I think, actually, there was one in the room the whole time but at 4 am one does not remember details.
And so I stumbled across the house to where I knew my rescue inhaler was, next to the weather station that said it was 38 outside. Brrr. The mango monitor? Forty-nine. Good. I finally fell back asleep about when it was time to wake up. Richard was trying to let me get some rest.
Late, I had to eat and drink in a very few minutes, when I am not someone who likes breakfast early, because they required a four-hour fast before the CT scan and X-rays. Remember that drink 8 oz every two hours or my kidneys fail thing? You simply get through what you have to get through, but I knew I would be in no shape to drive.
Richard dropped me off, the techs there were wonderful, and Michelle picked me up when it was over. I knew worrying before I get any results back is a complete waste of emotional space but it’s easy to do–I didn’t even pull out my knitting, I read a Time mazine to keep my brain busy, and then there was my sweet daughter asking if I’d like to go check out that Penzey’s spice store?
She knew I’d never been but that I’d been wanting to. When there wasn’t a parking space close enough, she dropped me right at the door so I wouldn’t have to do a minute’s time in the sun before she hurried in herself.
My spices were generally old as dirt and about as useful as. Michelle thoroughly enjoyed my delight. Four different types of cinnamon. Indian spices. Vanillas. Mixes of their own making. The cream of tartar I was out of that I needed to make a certain someone’s angel food birthday cake coming up.
There was a pretty jar with a lift top at each display so that you can inhale, imagine the dishes to be made of it and then on to the next. Tandoori, Sate, Northwoods Fire seasonings, Parisienne Fines Herbes, really good Chinese Five Spice, a seafood soup base with clams, crab, shrimp, and lobster as the first ingredients, those all went into the basket. The pizza seasoning or the version specifically designed to doctor frozen ones?
Michelle reminisced longingly over the pizzas on homemade bread I used to make (before her dairy allergy set in), rolled up and sliced cinnamon roll style to try to contain the kids’ messes–and so we agreed it had to be the real-thing bottle.
I finally sneezed after I got back in the car. Once.
And then she whisked me away to Timothy Adams for hot chocolate just because. Adams was there, cheerful as always and glad to see us. Totally unfazed by my slumping down over there–I’d needed that.
They all totally rescued my day. I didn’t make it to knit night–I was just too tired to even think of it–but I made it through what I needed to and had a good time after, topped off by Skype time with the grandsons.
I did, however, manage to spot and pull this nasty little specimen out by the roots after dinner. (For scale, the lid of that big bin is half again the size of our trash can’s.) This one weed, at least, is gone from us and it can never come back. It was deeply, deeply gratifying.
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