Beloved’s sister has decided that we must live out in the middle of nowhere with no easy way to get to a grocery store. Or maybe she hasn’t decided that, but it’s the story I’m telling and sticking to. I have no other way to explain how we ended up with several large boxes tea from Beloved’s home city. I mean large boxes. As in it will take us a long time to drink it all up. And that’s if we drink it all day every day.
She also sent us local condiments to enjoy on homemade bread or such. So if a storm should come along and we are trapped in the house for a long time we at least have condiments and tea. I’m sure we can survive on that. No, seriously it was sweet of her to send it and Beloved adores getting packages from home.
I just wish she had spaced it out a little better so that I wouldn’t feel like I’m up to my eyeballs in tea and condiments and no place to store it all. I fear that they will find my body underneath an avalanche of tea and jars. It’s not exactly how I’d like to go if you know what I mean. But Beloved reasons that at least then the responders would have access to refreshments before they cart my corpse off. Always thoughtful that way, so he is.
And yes, truth be told I am a bit jealous of him. No one sends me food from home, mostly because of rules and regulations. It isn’t easy to get the food I want here. So yes jealousy has me a bit green, but at the same time, there surely is a shelf life to tea right?
While having a lovely meal with some friends, I couldn’t resist asking one of my friend’s what happens to all the cosmetic fillers people put in their bodies after the person has died. What I wanted to know is if there would be proof long after a person was deceased that said person had used fillers.
Now a brief aside here, all of my friends are used to these odd questions, typically posed while we are sharing food and/or drink. In other words it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary and everyone, well other than Beloved, was okay with this question. Beloved was repulsed by the question. Mostly because he had been enjoying his food and does not want to think of decay while he is eating. I know, he is odd.
I am still waiting for an answer to this question, by the way, as my friend didn’t know. But she promised to check with a few other doctors who do that work more than she does.
And this one, innocent question I posed lead to a most delightful conversation about what to do when you don’t know a loved one’s wishes after s/he has been deceased. My doctor friend causally tossed out the fact that bodies are never released to families any longer, instead just funeral homes etc. The reason being is that some people would not deal with the remains appropriately. She shared stories with us about people who basically lived with their deceased relatives, unembalmed etc. for years.
By this point Beloved was no longer interested in eating and so he pointed out that in some cultures, those who aren’t “afraid of growing old or dying”, have ceremonies where they bring their deceased relatives out each year. Mostly bones of course, but still.
It was around this point the waiter came and asked us if we were finished, not because the restaurant was busy or because we were loud, but rather because he disliked the conversation. So we paid our bills and left, heading to my friend’s house for coffee and such and to carrying no the conversation. We also made a note that we wouldn’t be dinning at that establishment again because we were a bit miffed with the waiter. Although Beloved did point out that the conversation wasn’t one to inspire ones appetite.
The leaves were dancing on the cool wind today. And so the four-footed one went dancing as well. Dancing after the leaves and perhaps as an effort to stay warm in the wind. I was along for the ride so to speak.
It was a complicated dance, changing pace and movements rapidly almost on a whim. The four-footed one seemed to understand the intricate steps as if she had been an understudy just waiting for the moment to step into the light. And in her moment in the light, she danced with passion and wild abandonment. To be honest I was a bit jealous of her, just a bit because I was also tired from the journey.
And like all individuals caught up in a passion, the four-footed one could not be denied her time. Nor the duration of the dance. She stopped only when the dance was finished or in our case the wind stopped dancing with the leaves. And when that moment came, the four-footed one sat down to rest. And refused to move another step, leaving me with two options: drag her home or carry her.
Obviously I carried her home, even though I was tired enough that I wondered what would take less energy.
Something is rotten in the state of Denmark according to Marcellus in Hamlet’s First Act, Scene 4. And while I cannot speak about the state of Denmark specifically, it would appear that something is wrong in the state of my house. Oh not the house itself. It appears to be holding up just fine. However, there is something very strange afoot within the structure. And I cannot put my finger on exactly how the rot is happening. You see dear friends, I try to never run out of coffee in the house. Being out of coffee is a bit like a disaster on the most global of scales for me. (Let’s face it, I don’t even like myself when I don’t have coffee.)
The past few days I have “restocked” the kitchen with coffee from the pantry only to find that by the next morning the entire restock needs to be, well, replenished. Again. The four-footed one does not drink coffee, although not for lack of trying on her part. That leaves only two humans in the house, Beloved and I. I have one cup of coffee in the morning before I head out. When I’m out of the house I will have more coffee, but that’s out and not using the supplies in the house. If Beloved is out he does the same thing. If I am home I will have another one or two cups in the morning followed by one or two cups in the afternoon. I typically have a cup of coffee after my evening meal as well. Beloved swears he doesn’t consume as much coffee throughout the day as I do. So, over the past few days he is the only one home all day and yet, and yet, the coffee supply has been depleted more than if I had been home all day.
For the record Beloved also states that he does not touch the coffee supply, as in he does not put things back in the pantry if he feels we have too much in the kitchen. (If he were doing so, it should be noted that he is not placing it back in the original location.) So something seriously rotten is afoot within my abode. And I do not like it. Not one little bit.. I am, in fact, close to throwing a fit! I am tempted, yes tempted indeed, to set up little cameras and see what is happening with my coffee supplies. Beloved, of course, has decided the action I wish to take is crazy. He also thinks I am forgetting what day I actually replenished the coffee. In other words he thinks I am imagining this whole thing. Except there is that minor detail. Just a small one really. About the missing coffee that is not being found anywhere else in the house.
So if anyone can spare some time to find what is rotten and afoot within my house I would greatly appreciate it. After this is solved I will send the person(s) back to dealing with the state of Denmark for Marcellus. And yes, in case you are wondering, this coffee thing is a major offense, and the ultimate punishment should be inflicted upon the offender.
One of my neighbor’s has taken to feeding the stray cats in the area. At first he put out a few dishes of food out near the trees where the cats can sometimes been see. He’d collect the empty dishes and set out new dishes full of food on a daily basis. This went on for a few months before he decided to do something different.
He moved the food dishes to his back door to make it easier for him to ensure there was always food and water available for the stray cats. He also started setting out little catnip toys for them to enjoy.
And naturally we started noticing more cats in the area. We also started noticing that some of the birds were disappearing as well as the squirrels. Logically it made sense, increase in cats means a decrease of small animals. It was a tough choice, let the cats starve or realize we might have fewer birds and such. I couldn’t say the cats were eating the birds, which another neighbor suggested, but naturally birds and cats will keep their distance.
The four-footed one didn’t attempt to make friends with the cats. Instead she kept her distance. But when the skunks and foxes started coming into the neighbourhood, well she couldn’t resist these new beings. Thankfully the foxes were too shy to play. As for the skunks, they clearly are used to dogs as they let the four-footed one come up and sniff them. She also tried to play with them. They weren’t interested in play, but thankfully they also didn’t spray.
The neighbor who thought he was helping the cats didn’t believe us about the foxes and skunks. That is until one say when he was setting out the food and a skunk walked right into his house. Of course the skunk didn’t stay, it walked back out of the door which wa still being held open due to shock.
We now have more birds and squirrels on the neighbourhood. And the skunks still visit now and then. As they as passing by.
I finally understand, I mean really understand, why when I have my blood drawn these days they call them labs. It isn’t because they will be running tests on my blood. Nor because they will be peering into my blood to look at the circus show that happens with my blood cells, although that does seem a bit of a laboratory thing doesn’t it?
You see friends the truth is it is the shape I’m in when I go to have my blood drawn. Pretty much a Frankenstein-type shuffling being enters the room with the required paperwork. And that individual is me, although I hardly recognize it at the time.
When they take the blood, it isn’t just a tiny bit. I’m pretty certain they drain my body and refill it with some odd fluid exchange that allows me to remain upright. I know, you find it hard to believe, but consider this. When you go to donate your blood at the end of the ordeal they ensure you have cookies and juice. When I have blood draws because of lupus they don’t offer me cookies or juice despite the fact they’ve removed 15-17 vials of blood.
So the place that takes my blood is a laboratory and I am in fact a type of monster. There is no other way to explain it. Honestly, would it hurt them to give me a cookie, or at least a sticker for all the blood they take?
Sir Winston Churchill supposedly said “when you are going through Hell, keep on going”. I guess he decided Hell was not a place to stop, rest, do some sightseeing and basically get trapped. Pity I heard about all of this after I made my foray into Hell. Or as I like to call it Insurance companies claim departments.
Seriously, if you have a chronic illness like lupus, and take medications such as I do, you inevitably end up in Hell. It’s starts off with a simply phone call, afterall surely they have misunderstood something or made a mistake while processing your claim.
When they put you on hold the first time, you descend a little further into Hell. No amount of breadcrumbs dropped as a trail will help you. This is Hell after all. And the fun is just beginning!
After the first hold there is the questioning about if you really need the medication and such. And then the transfers and demand for further paperwork. And down you go, further into the one way path in Hell.
If you are lucky some of the required paperwork will have to come from a doctor or specialist. These are the people who can rescue you from Hell. But it may cost money and of course the deeper the level is that you happen to be on, the more it will cost or the longer it will take you to get out.
Perhaps instead of going through Hell you could get a pass, after all you are dealing with a serious chronic illness. Surely that is more than enough.