The slightly taller/broader RN was the guy who leaned his head in Richard’s door briefly yesterday morning after he’d seen me go by before I had any idea who he was and said something I didn’t catch, ending with, Thank you, with a big smile, and disappeared as fast as he’d come.

So I missed most of the words, but the joy! It was palpable. His whole being absolutely radiated love and my first thought was, he must have confused us with someone else, someone he loved.

Later we got the rest of the story.

The other outcome was that my husband decided there had to be a better captions app than the two I’ve tried and went searching till he found the one the others should have been like all along–one that actually works in a conversation in a room with background noise and with people at various distances away.

I cannot begin to tell you how life-changing that is going to be. It already is.

Thank Stanford for fighting insurers over billing, clearly, because of how it got us bumped to that other hospital. Not a sentence I’d thought I’d be writing.

When I said that podiatrist customer had changed lives? I had no idea.

Turns out there were two kids running the ski department of that outdoors outfitter. The customer helped the one get into podiatry school.

The two good friends who’d been working side by side there never saw each other again.

I came around the corner this morning and standing at the nurse’s station with his back to me was a middle-aged man with the same general build, the same haircut, the same touch of gray at the ear–but he seemed too tall and a smidgen too broad to be our doctor.

Richard’s hospitalization had brought them to the same floor.

Our doctor’s friend had gone to nursing school and was now the senior RN on the floor. There each other was. For the first time in all these years.

The bed was upright and it probably helped to be tall; he assured me, No–trees, clouds, I can see out the window. Not all of it but yeah, I can see.

Good, I feel much better about that.

Meantime, I was stepping out the door today when a crow tumbled–no other word could describe it–out of the holly bush right in front of me and took off on foot, one disjointed wing at a funky angle after its roll down that prickliness.

I later did a search on whether crows fake injuries to lead you away from their nests, and the answer was, very rarely; they’ll be aggressive, they’ll caw for other crows to help them defend and mob, but faking injuries is pretty much for smaller more vulnerable birds, especially ground-nesting ones.

We’ve all seen crows playing king of the mountain at the tippy top of the highest tree around. They like height.

So, let’s see, there’s a snowy plover video here. But that one faked it with both wings. This was just one, and its quick walk was a bit awkward, too.

It couldn’t possibly have had a nest in that short holly bush–there’s no room in those tight spaces for a bird that size even if it wanted to. It was probably there to go after the berries. I wondered if one of the very small species that sometimes does nest in there (with a name like flycatcher you know they and their meals are small) had attacked it from inside there when it landed? I don’t know.

Did you run under my car. How am I supposed to get you to leave.

Now it was up against the neighbor’s house near a bush, that wing and walk still odd. My holly was out of sight and it did not fly to return to it. It cawed loudly, one loud yell, a pause, then another, just as a hawk soared from behind that house and coming into my view–but I don’t think the crow could see it yet. Huh.

I said to Richard later, If it actually was injured, why would it call attention to itself by yelling like that?

To call in reinforcements.

Oh of course. Yes that makes sense.

There was a neighbor I don’t know taking a determined fast walk just then, barbells in hand. I almost asked her, Did you see that crow being weird?!

But the question, um, might have seemed a tad close to home on the part of the one asking it so never mind, I didn’t.

I had questions.

Who designs a new hospital such that there’s a big window in the room but the patient in the bed cannot see out it? His view was entirely blocked by the curving wall of the bathroom on the side of the room where the head of the bed goes. Maybe to entice the patient to start to be ambulatory? Okay, but when they most need to see the sky, anything at all beyond the whirrs and the beeps and the medical gear? They can’t. Only the light reflected off the wall over on that side. The mind boggles.

Maybe they were trying to protect from shattering glass in an earthquake? That’s the only thing that made sense. But Stanford is more seismic-safe in their new building and they didn’t do that. (The new seismic code went into effect a few years ago and a lot of hospital buildings got replaced.)

My view at home with the coming storm putting an exclamation point on the colors.

I had another question I wasn’t ever about to ask: how does one aspire to, I mean, cut off toes when one grows up? What would pull someone to that?

The podiatrist came in and, having a little time today, out of the blue chatted a bit about himself.

He’d thought of going to medical school but being a pilot sounded pretty cool, too, and he was leaning that way. Meantime he was working at one of those big outdoor outfitters, fitting people to their new ski boots–and he was good at it. Really good at it.

A podiatrist came in with his son and complimented his skills. That led to the doctor saying, You know–you really should be a podiatrist. Podiatry needs you.

He believed in the young guy, his enthusiasm rubbed off on him, he (the good now-doctor reminiscing chuckled) pulled some strings and got him in. And so the kid did go to medical school so that he could become a podiatrist, too, and here he was.

And I thought gratefully, one random stranger taking the personal interest and the time for someone else’s child changed so many lives.

He took off the bandaging a nurse had changed not an hour before to inspect how it had done overnight. It frankly looked a lot better than I thought it would: how does one make sense of half a big toe and the missing one next to it? How does the mind look at that and think yes, yes, that makes sense.

It doesn’t but in those skilled hands it had become okay, and I understood now how Richard had so trusted the guy to make the right decision and then to do the thing right. That foot looked the healthiest I’d seen it since August by far. It was such a relief to have all that infection we’d fought and fought against in a slowly losing agonizing battle for half an hour every night month after month simply–gone.

Two canceled trips to see grandkids last year.

There will be healing, and then we can start to plan our life the way we envision it again. It’s been awhile.

I’m going to put the p.s. up here because maybe it belongs there: typing all this out got me to realize that part of the problem could have been how immigrant nurses have been treated in this country the last few months and thus how many are no longer there. But on with the story.

—-

Come 11:30 for the 1:00, they said.

Well that’s a nuisance. (It was rather late in the day for the don’t-eat-don’t-drink.)

You know hospitals always do that, I answered.

People came. Patients got taken back. People left. People came back to pick up their family member being wheeled out. We sat there.

1:00 became 2:00. Finally they took him back and the nurse said she’d come get me as soon as he was all set up.

Right, I knew the drill, he gets into the hospital gown and they do all the set up, you kiss each other goodbye, you go back out to the waiting room and they call you when he comes to.

They didn’t do any of that.

The receptionist who’d checked us in left for the day minutes after we arrived and left her station unmanned.

Pretty soon it was just me sitting alone in that room, knitting away. A few hours in, I put down the knitting and picked up my book. You know how some books, you finish them and immediately start them right over because they’re that good? This emphatically will not be one of them. Oh well.

One guy came in and looked around and around, staring at the desk: why was nobody there? His distress was obvious so I spoke up, to his relief. But they called me! he said. Then they’ll be wheeling her out soon, I assured him. About ten minutes later that same nurse did.

And again assured me Richard would be soon. I said to her, it has been five hours since I’ve seen a bathroom and where on earth is one???

Oh, it’s right over there! (Ie between the inner and outer doors to outside. You don’t often see double sets of doors in California because we don’t have terrible weather but that building did. Hello? Could we please please add some signs?) Okay, I told her, thanks!

And then nothing.

The lights in the room suddenly dimmed and stayed dimmed. Oh thanks.

I needed to refill my water bottle and was glad I could now. I looked at those inner doors: I did not trust them. But I had to have that water and there was no other source.

It was after 5:00 and yes, I got locked out of the building. But, but, but, this is where I have to be for them to come get me to go be with my husband!

I stood there outside the glass doors thinking what on earth am I supposed to do, when at last two orderlies pushing carts walked past at the far side of the room. I tapped on the window and explained my plight. They stopped (bless them), tracked down permission and opened the door for me and disappeared quickly.

Five and a half hours. The second half entirely alone other than that brief encounter. There wasn’t even bad cafeteria food to retreat to: I had been told twice that I’d be called for any time now and this was a small building away from the main hospital building. (They seem to be connected in back these days with all the new construction.)

All I can figure is, they had told Richard yesterday that they would call and he had explained that texting is a better way to reach me because I can’t hear. But texting isn’t in their habit pattern and they simply forgot–but either way, I certainly wasn’t allowed to go through those patient doors by myself to go looking for him. I, meantime, was busy stomping down all kinds of thoughts like did he have a heart attack and they’re too busy trying to save his life to go get me.

When at long last I got their attention and got escorted back there, I sent a note to our Mormon bishop, who had wanted to know how things were going. The answer to that medically was, it was a worst-case scenario of what had been but a best-case scenario of what could have happened if they didn’t stop it now.

But I told him I had never encountered a situation like today’s.

He sympathized–and, it turns out, he was sure his friend the CEO of that hospital would want to hear the story.

What a day.

You don’t interrupt someone in the middle of a doctor appointment–but it had been three hours. Text.

A few minutes later: Four plans. Complicated. Tell you when I get home.

And then didn’t show.

Are you in the hospital.

Didn’t answer.

I hoped that was because he was driving and on his way.

I was putting his cold late dinner in the fridge and was about to call a friend to give her a heads-up that I might need to beg a ride to the hospital when the door opened and there he was. And yes a hospital is one of the plans–but not today and, turns out, not that one. Sitting around waiting for the first one to say no, they’re in a billing dispute with your provider’s corporate overlord is how everyone wanted to spend their time today. The second one said no problem, you’re in.

But at last we know what comes next. We can do this.

Dannette stopped by today, one of my old Purlescence friends. That shop’s been gone about ten years now.

An Anya apricot seedling got us to finally reconnect in person. I had two up for grabs: a 42″ one in a big pot that was going to be a handful to transport and a 24″ one in a one gallon pot. Both were started last year and I’m sure the one will catch up quickly to the other once its roots have some space.

The big one had clearly sounded good beforehand because it’s a nice-sized tree but in person, the small one was so much easier to just pick up and put in her car that it was an easy call.

We caught up a bit. The cute baby that Stephanie Pearl-McPhee bounced in her arms after a book signing that we carpooled for to San Francisco is somehow 12 now, with her oldest in high school.

I reminisced about being at knit night at Purlescence when I excused myself and walked outside to take a call and then walked back in and announced to the crowd, This is my son. He’s calling to say he’s engaged! The whole room roared congratulations and huzzahs as I held the phone out for him to be able to hear.

His oldest is in high school too, now.

Times change around us, we get older, but with friends you just pick up right where we left off.

She’s finally going to have her apricot tree!

I made myself take a good hard look at it. It wasn’t doing it for me, and spending more time on it was just going to make me avoid wasting more time on it in an endless loop of not getting it done. Out!

Doing that much had clarified what I didn’t want and what I did.

Thus the new baby afghan is 3″ long and I’m really happy with it this time. And just in time: next thing you know, I got a text.

There is another new baby on the way.

My father had an aunt who married late and had time for one pregnancy and got identical twins whom I still couldn’t tell apart when they were in their 80’s, but in this case it will just be the one. Long longed for and at long last, and she’ll have the best parents one could possibly hope for. I can’t begin to tell you how thrilled I am for them.

I had an OB years ago who had a poster in his office with a caption that read, A baby is G_d’s opinion that the world should go on.

Our daughter’s flying home tonight. She picked up a bug on the incoming and spent the week wearing a mask to avoid infecting us and a lot of time asleep, but started to pick up again yesterday.

The baby blanket is at long last done and I found the yarn in the stash that I think the next one will probably be made out of. Let me do some more sketches first. Starfish in gansey stitches, what other tidal creatures would work with that idea.

If you’re going to be bewildered, at least have it be by something that doesn’t matter in the slightest, right?

I wanted silver. I settled for gold because I finally had my new post-op prescription in hand and I wanted my new, clearer eyesight and I wanted it now.

Oh Costco. Rose gold? With pink temples? That is not what I saw in the store. How did that happen.

I picked them up Wednesday night and waited till Thursday morning to start wearing them because the lenses were so different; I could have New Year’s Day to get used to them.

Today I saw more. Wait.

Who–seriously, who???–thought that a pair of women’s bifocals needed the joints where the temples meet the frame to be covered by–

I mean seriously–

metal teddy bear faces??? (I held them out to Richard and said, Please tell me at least those aren’t cats, no aspersion on cats but on stereotypes.)

No, those are teddy bears, you’re right.

I am dying to know who thought that that was the best possible idea to do to sell their product. It feels like a UC Berkeley prank in Stanford country: Go bears! Go Tree!

So, (whistling innocently) what are their cat’s-eye frames doing for their side hustle?

How’s the weather up there?

Do you play basketball?

How tall ARE you?

I get that people try to strike up conversations with those around them while stuck in lines, etc, but those same three questions across a lifetime, over and over and over and over and over…

I pulled out my phone and typed, Seven people in line in front of me.

Ouch, he texted back, I’m sorry.

I figured everybody was trying to pick up their prescriptions before the next week-long atmospheric river hits tomorrow.

A fairly tall guy was just in front of me. A taller one came up behind. They chatted a moment over my head. The one behind kindly offered to let me go sit down on that chair way over there and he would hold my place for me; I thanked him for the offer but was fine being where I was. We all went back to quietly waiting and reading our phones. I debated the ribbing of a hat but settled for the New York Times.

The one behind looked away from his screen for a few moments with a little bored sigh in his shoulders.

So I looked him in the eye and said with a grin, When we remodeled we put in extra-tall doorframes so my husband and son wouldn’t have to duck.

Instantly I was in the in group: I clearly knew what it was like even if I wasn’t tall at all. He laughed as *he* asked *me*, How tall are they?

6’8″ and 6.9″.

More laughter, then, I’m not that tall, I’m only 6’6″!

How often does he get to state his height with the word ‘only.’ Non-ironically, no less. He was having a good time.

The CVS clerk motioned me over, we got that done, I turned, and the man caught my eye and said warmly, Have a wonderful holiday!

You, too!

Michelle’s home, Michelle’s home!

Do you remember how, at the very end of high school, everybody felt so close to each other because we saw now how much even our more casual friendships meant to us and knew that we would never see some of those friends again, maybe even the closer ones, we just couldn’t yet know who those would turn out to be across the future?

Like that.

Post-Christmas gifting I looked at my boxes of apricot slabs, did the math on how fast I go through those, and knew they wouldn’t hold me till Andy’s Orchard opens again in May. And nobody sells apricots like his dried-while-dead-ripe slabs. Plus I wanted to pick up something someone else wanted who was going to have a hard time getting there.

Three years ago there was a cherry orchard next to Andy’s. The new houses are big. They kept the name of that farmer on the development but I don’t think they left a single fruit tree in place.

On the other side of his farm, driving down that newly widened and piped road, the open field to the right was rapidly turning into apartment buildings and closely spaced houses. So much change in a month. I turned the corner to the left around the end of Andy’s towards his store and thought, That cannot be good. That’s too many gone.

Stumps…

As I filled up my basket, the guy on duty laughed when I said, These are for my cousin-in-law’s mother-in-law… I laughed too and said, But she’s a really nice person, I love her! She’s flying today from Germany to her son’s house an hour away and is hoping to be able to get here before you close next week. I’m not sure she’ll make it in time, so I’m making sure she’ll be able to get what she wants.

One of I believe Andy’s crew had come into the little store in the middle of the conversation; the two men clearly meant the world to each other, and in those moments they included me in that palpable love, too.

Together they told me.

The closing isn’t just next week.

Andy will do one more season.

And then that’s it. The land is in the process of being sold. The neighbors who complained about being next to a farm, well…

But they bought houses next to a farm! I exclaimed.

They appreciated that I appreciated the absurdity of that. I mean, fruit trees! How intrusive is that!

I had had a feeling this entire year that this was coming, and soon.

I just didn’t want it to be ‘soon’ as in ‘it’s actually happening now’.

I’m just grateful we get to have one last year.

Before I get to what I’d planned to write about, Barbara Walker, author of all the knitting stitch treasuries that together are the knitters’ bible and inventor of the SSK stitch, passed away Sunday at 90 with her son by her side. She gave our world so much.

And on a different tangent.

It’s a little big (let’s be real: it’s huge) but I liked it. The style is a down-to-earth classic. The strap is wide enough not to dig into your shoulder, and, as it turns out it doesn’t grab and pull my hair like my current purse does. The organization, the softness they claimed (rightfully so–yay), its full grain…

I measured and checked sizes again and again. I was glad they said family-owned, not a big corporation, so I could order it in good conscience during the Black Friday sales. Because protests.

The zipper went across the whole freaking top, not just the middle third section like my Kate Spade. Finally! No spilling! And there’s a mesh holder for a water bottle, along with all the other little details inside.

But: Christmas morning I told him I’d bought that bag for him. I explained why.

I carry a purse everywhere. I want one stuff doesn’t fall out of, not just to have my wallet be protected but my knitting. (Which got dumped in the muddy driveway last winter when I pulled my purse across the steering wheel getting out of the car.)

A bag with its strap over your shoulder is the last thing he ever thinks of because that’s just not his life.

And that is why he has twice now left his travel cpap machine behind while flying. Both times we’ve gotten it back but that last time especially was a near thing.

It fits into my humongous new leather zipped tote. So still does enough of the stuff that I would need to carry on board a flight that it will definitely do. I will never ever leave my purse behind. We’re good here.

We mostly pick out our own gifts at this stage and tease each other that it’s from them, but, I don’t think I’ve ever seen my husband so grateful that I bought myself a present.

You could buy four of those and a fanny pack for one CPAP replacement.

She was fairly confident the x-ray would show a hairline fracture, but it proved a 404: Not Found. Swelling only.

She exclaimed over my green Mecha hat on the needles, and I thought with a grin, now I have motivation to finish it.

She very much approved my Birkenstock clogs (she has the same ones.) Nice and solid bottom to them, good for this. But even better, this boot would keep me from flexing my foot while walking around and yes I should wear it to speed up the healing quite a bit. She diplomatically did not say I should have come in two weeks ago.

So I’m wearing it. My gift to Near-Future Me. It looks like a mini black snow shovel with straps.

Happy Birthday to our Maddie, and a Merry Christmas to all!