore hers out. I don't know what became of Nancy's or Mary's; I don't even know what colors they were. Mine is red and Alice's was blue.
Getting into the hope chest isn't easy because we keep the printer on it. Someday I'm going to have to open it up and find out what all is in it. I think Dave's letter sweater is in there.
I washed a sheet today, forgetting that the lawn mower was due, but I was halfway through taking it down when I heard him starting work.
Dave saw a podiatrist in the morning. In the evening he found the final payment on the farm in the mailbox, found a mistake, and made an appointment with the lawyer who wrote the contract. He knew where all the paperwork was; I don't know what I'd do without him.
In the afternoon, I jammed up the printer and Dave spent an hour or so unjamming it. He had to take a lot of parts off.
This was not a good morning.
Dave spent it reading all the records of the farm sale in preparation for our appointment with Vern Landis tomorrow.
I've been meaning to cut a small bed pad into two smaller ones, and figured I'd get that out of the way before I started my chores.
My wash-out marker ran out of ink partway through marking the cutting line. I struggled with getting just a teensy bit more ink out for quite a while before shifting to the self-erasing marker. (This one is a PH indicator; the ink is alkaline, and is gradually neutralized by the carbonic acid in the air, causing the dye to change from purple to transparent.) Then when I'd almost finished stitching to one side of the cutting line, the needle fell out of the machine. I threw it out on suspicion of being bent and put in a new one, and never did get the machine to working properly again. I'm going to eat lunch, take a nap, and embark on a major oiling.
While I was picking out some bad stitches, the phone rang. It was Dr. Moor's office saying that Dave needed Mohs surgery again, and there is nobody closer than Crevicouer who can do it. Dave ought not to drive after surgery, and I can no longer handle Fort Wayne. I can drive home from the medical plaza off Dupont Road — just get on Dupont and stay there until it turns into a county road — but it's impossible to find from the other end. And I don't think I should drive any farther than to the grocery store these days.
Not to mention that I'd be tired after waiting for an unknown number of operations.
On a happy note, when I passed Dave and his table of papers in the kitchen as I was going out to the garage to cut on the cutting line, he announced that there was no mistake after all, and the odds are the lawyer will look over the papers and mail Phil the deed to the farm.
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No major oiling today, and probably not tomorrow. Just as I was settling down, we realized that I needed to drive to Kroger when I got up — we were nearly out of milk and completely out of fresh fruit. I was also very low on cash, so after parking I walked to the teller machine, just in time to see another customer enter. I didn't time her, but was a lot longer than it takes to cross a parking lot with one-inch steps. (Standing still is a really bad idea for me.)
At Kroger, I engaged in a major coupon redemption and also replenished our frozen-food supply. As usual, one of the coupons was for a product that this store doesn't sell. When "personalizing" my coupons they can keep track of whether or not I have a cat, but they don't know which of their branches I spend my money at?
Dave has been yearning for melon, and I was delighted to find a football display of small watermelons suitable for two people.
Then I walked to Jimmy-John's, as the route is rather convoluted by car, and going back to Cleveland would have been easier than trying to get out of McKinley. I wanted to text Dave that I was buying a wrap, but they handed me my sandwich before I got my phone out.
I was surprised to see a green tortilla when we unwrapped the sandwich. It looked as though it was greens, rather than green dye, in the dough, but it still didn't look all that appetizing, and the filling was heavy on raw cucumbers, which neither of us like.
It turned out that both of us liked it very much. There was very little left over.
I sat on the porch beside Dave for a moment before we brought in the groceries. Since it was past time to eat the wrap, I piled the frozen dinners into the freezer any old way.
I suppose that I should go out and straighten them out now, then do the ironing that was supposed to be my second chore this morning, because the internet went down while I was out. It's expected to be repaired at the exact time that I turn off my programs and go to bed.
What I'm *going* to do is to sit on the porch and finish reading Patricia Wrede's _The Dark Lord's Daughter_.
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And a very good book it is.
Put me in mind of reading _The Rolling Stones_ when I was a teenager — when the book ended, I was sorry that there weren't a few more chapters. I hope the teenagers who check out this book — it's shelved in the children's wing — feel the same way.
Pity I can't go to the library's web site and see whether there are other Wredes I haven't read.
I went to the library this morning, returned the Wrede, and checked out a David Drake, the second volume in his retelling of King Arthur. (The first volume was very good.)
Then I went to Sweet Corn Charlie and bought a half dozen ears of corn, a large tomato, and a pint of "lemon-lime" plums. These are bite-size yellow plums with a pink blush on some, and tart skins, but no lemon or lime flavor. Bred by Mr. Lemon and Mr. Lime? Quite tasty. They came in a wood-veneer basket more elegant than the pint baskets Walmart sells for $1.50. I couldn't find a wholesale source of berry baskets on the Web.
I discovered that I didn't know the way from the library to Sweet Corn Charley. I thought that I could follow High to Jefferson and follow Jefferson to Sprawlmart, but Jefferson ends on Detroit, on the wrong side of the tracks, and takes up again on the other side of Fribley Field.
Coming through the tunnel on McKinley Street, one can't see Winona Avenue until right out in it. So I braked while starting up, and scraped my calf on the pedal while putting my foot down. I've never scraped a leg on a pedal before, and Dave said he's never done that either.
I sprinted through the village as usual, parked out front because I intended to go to Our Father's Pantry at two that afternoon to see whether they'd take some surplus garlic off my hands, and put away the groceries. Then I unloaded my pockets onto the eating table, took off my sweaty jersey, put my bloody sock into a bucket of water, and sat down intending to put a band-aid on my scrape before finding something worthy of the first tomato of the season to make a sandwich of. Having arrived home at noon, I was ready for lunch.
At which point I realized that I needed stitches. I'm rather glad that I didn't think of blotting the blood off with sterile gauze (we have a lot left over from Dave's donor site) to see the full extent of the wound.
Dave brought me the first-aid drawer and I taped a dressing over the wound and put my sandal back on so I could get a T-shirt out of the closet without staining the carpet. Dave put my go bag into the car, I fetched my bag of emergency food from the bike (it alternates between the bike and the go bad), and off we went without reflecting that my wallet and phone were on the table and my car keys were in a pair of pants hanging in the closet. Luckily, all we needed was the list of medications in my go bag. I did regret that I don't have nail clippers in my go bag because I never leave the house without either my car keys or my bike keys and each has nail clippers. I'm not adding clippers; if the need for clipping had been dire, I could have used the emery board in the ticket wallet. (My go bag is a carry-on that came with our tour of Australia.)
I thought I'd introduce myself at Parkview by saying "This time it's me!" but of course there was no time or attention for chit-chat. I was surprised to learn that I had a record in my own name.
Way back when, I arrived at an emergency room on a scoop stretcher with sandbags around my head and immediately got the full attention of everybody, but coming in with an obviously-trivial injury, it was three hours before we saw a seamstress.
At one point they X-rayed my ankle. I figure the doctor was under the misapprehension that I'd fallen off my bike, but the X-ray technician didn't have enough information that I was comfortable refusing. I never saw the doctor.
When I changed the dressing this morning, I counted twelve stitches — an even dozen. I couldn't quite see how the practitioner tied the knots — she twirled the forceps that she'd just used to pull the needle through around the long end — the one with a needle on it — grabbed the short end with the forceps, and pulled while pulling on the long end with her gloved hand. The short end always ended up on the side where it started, so there must have been something I couldn't see going on.
I forgot to measure the laceration; the stitches were about a quarter inch apart. The sutures are wire; I presume that the needle was formed in one with the suture. I presume that she would have let me take a close look, but I had other things on my mind.
The wound doesn't bother me at all, but when I walk, the elastic bandage holding the dressing in place feels like a stocking falling down. I presume ten days are long enough to acquire faith that it isn't moving.
I wouldn't say I limp when I'm trotting back and forth in the kitchen, but my gait is definitely not symmetrical. I'm not sure how many years this has been going on, because it happens only when I'm not paying any attention to how I walk.
It's considerably more noticeable when I have a stocking on one foot and the other foot is bare.
The elastic bandage tends to unwind, so I hunted out the sheer stockings I used to wear over newspaper sleeves when I went out in cold or wet weather. Sheer, so they wouldn't hold much water.
I'll have to hunt among other obsolete knee hose tomorrow, having worn one of the pair to church and the other one today.
Dave has ordered three pairs of black cotton knee socks that I can wear on both feet. I hope. I'm pretty sure that they at least have heels — no mention in the description, but heels are implied in some of the pictures.
This morning I fished all my dressings out of the waste basket and stacked them in order on the dresser. (And hid them under an empty dressing wrapper.) The dressing I took off this morning is significantly less bloody than the one I took off last night, and each is at least no bloodier than the one before. The one the stitcher put on is impressive, but not as impressive as the one she took off.
Snivel. We ate all the cream, so I have an excuse to ride to Leesburg. (I require an errand to enjoy a bike ride.)
Today I spent the entire morning regaining access to the paper-recycling bin. I put a half dozen bundles of paper into the wheelie bin, but haven't even started on the cardboard. A lot of it is already flattened, so piling it shouldn't take *too* long.
It naptime.
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I got the cardboard sorted and under weights before suppertime, and read a bit of _The Storm_ afterward.
Supper was frozen fried chicken, fresh corn, and a potato. Neither of us got recognizable pieces of chicken. I found half a thighbone in mine, with something greasy at the joint end. Dave found a piece of wishbone in his.
I should go shopping soon. Probably at Aldi; we are out of pork schnitzel.
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The dressing I took off tonight is bloodier than the one I took off this morning, but I suspect that I put on more Bacitraycin with Zinc. Blood is a very powerful dye: cue the story about how I scared the feathers off a camp nurse by coming into her office dripping red lake water.
I photographed the laceration, but the rectangle of blue skin doesn't show. I have noticed many times that bruises and dirt don't photograph. Like the time Kathy decorated herself with my bath powder during a party at the Colfax place, and hardly any of it showed when we photographed her.
The marks left by the elastic bandage do show.
The sutures looked like shiny silver wire, but the stitches are definitely black. I wonder how that works. It would be easily explainable if the wires were silver, but there are several ways that is impossible.
Finally measured the laceration: 2 3/4" or 7 cm.
I left the sewing machine at Lowery's today. When the clerk saw me come in the door, she called out "Put that down!" and brought out a little flatbed hand truck to drag it back to the repair department.
I can't believe that I took that machine to Hawaii as carry-on luggage! Being half a century younger probably helped. My only clear memory of the trip is that I wore a dress that advertised its unwrinkleability by being sold crammed into a tube, and shipped the rest of my wardrobe. The shipment of clothes was delayed and I got *very* tired of that dress!
Several days ago my hair was making the back of my neck sweat. Instead of pinning it up, I combed it into a pony tail, and then wondered "Why didn't I think of this years ago!"
Because decades ago, my hair was too heavy to stay in a pony tail. A pony tail has probably been possible ever since the spring in the late nineties when I shed like a cat and it didn't grow back in the fall, but pony tails were not on my mental list of possible hair styles, and nobody over eighteen can carry off a pony tail, so I never thought about it.
Today, Steve drove us to Fort Wayne for a consultation with Dr. Crevicouer. Once again, Garin had failed to forward the pictures she took, so we couldn't schedule the surgery right away, but Crevicouer photographed Dave's scalp and when he gets the pictures, we can schedule by phone. And we got the EKG the anesthesiologist needs on our way out.
He's pretty sure a skin graft will cover the wound. I didn't quite catch what he'll have to do if it goes all the way to the skull, but a graft is *quite* enough. The old donor site *still* isn't healed. Crevicouer told me to stop putting E-oil on it and use A&D. With or without zinc doesn't matter.
I wore my new black stockings — and no elastic bandage. The dressing comes pretty close to staying in place on its own, presumably because I keep putting cream on and never washing it off. I can let water run over it and pat it dry with a gauze pad, but must not rub it or put on anything but the tube of cream I got at the emergency room.
In the afternoon, I finally got around to re-potting my oldest basil sprout. I meant to re-pot all three, but after the first, I had to come in and sit in the cool for a while.
I hilled up the potato plant first, to uncover the richer dirt under the pile. It should have been hilled last week.
No, I didn't plant potatoes this year. A potato I'd planned to cook sprouted, so I laid it in the garden and shoveled dirt over it.
Dave managed to get the phone to deliver our voicemail. I must go to the lawyer tomorrow and sign the deed to the forty acres.
I'm feeling grounded because I'll have to drive the car.