Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday. . .

My three medical appointments on Tuesday wore me out, so since then I've mostly slept. I think all my tests were okay, but haven't heard from the mammogram yet. Today I had to go to Walmart to pick up prescriptions. It kept misting rain, threatening to get serious, but I got home safe and fairly dry.

Yesterday Dave and Jennifer came and cleaned the house, and did several extra chores. One was moving the doll house out of the living room, to the office., and moving some other furniture around. Last night I finished reading Summer Lightning, by Judith Richards, a very good book once you get into it and realize what's going on (precious little boy with exasperating parents). I'm still working (hard) on Jacob's Room, and I'm past the halfway mark.

After Walmart, I stopped by KFC for a $5 mini-meal, which turned out to be more than I could eat at one sitting--two pieces of chicken, biscuit, potatoes and gravy, a big Pepsi, and a choc.-chip cookie. All that was missing was some veggies, but there's some of those in the fridge for dinner.

Delightful Book!

Last night I finished reading The Great Big Doorstep by E.P. O'Donnell. I had read it years ago, but had forgotten most of the details. It's about a Cajun family, from the viewpoint of their pre-teen daughter, a real right-brainer.

This past week was spoiled by clinic appointments, and it looks as if next week will be similar. They want to re-run the tests they did last week, like drawing the rest of my blood.

Yesterday Jed came over from Atlanta, and we went to my Cardiology clinic appointment. Dr. Gupta wanted me to come back next Tuesday for an electrocardiogram, after my appointment with Dr. Gruman. I had tried to schedule the latter the same day as the former, but they said Dr. Gruman had an appointment Thursday afternoon himself. I hope he's okay.

Last night Jed and I watched two really good science-fiction movies, "The Martian," and I forget the title of the other one. Matt Damon was in both, but Matthew McConaughey was the star of the second one. Those were the two best "new" movies I've seen. I had read "The Martian" book, but I think the movie was even better.

In the news today: Harper Lee has died at age 89.

Scrumptious on Rye

Sandwich for Lunch:

Mayo, lettuce/salad mix, jalapeno/Monterey Jack, tomato, all layered with pastrami, salt, black pepper--yum!

I drove to TKC yesterday and actually enjoyed the trip. Driving, that is. Dr. Gruman has just about talked me into quitting my 2-3 cigarettes a day--I have to admit that the count is not always accurate. (What occurs in my car, stays in my car.) After today (or tomorrow), I won't smoke at all any more. Ever.

No friend Jackie to talk to. No dog Gretchen for company. No cigarettes. No Coke. What's left? Eating until I'm unconscious? I weighed 117 pounds this morning. Unless I get busy writing this new book, Cassandra, I predict I'll be back up in the 150's before the end of the year.

I'm really pulling out all the stops for this little novel. Most of the people whom I'll libel or slander are dead. Except me.

This will be my fourth-and-a-half novel. Never mind that I've only made one effort apiece to get the three finished ones (drafts) published. I've even lost the two-and-a-half "romance" novels, have no idea what happened to them. Don't care.

Yesterday I went to TKC for my appointment with Dr. Gruman. He was very complimentary about my quitting smoking, and said I looked wonderful. I just wish this craving would go away. The feeling is something on the order of having lost one's best friend. No comfort. No one to talk to. Cold and lonesome.

*

Toward the end of Post Captain, there's a scene where Stephen says to Jack, "Come, brother. Here is too much blood altogether." And the tears roll down my face.

The King Charles's Head Syndrome

I'm dreading next week. But as time plunges headlong, it'll be over before you know it.

I started to say we had a "puny little snowfall," but I'm too superstitious--it could bury us next time. The deck was covered with glittering crystals of snow over ice.

Three things that went right today: I woke up. I had one Coke and plenty of coffee. My sore arm is better.

*
Probably for the first time, I don't even want to watch "Jeopardy."

Low Battery

These old bones don't want to go, but I've got those two clinic appointments, so I guess I'd better put it in gear. Every time I go over there, I say I'm not going to do it again. But I guess Dr. G. gets the credit for keeping me going for the last twenty-odd years. Pretty good mechanic.

Beg pardon?

Well, my hearing is 88% normal in what I call my "good ear," and 95% normal in what I call my "bad ear." Maybe I just don't pay attention. The doctor said I could get a hearing aid if I really wanted one. That's just about exactly what they told me when I had a hearing exam ten or fifteen years ago.

At the clinic, a very tall elderly gentleman got on the elevator. He says to me, "I almost ran over you, Shorty. Are you sure you're standing up?"

I said to his belt buckle, "When I was a young spring chicken like you, I was six feet tall."

A lady who I presume was his wife said, "The last person he said that to, told him, 'If I was as big as you, I'd beat your a--.'"

I love talking to strangers.

*

The girl at the reception desk in Radiology said, "And when is your birthday, Mrs. Pinson?"

I wanted to tell her to go upstairs and get her hearing tested, but decided I had been witty enough for one day.

Plumb wo' out!

Today I've mailed a manuscript, driven to Birmingham, and spent the afternoon at The Kirklin Clinic where I walked about five miles and had umpteen tests, all of which were okay, and a flu shot. Except my cholesterol was on the "high end of normal," and I haven't got the chest X-ray results yet.

Don't know if I'm really as tired as I feel, or if it's just letdown from nervous tension. Anyway, I'm glad it's over for another six months or so. Except they're scheduling me for a bone density test and a hearing exam in the near future. And I need to get some new glasses. Maybe by Christmas they'll leave me alone.

Tomorrow Dave is coming to clean the carpets, so I've got to get everything possible up off the floor, tired notwithstanding.

Ultrasound--Nothing

They couldn't even find what they thought they saw before.

Clinic Appointment Tomorrow

When I go for my checkup, I'm always afraid they'll find something terrible. So I always try to fortify and cheer myself beforehand. Get my clothes all pressed and ready. Make a list of things to discuss, such as pain in my toes and tunes stuck in my mind. Invent stoic phrases, such as, "I've crossed the ocean in an airplane, so I think I can handle this." Which is true.

As Usual

Have to be at the Clinic at 10:00, and of course I'm feeling fine, except hurried and anxious. I've left my coffee mug somewhere in the house, and it's probably empty anyway.
*
So, I went to the Clinic, then I voted. So I've done two things today.
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A pretty good book: Bag Men, by Mark Costello. Yesterday, to calm the fidgets, I picked up this book and read it. Ultra-violent and gory, but very well written, gripping and suspenseful. And only 3-4 typos. One of the worst, most vengeful killers in literature--the author saved him, probably for another book.
*
I noticed that our PBS channel is showing Season 1 (and presumably Season 2) of "Downton Abbey" again. I think it was on Sunday that I saw the tail-end of episode 2 or 3 on the channel.

What day is it? Where am I?

I knew my clinic appointment was today, but I thought it was Friday. But it's Thursday, so I'll go to TKC this afternoon for another test which they haven't put me through in the last year or so. Then I'll come home and try to crawl under the bed, with no success. Then, if I can get the house raked out and some vittles cooked, we can have the sister supper tomorrow evening.

One of these days...

I'm going to buy me a bed that's high enough to crawl under. That's what I feel like doing when I get home from one of these all-day clinic visits. And it didn't even rain when I was driving home.

Driving in the rain

Someone posted on Facebook a link to a story that says Larry McMurtry, age 76, is getting rid of most of his enormous collection of books, and won't write fiction any more. I hate to see someone give up at such an early age. Seriously, "age" is "becoming my concern of late" (R. Frost). I'm trying to wash all my dirty laundry and throw away the rags--which won't leave me much laundry to worry about. But I'm not giving up much else, certainly not my scribbling.

Wish I could give up driving. Mama gave it up at age 65, and we spent the next 25 years driving her around wherever she commanded. When I lived in Montgomery and Selma and Birmingham, I would come to Leeds almost every weekend and take her to the grocery store and TG&Y or TJ Maxx. When I lived on Oak Trail for seven years, I would go to her apartment after work almost every day to watch Magnum PI with her and play Scrabble. I miss Mama.

But I can't give up driving. I've got a Clinic appointment on Thursday for my annual checkup, which of course I dread like--like I-don't-know-what. Driving in the daytime isn't really a problem, except that when I've got one of these pesky medical appointments, I get nervouser and nervouser. And when it's time to drive to Birmingham, I'm so keyed up I can't see straight. And there's always a rainstorm when I'm driving home.

I've been canceling appointments all this year, so I reckon I'll go this time.