Dear Diary – We made it to week 21, the legal drinking age back in the ’70’s. But I don’t need to reach for alcohol to have a good time. I just have to watch the birds.
This morning I watched a happy robin skip up the belly of my upside-down wheelbarrow and hop on the wheel…which immediately started turning, literally scaring the crap out of the bird as it squawked rudely and it’s wings and legs flailed wildly in all directions. Once composed on the ground, intact and with attitude it strolled into the garden, where it could hide in shame amongst the lilacs.
Totally what I would do.
If I’d only had my camera ready…
Dear Diary – Friday I made my way to a hospital I haven’t been to in over a decade, for my bi-annual mammogram and ultrasound. The first challenge was finding a parking spot. I found one fairly quickly but it required me to carefully wedge my small car between a huge SUV crowding the line on the right, and a concrete post on the front left corner. Next, I had to hobble my way in from the wilderness and stand in a cue for clearance to enter the building. With the fresh yellow mask that was 2 sizes too big for my nanohead, I began wandering the halls to find the elevator level one. Level one was not the floor on which I entered the building. That was the ground level. I had been instructed to follow the green lines on the floor and I did. I really did…until I got off the elevator and the green lines were non-existant. I found them again, after wandering the wrong direction and being redirected by an unamused receptionist at the other imaging desk.
Once I arrived, I was quickly processed, stripped, gowned, and watching a newscaster discuss monkey pox on the television. Yes, it’s a real thing!
One comedian described preparing for a mammogram and this was my favourite:
Visit your garage at 3 a.m. when the temperature of the cement floor is just perfect. Take off all your clothes and lie comfortably on the floor sideways with one breast wedged under the rear tire of the car. Ask a friend to slowly back the car up until your breast is sufficiently flattened and chilled. Switch sides, and repeat for the other breast.
The only thing they forgot to add is shallow breaths…which, when your tender bits are being crushed, is all you can do!
I have an irrational fear when it comes to mammograms. I can handle the discomfort of baring my breasts to a stranger and having my body twisted and manhandled into a torturous device. It’s a necessary evil and I will do it rather than risk the consequences of not. Medicine rocks! It’s the fear of being trapped in said device. I once read a story, probably an urban legend, that a fire alarm went off during one woman’s mammogram, and in her panic, the technician ran off, leaving this poor woman trapped in the machine. There is no fail-safe release lever for the patient in the event of an emergency, and being so severely squished, this poor woman could not inhale sufficiently to call for help. Eventually she was released and compensated for her trauma, but that mental image is forever burned in my brain.
My doctor called me this week to say that for the most part, everything looks great. Except for a tiny cyst that the clinic would like to view next year.
Dear Diary – Do you remember last week when I posted a photo of my pickle castor to see if I would get more likes than a posting of a deviled egg plate? The deviled eggs were more popular than my blog, by a huge margin.
Dear Diary – I was watching a nuthatch enjoying our breakfast bar on the back porch. Normally, nuthatches don’t like to share, but there did appear to be another bird on the other side. After I looked out the other window, I realized with horror that there was another bird but…it was stuck inside the bird feeder. I have NO idea how this little twerp found his way inside since the openings are less than half an inch high and three inches wide. Fortunately, the roof of the house-shaped bird feeder lifts up. Unfortunately, I’m way too short to reach it!
I dragged a lawn chair closer and precariously perched on the edges of said chair, knowing full well that if I stood in the centre I was going to fall right through. Lifting the roof, I released little twerp, who flew immediately to the lilac tree and a great discourse ensued over this harrowing experience.
Maybe they were playing angry birds and overshot the ledge!
Dear Diary – Youngest Son is officially taller than Hubby!
Hubby is not amused!
Dear Diary – Eldest Son sent me a realty listing for a property near him. It was over $4 million. I told him he could the $4 million and I’d cover the rest…
Dear Diary – This Saturday we experienced an incredible storm, which now has its own Wikipedia page. Merriam-Webster defines a derecho as “a large fast-moving complex of thunderstorms with powerful straight-line winds that cause widespread destruction”.
I was washing windows on this beautiful, sunny, breezy afternoon when the alert from Environment Canada blared on our cell phones. Hubby was watching a gentleman inspect our air conditioner outside. Within 15 minutes, the house was as dark as it is by dinnertime in the winter and the wind was tossing the trees. Hubby and the furnace guy hustled inside as the rain started. In the blink of an eye, the lilac tree was kissing the ground and the rain flew by sideways in misty white furls. Hubby and furnace guy had just started to inspect the furnace when the power went out. Furnace Guy decided he’d return another day despite our offers to stay until the storm had passed, and we watched him twist his way down the street around the path of large branches littering our street.
As quickly as it started, the storm was over and we were more fortunate than many of our neighbours. Eldest Son’s friends who live literally blocks from us, were without power for 18 hours. At least one EF2 tornado has been confirmed in a neighbouring town, and my father-in-law, who is about 6 hours away, may still be without power.
That evening we drove to McDonald’s for ice cream and to survey some of the damage. Large trees had taken down fences and roofs had been stripped of more than just shingles. Even a safety bar at the train crossing had been ripped off. The line up at McDonald’s was long so we just came home.
I wondered how Youngest Son was…since he was camping in a field at a youth event. (He was – just some broken tent poles and soggy sleeping bags. All part of the adventure!)
I wondered if Eldest Son was going to be working long hours to clean up the storm damage around hydro lines. (He was long into the early morning hours).
On Sunday morning, we went to visit Eldest Son. It’s been at least 3-4 years, partly thanks to covid, since I’ve been to his place, and despite assurances that he has cleaned from time to time, I was still dubious. I had every right to be! We tidied and sorted and cleaned together for hours. More importantly, I got to meet his girlfriend. She’s pretty and sweet, and I’m so happy for him!
We left early in the evening so they could have some time alone. I entertained myself by taking photos out the window.
And I watched the sun set in a glorious array of gold.
I live in constant anticipation of good stuff. It’s not being ‘Pollyanna’ about things, but most stories don’t have the ending we would give them right away. The better endings come later.
Bob Goff
jennsmidlifecrisis 