That’s me, for sure. I’ve waited just a couple of days beyond the two month mark of my last post, but I suspect no one missed me. Still, it may come as a surprise to some of you that I’m still alive. I am old, after all, and old people tend to die sometimes.
The pandemic has been tough on all of us but things seem to be slowly getting back to normal. Diane and I still wear masks when we go to stores and we choose to avoid Portland unless there is not choice about it.
dot dot dot — The above opening was written on April 1st then I apparently got busy doing a bunch of other stuff. Consequently, I unintentionally validated what a procrastinator I truly am. In my defense, you’ve got to believe me when I claim that my head was very busy all this time, filled with good intentions, but none of it triggered a need to activate my sore, busy fingers … until now.
We’ve survived COVID, so far, but it’s apparently sill causing havoc in many other parts of the world. Masks, although carried in a purse, or pocket, are rarely used. Even so, it appears, to me, that people are doing a better job at keeping their distance from one another. That works for me. To enhance that action I quit taking showers. Seems to work OK, too.
Diane is still tending to her Mom most of the time, and I’m still the cook. This has been going on since October and Diane is well past the point where a break is necessary. So, she contracted with a professional care giver which will allow us to take the RV out for a short trip to the beach. Right after we made these plans, it snowed 4″. In April! For Portland it was the first measurable snowfall in April in records history. Weather is pretty screwy all over the US so we plan to just deal with it and make our trip anyway. Should be fun.
Big Brother Jim turned 85 (I think) a few days ago. I waited all day, then a couple more days, for him to call me so I could wish him a happy birthday. Yesterday I gave up and called him to find out why he hadn’t called, and to make sure he’s OK. Turns out he took a trip down his driveway a while ago, literally. Smashed up his glasses, broke his arm, and pretty much caused a huge intake of breath from the family and friends who live in his vicinity. He explained the even in great detail for me and I was able to visualize every frightening step of the way. Bleeding profusely, he said he crawled to the back door and pounded on it seeking help, which he finally got. Now he’s got a problem with the blood stains on his driveway which probably won’t come clean.
He’s well into mending, and actually found humor in it as he looked back and shared with me. I think we both agreed that at his age falling isn’t a good thing. He promised to never do that again. I hope it’s true, but I’m skeptical.
The other day we gathered at The Old Spaghetti Factory for a late lunch with our PT Cruiser Friends. One couple had moved to Florida and were back in the area for a visit so our leader chose that as a reason for us to gather once more. That, and the fact that COVID restrictions had eased making such gatherings legal. A good time was had by all and Diane and I were able to visit with some folks we hadn’t seen in years. Turn out that some of those folks actually read this blog which surprised me. Because of that I felt compelled to get busy and at least say “Hi” to everyone. So, “Hi!” everyone.
I’ve been having trouble maintaining a stable BS level. To help with that I’m intimately involved with a VA Pharmacist and a VA Dietician to help and guide me. Diane knows and it’s OK. All the visits are virtual so all we do is talk. One hand thing I learned was that the little BS meter the VA gave me is actually a bluetooth device and, with the proper app, will send all BS info to my phone. I don’t remember how I discovered that because no one told me. When I shared that with the pharmacist she went, “huh. Didn’t know that could be done.” I’ve had this meter for years and spent countless hours writing down all those numbers only to discover it could be done automatically. Since discovering that, and complaining to my pharmacist that, since I’m only an amateur diabetic they only allow me 50 test strips for a 60 day period and they want me to test morning and night. The math doesn’t quite work for that so they upped count to cover my need. Now I take tests pretty much any time I want and my tiny little fingers are suffering from it. All of them are covered with little scars on the ends from needle pokes. They don’t seem to hurt as much as they used to so I think I pretty much killed all the nerves in my finger tips.
The clock on the wall tells me it’s time for me to trek down the hill to Grandma’s House so I can feed her. That’s a need because I’m the cook for all meals. Did I say that before? I also need a cup of coffee to kickstart my day.
Hope all of you are doing well. Stay safe and keep a light on for me.