Thank You!

SiP 61, Ankle 30

Friday always means knitting group, real or zoom. Zooming wears out my eyes: flicking around to see all the participants, trying to avoid talking over your friends, and then keeping track of your knitting project as well—an hour is about what I can manage. I am bumbling along, never seem to really do anything and then the day is over. It is work to stay focused and positive. Mr S just read me something about a store security guard who was shot dead by a guy who refused to wear a mask in the store. I probably shouldn’t even share that, but it is such a powerful awful image, such a symbol of what we’re up against here. Men with rifles in Texas, forming a protective circle around a defiant woman who wanted to open her tattoo parlor. They are so proud of themselves, offering to take their services wherever needed. And here we are knitting. Or trying to. Trying to make sense of looping string around and around itself.

We took the chicken out of the freezer, but not early enough for it to defrost in time for dinner. Consolation prize was to treat ourselves to a meal from the Spanish restaurant downtown. I hope they make it; curbside pickup can’t be the best way to run a place, but they are making a huge effort to stay afloat. I’m not usually a big fan of takeout—all those containers, and squished food, and lukewarm meals—but they’ve done a fine job of curating things that travel well and present just fine at home. A bottle of really good wine cast its spell over everything. And earlier I made another rhubarb confection for dessert, so we’re set. 

In the middle of this my son called to tell me about an intermittent fasting diet, in which you limit the hours in which you consume anything. I think the point is that we are eating all the time and overworking our digestive system, but it wasn’t something I was ready to hear, knowing what we had on the table. 

And here’s what happens if you fall and break a bone when you’re old: the cardiologist wants me to wear a monitor for a month to make sure I didnt have an a-fib related blackout when I fell. The GP wants me to come in a get a bone density test to see if I have osteoporosis. Duh, of course I do. We all do. I’m sure he has a cocktail I can take to fix that, and create some other problems while we’re at it. The only person I love in all this is the PT, and she wants me to continue wearing the elastic stocking to make sure I dont get a blood clot!  It is better not to shake the system’s cage, if you don’t mind strange metaphors.