flemmings | Entries tagged with rl

Made it to the laundromat so now I have clean hoodies and a fresh-smelling blankie. Webpages are all about 'walk 30 minutes every day' which is like, walk where? Around one's palatial mansion? Or maybe the wps are all in California and don't believe in the existence of ice and snow. But today was above freezing and the sidewalks were bare so I got out in my shoes, and not only laundered but shopped at Fiesta as well. And was wiped afterwards. But also I used to walk 45-90 minutes a day back in the fall and my body has clearly been missing that exercise. If only my back and other knee would cooperate.

Wore my KN-95 mask with a cloth mask over it, and waited outside for my stuff to dry, so hope I didn't run into any super shedders.

Tomorrow I need only go the three blocks up to Loblaws and back, for the muscle relaxants I wanted a week ago that they didn't have and that don't work that well anyway.

I had to shop because I'm down to my last package of instant oatmeal. Am not a fan of instant oatmeal but I dropped the large glass jar I used for overnight oats (that once held peanut butter, I think: picked it off a boulevard eons ago) and broke it. Somehow I have no more large glass jars, or even plastic jars, which is why you should never throw anything out. Am contemplating emptying a jam jar's contents into, I dunno, a ziplock container and using that instead. Instant oatmeal is both expensive and sugary, even if it's also nice and hot on these raw freezing mornings.

The dead days are certainly that this year. Grey, dank, rain/ snow/ freezing rain. Both knees scream when I stand up, both elbows scream any time, and there is no health within us. Because I'm nearly at the end of my antibiotics I had a g&t this afternoon, which accomplished nothing but make me cruise skipthedishes and order in from a cheap hamburger place. Which was fine for the moment but otherwise... accomplished nothing.

One of those articles that Chrome likes to give you had links to Victorian detective fics, all available at Gutenberg, and I spent a happy hour or so with warm beanbags and the case files of a master criminal. DLed links to two others, one a disappointing 'ghost finder' detective where there are no ghosts, the other a female detective who solves cases through female-type means ie pretending to be a servant and talking to the servants. Did not save the link to the master criminal archive and now Chrome has changed its recs and History assures me I never clicked on the link in the first place.

Probably time for some Buddhist reading since my thoughts grow dark and eschatological.

Common wisdom is that at the solstice, it's dark at 5. But here we are, four days after, and it's light enough to see things clearly. No streetlamps required. Didn't think the sun came back *that* fast.

Quiet Christmas Day, of course. My expensive turkey dinner was good enough, though oddly the veg parts were better than the protein and carbs. Kale slaw, spicy squash mash, garlic mashed potatoes, beets. Elder bro dropped by with my present. I'd asked for a bottle of Bouchard Père et Fils Macon Lugny, a pleasant medium priced white wine. He brought me four. Thing being, when it seemed unlikely I'd make it to the LCBO at the end of the street- supposing I'd want to go to the LCBO preholiday in this time of omicron- I e- transferred him the price of ohh a large bottle of gin and a medium bottle of vodka, and he then proceeded to spend all of it on my wine. Fortunately I discovered a specialty wine store rather closer to home and got two bottles for emergency gift giving, so sent the red one home with him. With the wrong Christmas card in the bag but that's what comes of having two cards starting with J and not turning lights on to see which is which.

Today's meals have been on the disaster side. Started cooking a simple pasta lunch, discovered when I had the butter and seasonings added that the parmesan cheese had gone moldy which I didn't think parmesan could do, put unmoldy half on pasta but too bad, still tasted moldy, so dumped it all. Then there was the asparagus I cooked the other day and should have drained and put in the fridge, but kept it in the water to reheat and eat. This worked yesterday. By today, even boiled in new water, asparagus had acquired that unmistakable tinned asparagus taste. Blecch. So also into the compost it goes.

The one exercise I should do and don't is the sit and stand one. Is ok when getting off bed and futon, both of which are high, but owie when getting up from any chair in the house. Mostly because the other knee pangs and complains and buckles. This also makes going upstairs an unpleasant experience. The instinct of many years is to put my weight on my right knee, but right knee and hip now wince when I do, and left knee isn't quite strong enough to take my weight unsupported. I stll go upstairs step step step, hoping to strengthen things. But I'm still not strong enough to go downstairs that way-- I have to hop which is unadvisable on home stairs. Also right knee is much more tractable going down than up, so I'll still be doing step-foot step-foot for a while.

Woke up this morning and my knees didn't hurt, for once this week. But the left one itched like crazy. Looked at it and thought 'it's a bit red' but then considered that the red only showed because the rest of my knee is finally a normal colour again. Looked at it again, poked it, thought 'safe than sorry' and cabbed it to the walk-in clinic,which was, amazingly, empty. Secretary was on phone, eventually took my health card, apologizing, 'We're short-staffed today, I'm alone here.' Looks like you're short-patiented as well, I said. 'It's all phone calls,' she said, and indeed it was. Still got to see the doctor in less than fifteen minutes. Who poked here and there, said 'does this hurt', and diagnosed some kind of infection, so now I have antibiotics, and clearly (after two doses) the kind you must eat yoghurt with. Happy holidays. But it may be that some of the pain these last few days is just infection, which would be nice, because I'd been wondering why I had exactly the same pain as before when it's all new knee.

Former coworker came by with the cookies and Guyanese sponge cake I'd ordered. Complimented me on my mobility- 'When my mom had her surgery she got the range of motion back but she couldn't walk like you do.' That hadn't occurred to me, though maybe it's what people mean when they say their knee surgeries didn't work because the ligaments weren't strong enough.

I knew I shouldn't have ordered her cookies because I have no resistance to iced shortbread, but (insert any number of excuses here) and because I'm off alcohol for the next week, I ended up eating more than half of them. Ah well. Appetite will diminish as the antibiotics do their thing and anyway, there's always the new year.

The city of Toronto's planning department, as in duty bound, is constantly sending me notices of meetings at the Cttee of Adjustments, always of recent home buyers who want minor or major variations of the bylaws so they can have a third floor or an extension at the back or whatever. These are delivered to people within a one or two block radius, I think, but I'm not going to fash myself over what happens to a house across the street and twelve numbers up. Got another of those yesterday and would have binned it right away, but curious, thought to see who was building in the wintertime during a virulent pandemic. And a good thing too, because it turns out to be a cheque for close to $250. Only explanation on it is the terse note: tax rebate. But what taxes? Property tax rebates are handled by simply not withdrawing the usual installment. And though I know I've had water and garbage rebates in the past, they never took the form of a cheque. Of course I'm glad to have it, only... there's no ATM nearby to deposit it at. Or not at my current range of doable walking. Which today got me up to the end of the street for a prescription that hadn't come in, and two pricey bottles of wine to gift my next doors on either side. Pushing a rollator over rock salt and unshovelled slush is not fun.

The more so as today was a bad stair day, where both knees pang when going up and down, or occasionally when walking on the level. And since the dry cough, sneezing, and back pain are still with me, I cancelled my physio for tomorrow. This ought to ensure that I rise hale and sound with the sun bright in the day, but I'm not counting on it. But if it works, I might venture over to the laundromat to wash my sheets and blankie (yes, I have a blankie, the terrycloth sheet that, balled up, provides the cushion that all side sleepers are supposed to hold on to) and a couple of sleep hoodies as well.

However, in nice news, incandescens' present arrived this morning. Worried about that 'don't leave it near the radiator' message, I opened it up right away. Rum soaked raisins and marzipan figs. Yumm. And then a box of hazelnut truffles from South NND left in my mailbox, with a card thanking me for being so patient with Sadie the Dog. I texted her back with my thanks and the assurance that Sadie is a Very Good Dog and no trouble at all. (Unlike the Local Playwright's untrained chroic barkers across the street.) But as she's currently in Alberta, I'll have to wait to give her her wine.

The city of Toronto's planning department, as in duty bound, is constantly sending me notices of meetings at the Cttee of Adjustments, always of recent home buyers who want minor or major variations of the bylaws so they can have a third floor or an extension at the back or whatever. These are delivered to people within a one or two block radius, I think, but I'm not going to fash myself with what happens to a house across the street and twelve numbers up. Got another of those yesterday and would have binned it right away, but curious, thought to see who was building in the wintertime during a virulent pandemic. And a good thing too, because it turns out to be a cheque for close to $250. Only explanation on it is the terse note: tax rebate. But what taxes? Property tax rebates are handled by simply not withdrawing the usual installment. And though I know I've had water and garbage rebates in the past, they never took the form of a cheque. Of course I'm glad to have it, only... there's no ATM nearby to deposit it at. Or not at my current range of doable walking. Which today got me up to the end of the street for a prescription that hadn't come in, and two pricey bottles of wine to gift my next doors on either side. Pushing a rollator over rock salt and unshovelled slush is not fun.

The more so as today was a bad stair day, where both knees pang when going up and down, or occasionally when walking on the level. And since the dry cough, sneezing, and back pain are still with me, I cancelled my physio for tomorrow. This ought to ensure that I rise hale and sound with the sun bright in the day, but I'm not counting on it. But if it works, I might venture over to the laundromat to wash my sheets and blankie (yes, I have a blankie, the terrycloth sheet that, balled up, provides the cushion that all side sleepers are supposed to hold on to) and a couple of sleep hoodies as well.

However, in nice news, incandescens' present arrived this morning. Worried about that 'don't leave it near the radiator' message, I opened it up right away. Rum soaked raisins and marzipan figs. Yumm. And then a box of hazelnut truffles from South NND left in my mailbox, with a card thanking me for being so patient with Sadie the Dog. I texted her back with my thanks and the assurance that Sadie is a Very Good Dog and no trouble at all. (Unlike the Local Playwright's untrained chronic barkers across the street.) But as she's currently in Alberta, I'll have to wait to give her her wine.

Four weeks doesn't seem that long when nothing is happening. Measured in how owie everything is or isn't. For the last two days I've woken up with only minor twinges and may hope that the spasms of the last two weeks are gone-- though glutes started tightening from exercises. Had my first shower in four weeks without difficulty, and as an experiment didn't use soap. Shall see if I remain as strangely smell-free as before.

Bought a kabocha in my last order which turned out to be larger than expected and so tough in the rind that I couldn't hack it open. Finally managed to shave a piece off so I could get at the seeds, then baked the whole thing in the oven. Still not quote done after 90 minutes, so will try boiling it in broth next. Am jonesing for pumpkin pie so shall make faux-pumpkin pie filling instead. Have canned pumpkin and evaporated milk which may work as a condensed milk dubstitute,

Snowed today. Arms too owie to do any shovelling. Up to 3C tomorrow which may melt the remainders. Or arms may be better tomorrow.

Senior moments, senior moments. Come across an ad on FB for precooked Christmas dinners at a reasonable price, order the turkey dinner plus extra beet salad on the side, tip to delivery guy and delivery charge add another $25 but fine, I check out. Receive confirmation email, which says I've only ordered the beet salad and it will still cost $33. Somehow I didn't order the turkey? Go back to wp, discover you must specify quantity, which do, check out-- and am charged again for tip and delivery. If they don't refund that this is going to be one pricey meal. But 'all orders are final' so no changes allowed.

Ah well, the city didn't deduct my property tax this month because of (I assume) the Poor Elderly rebate, so I have money to play with. But can't remember whether they said delivery on 23 or 24th. Can't remember the restaurant's name, just that it has café in the title and is one of the famous ones down on... Queen St? College St? because of course I've never been there. Emails don't name the restaurant, but use some kind of mailing service instead. So back to FB I go, which should be offering me scads of Christmas dinner places, but for once the algorithm is smugly silent. So I scroll through a dozen pages and finally get the ad. Free Times Cafe, on the 24th. So Christmas Eve Day I shall be at home, because who wants to shop on the 24th anyway?

Loblaw's may be almost as evil as amazon but they were selling Theraband rollers, like rolling pins but for muscles. Ordered one because I'm going to do myself a mischief if I keep getting into odd positions trying to use the regular foam rollers. It's about 21 inches/ 53 cm long and thinner than a rolling pin but it still came in a box 2ft by 3/ 61x91.5 cm. Ah well. And it does get at those odd places, even if it's sometimes awkward. In any case, better than the wooden rolling pin, which stuck and squeaked, being as it is at least 50 years old.

My doctor's 'better than Robaxacet' muscle relaxants aren't, alas. I still wake up with hip flexors, lumbar region, and quads all in spasm. Tennis balls and stretches loosen them up, but I don't always have the time for those. Curse the aged bladder. However meds *and* Robaxacet do loosen things up, so may try those tomorrow.

Used the bike machine today for the first time in months. One of the little slip-on rubber thingies that hold the machine's feet in place has vanished, not to be found anywhere. It may have slipped off and I unwittingly kicked it into a dark corner. Alternatively, gremlins may have stolen it. You know which one I believe.

There are days that are cursed and today was one of them. Expecting a liquor delivery between 1 and 3 and a prescription delivery any time after 10, for both of which I had to answer the door, I was downstairs waiting at 10:30. And waited. And waited. And waited. At 4:30 I emailed the alcohol place, who kindly pointed out that I'd scheduled for Dec 10. 'We can slot you into the 5 to 7 window' she said, but crap no, not sending a dogsbody into the LCBO on a Friday for that. So they're coming tomorrow.

But the Loblaws pharmacy delivery didn't come and didn't come and the line wasn't even being answered. Finally got through and on hold at 7:30, ten minutes later got a knowledgeable voice who said there was a note on my chart but I'd have to wait for the pharmacist because Voice wasn't on shift when the deliveries went out, ten minutes later got pharmacist. They'd been waiting for the other prescription that my doctor said he'd fax through on Tuesday but hadn't. Well, I can do without that one but I do need the anti-inflams they're holding because I'll be out by Sunday morning. But they don't deliver on weekends. Call NND to see if he can pick them up for me tomorrow, and- my one lucky break- he was actually at Loblaws at the time. So am fortified against future aches.

But if I hadn't been so spacey, and hadn't scheduled the Loblaws delivery for today, I could have got my staples out at the walk-in clinic. Meant to go tomorrow but turns out they're closed on weekends- though they used to be open a few years back when I cracked those ribs- and the one that is open wants a statement from the hospital saying that the staples must be removed by such and such a date. 'Just call the hospital and ask them for it,' says the sweet young thing. At 4:30 on a Friday, sure thing, guy.

There's still a few things need to happen before this place turns into a world class city.

Nice as it would have been to be carted off to a rehab place where people brought me meals in bed, I reflect that most of the pain of the last ten days was muscle aches, and nothing worked for those but Robaxacet and hot beanbags. Which I wouldn't have had, or had so conveniently, anywhere but at home. So all is for the best in this best of all possible worlds.

Have so far reverted to my wonted ways as to order in food. Wanted to try Malaysian stuff, since Indonesian is hard to come by, got mie goreng, thought it had no flavour to speak of. Wonder if nasi goreng tastes different? Had it ohhh fifty years ago in Holland, but will probably not be able to reduplicate *that* experience, any more than the Vietnamese food here tastes anything like the divine Vietnamese food in France.

One forgets names at my age, but when the name in question belongs to a clerk at the Kimi Ryokan back in 1991 perhaps no wonder. She came from an island in Indonesia and said it was the name for November in her mother's dialect. Since there seem to be as many dialects in Indonesia as native languages here, that's not much help. And if I'm remembering correctly, her parents came from different islands and on her mother's island there was a female form of the language quite distinct from the male. One wonders how her parents communicated, though I think by then Bahasa Indonesia had been declared the standard. Anyway, she married a Scots guy and mentioned how her mother-in-law called her Rrrita. From which I deduced that her name was Nofrita, which is a real Indonesian surname, 'origin unknown'. I know the origin: it's November in an obscure women's dialect on some island in the archipelago.

Down to physio today. My joints seem to be in good shape, which is a relief after all the Common Wisdom that 'the first three months are absolutely crucial in getting flexion back in the knee.' Evidently flexion never left mine, which is nice. Physio eyed the bruising on my leg, asked if I was taking blood thinners (yes), remarked 'I tell my patients that a knee surgery theatre is like a carpenter's shop- saws, hammers, chisels, they use them all.' I'd kind of suspected that might be true, given what happens when you have teeth out under a general anesthetic ie be as rough as you please since no consideration need be shown to the unconscious body at your disposal.

Of course then left hip flexor went into complete spasm and would not unspasm no matter what, but even that was useful because he gave me an exercise to help with that tetchy area of my body. I'm still a bit ow there, even after bringing in all my battery of pharmaceutical big guns, but such is the intriguing Voyage Around My Body that I have embarked on.

Like, yesterday's big activity was to go downstairs and sit on the sofa and come back up, after which I fell asleep around 7, woke at 10, got out of clothes, took out lens, and went back to sleep, not to wake until 8 a.m. And very nice that was, especially as nothing hurt at all, a major change from what had been happening all day. Today after trundling down and being poked and bent for an hour and coming home to cook a meal and try out the Cryocuff (a total loss: requires half a bag of ice and does nothing: really, a bag of frozen peas is better value) I feel disinclined even to lie down.

Snowed last night and as if to prove everyone correct about the effect of cold damp on artificial joints, today I woke crippled. Well, was crippled all through the night with tendons, but woke owier. Much and various dope was had, including muscle relaxant Tylenol, which sent me back to sleep for a few hours and that seems to have done the trick. Enough so that I came downstairs, put on boots, and swept and salted my front steps. Didn't try the walkway and hope someone else will do it because I have to use that tomorrow to get to physiotherapy. This will not be fun, but no one thought it would be.

In fact Sadie's Mom did my sidewalk and walk mid-morning but the snow didn't stop after that. Sadie is the dog next door and her mom puts my garbage out. The Phantom Snowblower did the four houses south of me but stopped after Sadie's house, alas. Of course the city is supposed to do my sidewalk but the city doesn't work on weekends.

OTOH northern NND (must figure a way of distinguishing attentive owner, He-NND, from pleasant enough tenant S) dropped by the house last night and left me a goodie bag of Japanese treats and a Christmas card. Which was pleasant, though I worried for a bit that the earliness meant they were taking off for Christmas for a month. No, in the event, though they'll be away at some time, borders remaining open and all.

Woke at 5:30 in extreme owiedom, took two hydrocodone, and went back to sleep for four hours, by which time drugs had worn off. This all ache all the time is getting old. OTOH was more active today- washed hair, went downstairs, read on sofa- and consequently fell asleep twice during the day, just as five days ago. Clearly I'm still recuperating.

Have also said the hell with it and gone back to my regular anti-inflams. Don't know if they really work better than celebrex but I think they do, so placebo effect if nothing else.

One reason for going downstairs was to bump up the thermostat, because the west wind was up and the temperatures dropped throughout the afternoon. Snow forecast on the weekend, oh joy. Must get south next door's next door's phone number, because Chris works from home and I can get him to open that large bag of salt that's been sitting on my porch for the last year and heave it onto the table where I can reach it. The city is supposed to shovel the sidewalk but the steps and walkway are my responsibility, and I have to go down them on Monday.

Got The Invisible Man in e-pub form from the library finally, then registered it's over 700 pages which is far too long to read on a tablet, so back it went ('four people are waiting') and back I went to Gladys Mitchell, that unregarded member of the Golden Age of Detective Fiction.

Grey and rainy today, as it was Sunday. But Sunday I'd been fed hydrocodone every four hours whether I wanted it or not, and today I wasn't, so today all my joints hated me. Really, all I want is to curl up on the side room futon with beanbags disposed about my person, but then I keep remembering people's horror stories of various rels who Wouldn't Do Their Exercises and the crippledness that ensued, so I go do my exercises, and then everything hurts worse and the meds don't touch it. It's not a sharp pain but a chronic muscle ache from those bruised and swollen areas which will go on as long as the bruises and swelling last, I assume. Brings back memories of how my leg felt after the bike accident, when I cut it open somehow (probably having the bike knocked out from under me and the saddle catching my thigh) and hence had the same bruising and swelling.

Though now I do get a sharp pain when I stand up, which may be the incision making itself known, or may be what artificial knees do in cold damp weather. About which I had been warned.

Little Girls' mother came to visit and take away a bag of laundry, brother came by to do some shopping for me, so at least I was social.

Generally pleased with Toronto Western. Edible food, excellent pain management, only one snippy nurse- which in the middle of a pandemic is a miracle- cheerful and informative physiotherapist. Hell, heated blankets prior to surgery, what luxury.

But I'd like a word with whoever wrote their manual. Buy a Cryocuff to reduce swelling, staff will put it on you in the recovery room. No they won't- not then and not after, because you have to put water and ice in and attach hoses and it's all too complicated, here have a bag of ice cubes instead. Well, that's $250 of my money that I'll never see again. And imagine if I'd rented it for $500 plus sales tax? Presumably there are people with help to fill and empty the things for them but I couldn't use it even before surgery owing to a dearth of outlets in the downstairs where the ice cubes live. Weird that my bedroom has plenty of outlets but the living room only two and a half, all in inaccessible places. What *was* my electrician thinking of? Actually I know. He was cursing Mr. Damiani who put wire mesh through all the downstairs walls for reasons best known to his concrete layer's heart. Plaster doesn't need wire mesh but Damiani thought it did.

And then there were those 'closed-toe non-slip easy-on wide shoes to deal with swollen feet' that I was advised to buy. Now some of that is down to the perils of online shopping, but some is simply that I don't feel stable in those boats. Ended up wearing my New Balance runners and no problem. But that's another $200 and change gone forever.

The two-wheeled walker was probably not a bad idea because there was no guarantee that I could just use my Gandalf staff instead. But still an unnecessay expense even if not a horrendous one.

The shower stools I knew would be a problem because of my very deep tub that I won't be able to lift my leg high enough to get into and out of. Physio suggests a wide stool that fits over the edge of the tub so you can slide in and out. Still requires lifting bad knee over tub edge and at the moment my knee Doesn't Do That so no, I think not. Sponge baths for the foreseeable future which will let my body flora return to a natural state. This is not the first time I've gone a week or two without showering: holes in the tum and broken bones in the feet alike conduce to avoidance of anything more than cursory washing.

This honeymoon period before the nerve block wears off is really very pleasant. I can bend my knee and do my exercises without pain for the first time since... well, since I started doing them four months ago. Am assured that agony will commence eventually but the nurse who just came by said they'd proactively start me on pain killers. Am sharing a room with three quiet people (and not like the guy swearing down the hallway). Even the food was quite edible. So not bad at all.

Oh. I was supposed to have a 'light non-greasy' dinner, and instead I had fried eggs and ham. How fortunate I'm having an epidural and not a general anesthetic. How unfortunate that I remembered the no alcohol for 24 hours bit.

One stroke of luck today: I don't have to be at the hospital until 10. Since they do 8 a.m. surgeries for which you must be there at 6, these last few days when I wake at 6 I get up instead of going back to sleep, against a possible 4:30 waking. But tomorrow I can sleep as late as I please, and Saturday not get up till 8.

That being said, it would have been courteous of my back not to have gone board stiff throughout the day. So many rooms to clean, so much laundry, so many things to be brought upstairs from downstairs and downstairs from up, and I needed to lie down every fifteen minutes while doing it. But anyway, downstairs is vacuumed, plants are watered, and the all-important sock laundry got done. It is now hanging on lines in the furnace room, and because the temps dropped during the day and the wind blew up during the evening, my thermostat is bumped to dizzying heights (why does my furnace no longer heat me adequately at 20C?) so they should be dry by tomorrow evening when I must pack a bag. Bag is because if they end up sending me to rehab I'm ready, and if they don't I'll have a week's worth of clothes in my bedroom and needn't limp down to the boudoir/ side room where my on-season clothes live.

And I don't like it when things change. I have a new phone. It's the same make as my old phone and $200 cheaper than the Samsung I looked at but it's different and nothing looks the same and it does things differently and the battery runs down faster even than the balky old beast and if you thought getting the SIM card out of the old one was tricky it's nothing like getting it into the new one. Clerk had to use a piece of wire to get the thing open.

Kind NND came and brought my bar fridge upstairs. Fridge has a tiny freezer compartment, smaller than the one at work even, that won't hold even small tv dinners. May manage a gel ice pack for swelling but that's it. Bought a couple of instant ramen in a bowl packs as a substitute for at least the first two days. TV dinners must wait until I can manage to get downstairs. Fridge also turns off and on periodically as fridges do. Couldn't hear the one at work do that because ten infants, or even one infant, will drown it out. But in my bedroom, yes. Must run white noise air purifier which doesn't purify but at least drowns everything else out.

At least got my will witnessed by Prof and Mrs Islamic Studies, who are so paranoid about covid they wouldn't come into the house to sign but did it on the porch. Appalled that I was coming straight home post-op, suggested I leave the back door on the latch so they could get in in case of emergencies. I did not point out the obvious contradiction here. Anyway I gave a key to NND, who I still wish did live next door, and the Little Girls' mother who is five minutes away by car, so I should be covered.

(The Little Girls are now in first year engineering and grade 10 respectively. Huge changes happen when you don't see people for two years. L, the younger, has had a complete reversal of character, from Little Miss Messy to Neat and Tidy. This is almost more astounding than the fact that she's in high school.)

Yesterday was a total write-off, not only because it was raining but because my right side everything went sproing and I could barely move. Hip flexors and glutes, mainly, which sometimes complain but not like this. So it was beanbags and muscle relaxants all day, meaning I dozed periodically and finished Mr. Currelly furnishing his museum with a lot of coincidental luck and a lot of wealthy friends. Pirate Bishop White didn't turn up until page 245. Currelly admires Pirate Bishop White who, he says, once held off not one but two Chinese warlords intent on sacking the town of which he was bishop. This might or might not be true. I mean, Currelly also believes the story that it was Armenian activists intent on bringing down the Turkish government that started the Armenian genocide.

One can't expect someone born in the 19th century to question whether it's a good thing to amass goods from other cultures for the edification of one's own, but at least he thought it was for edification: since people can't go to China to see how wonderful Chinese culture is, we'll bring Chinese culture here. Sacking of summer palaces aside, at least some of the works he brought here were sold by mandarins anxious to raise cash to get them the hell away from the warlords. Others-- like the famed Buddhist reliefs-- were sold by starving monks whose food had been confiscated by said warlords. So you might argue for some sense of preservation there.

Today was some better, after vigorous stretching and rolling on foam rollers and tennis balls, enough that I walked to acupuncture and back, which was probably a bad idea. Also wrote out a holograph will on a form that I bought decades ago, since the dates all start 19. But now I need two witnesses to sign in my presence and each other's, which is a slight nuisance since people come to my house in singletons and it's not that easy going to my neighbours'. Requires going up steps. However, I suppose I can manage it. I also seem to recall, from my younger brother's law classes, that holograph wills with no witnesses have been admitted to probate, like the guy who died out in the wilderness and wrote 'all to Minnie' on his shirt before doing so. And of course, one hopes it won't be needed in the near future.

Thursday early I go for covid tests and bloodwork, then quarantine for the next almost two days, which should give me time to put the finishing touches on prepping the house, or to wibble in a hysterical bundle of nerves, or both. The trouble is that the last two days I've woken with ferociously spasming low back/ hips/ whatever. Which happens from time to time but I so don't want it happening when I can't walk unsupported. Now, days when I wake up with nothing hurting I'm cheerful and optimistic. 'You managed to walk with a broken foot, (is how they treat bunions FYI) how much worse can a knee be?' Yes, well, that was twenty years ago when my bladder was better behaved and I could take my own sweet time getting down the hallway. For now... Ah well. Me for the que seras.

Touch the screen in the wrong place and your entry vanishes, and I hurt too much to rewrite it.

At least my new lightweight vacuum cleaner works.

I grow antsier by the minute as we head into the home stretch, is why I started cleaning out the catch-all drawer of my bedside table before breakfast and then went on to dust various bedroom flat surfaces and throw out miscellaneous Stuff that I will never use again, as if I was still able-bodied and able to move around without pain. Very nostalgic, actually.

Midday I walked over to acupuncture, stopping at drugstore on the way to score some tylenol with codeine, to see what it does for pain if anything. Conclusion: nothing much. No different from taking plain tylenol, in fact, except codeine now gives me tummy rumbles. Had beef stew at the neighbouring pub, outside because it was supposed to be warm today, but it was one of those unreliable 18C/ mid-60 days ie there was a breeze so it felt cool. However, enjoy it while it lasts. Indoor pub is not negotiable with a walker- too many steps leading to too heavy doors, and then too few same-level tables.

Came home and vacuumed the downstairs, trying to ascertain which DirtDevil works better. Alas, it seems to be the one whose component pieces keep coming apart. And neither works terribly well because the one remaining canister has lost the hinge that locks it in place. So I unpacked and assembled my Bissell vacuum cleaner and shall try it out tomorrow, and if it works I will put both DirtDevils out on the front lawn for the garbage guys to take.

All this unwonted exercise is at least a change from lying on sofas reading mysteries and doing acrostics, though I did a lot of that too.

So very owie yesterday that I was almost convinced that I forgot to take my pain meds in the morning. I'm sure I did but I may as well not have, and I winced and suffered through a pilates session and getting a prescription at Loblaws after. Late afternoon my brother took me out to dinner at the local brasserie, which was crowded and fingers crossed that those vaccies work. S-i-l is on antibiotics, meaning she can't drink, for something that makes her not want to eat either, so didn't come. I missed her but at least got to talk hospital logistics with John. Who says his condo has hospitality suites, rentable by the week, which is encouraging in a worst case scenario. Though what they won't have is disabled toilets like mine here-- which is still lower than entirely comfortable even now. And after spending money like water on things I may not even need, like those velcro shoes and that cryocuff, I'm reluctant to buy a toilet raiser as well.

But today I was all chipper and limber and walked over to the coffee shop at Bathurst and back no problem. Bright sunny warm day with the clocks gone back so of course they were out of croissants at the new 11:30 (quondam 12:30) so I had a ham and cheese melt, last for a while, instead. Then vacuumed the upper hall and side bedroom and back did not scream at me. So maybe things are improving?

Set up cordless phone in bedroom, though why call it cordless when it has both a plug and a watchamacallit that goes into the lines I don't know. Yeah, because the receiver isn't connected to the phone by one of those perverse cords that ties itself into knots even though anchored at both ends. Anyway. I don't like phones and think texting was a brilliant idea (for people without arthritis but still) but now I have a phone that will go in and out with me along with the cell. Now all I need is pockets to put them in. I see me wearing a lot of hoodies post surgery. Mind, hoodies are brilliant too because they keep your head warm.

Then screwed courage etc etc and called walk-in clinics to ascertain whether they do indeed remove staples from knees as was so blithely informed by hospital. I don't like phones and I hate phoning but I knew my anxiety levels would rise the closer I got to the day so early something and wise in season* called the ones in my area.

Number one doesn't answer its phones.

Number two said oh no we're all booked up-- 'It's for a month from now-' no no we're all booked up you have to go down to King St-- 'That's a little far for me-' sorry we're all booked up the hospital will take them out for you-- 'The hospital very specifically said they wouldn't-' oh no they will--- Jobsworth. Sigh.

Number three said yes we do that, do you want to come in today? No, it's a month from now, do I need an appointment? No, just come in. You can call ahead of time to see what the wait time is, if you like. There. A walk-in clinic that's an actual walk-in clinic. Is that so hard?

*I have these phrases in my head that I know are quotations but google has never heard of them, no doubt because I've altered a significant word or two. 'Early something and wise in season' is one of them, and I'm convinced it ends with the wise in season person putting a bullet through their head, but can I find it? No. Google treats wise as a proper name and talks about footballers.

The phone liked being recharged and happily powered up after an hour of same.

The watch still keeps time.

My keys... sigh. Yesterday when I went to go out I thought 'this is the jacket with the shallow pockets that things fall out of, and the purse is black hole incarnate' (as proved later at the supermarket when it took an unconscionable amount of time and *removing everything else* before I could find my wallet, the largest object in that 7x8 inch / c.18x20 cm space) 'I shall put my keys in the proverbial Safe Space instead'. Safe Space was my change purse. I am again (ha ha) keyed up and there are no gremlins/ black water seeping into reality. Aging branes, yes.

And rather more than half of that kilo I put on yesterday was gone today.

They said it might rain so I took my rain cape to pilates and because it doesn't fit over the backpack I used my purse. Wallet, change purse, phone, glasses, keys... keys? Keys, where are you? In the dish on the table but those are my two spare sets, where's the set I had Monday? Forget now where I found it- not my jacket pocket, somewhere unintuitive- and off I go. Check watch for time. Watch has stopped. New battery watches should not stop. Reset by phone and get to pilates on time.

Come back from pilates and shopping, collapse on couch, drink Pepsi, do acrostics, get up to go upstairs which means get phone from purse. Transfer everything back to backpack because I'm only too likely to forget to do it tomorrow. Wallet, change purse, glasses, keys... keys? Keys, where are you-- because I left the door on the latch as I always do and didn't use my keys to get in. Look very thoroughly in all the pockets of my purse, because my bags have black holes in them, then look very thoroughly in all the pockets of the backpack, then look in coat pockets. Monday's keys are nowhere to be found. A nuisance, because I want to give a spare key to the two people who may be chauffeuring me around and now I can't.

Find box for watch that has watch specs written in teeny tiny letters, because I want to be sure it's a battery watch I have, not a self-winder. Take it upstairs to read in the bedroom trilight. Does not have specs. Tells you to go to the webpage and enter watch name on back. OK Timex indiglo, here's the link to the manual, click it and... nothing. Link doesn't work. OK Google. Google says it's a battery watch so no idea why it stopped, but it still seems to be keeping time so maybe Ok. Check time on phone. Phone has the ominous grey screen of either exhausted battery or incipient death. Do the 'press both buttons until you despair' routine. Nothing. Put it on the charger which will occasionally tell you that it's at 15%. Nothing. Looks like it's really kaput this time, just when I'd been thinking how well it was behaving and maybe I don't have to buy a new one after all. Such thoughts are dangerous, as here we see.

I have my own gin and tonic (and put on a kilo overnight because of same) but I really want to go next door and drink my brother's gin and have people say 'There there' at me. Shall have to say it to myself instead.

Not surprising that today was a total loss, though it was lost to allergies and strangle-cough and nose like a tap as much as to stiffness. Ordered in Vietnamese food, read a Gladys Mitchell. Sleeted in the afternoon. Thus Tuesday.

Walk as much as you can, he said. It will keep you limber, he said. Yeah, sure.

So I walked to acupuncture, which is only three more blocks than the library, locked my rollator to a bike stand because acupuncture is up two flights and my rollator is heavy, and walked back home, stopping at the dollar store to get an electric kettle (which I despise, but it's for my bedroom post surgery so I can make instant oatmeal) and a cordless phone because a) my bedroom phone is an ancient rotary with a muffled ring and b) I can move between bedroom and side room with it and not have to worry about reaching the phone when it rings. I still don't know why cordless phones need to have both an outlet and batteries to operate, but evidently they do. Just hope it works because I Do Not Trust Technology.

And as soon as I'd done that everything seized up and knee bones ground and spasmed and I was still eight blocks from home. Came home, poured me a strong gin and tonic, iced knee (have never known ice to do anything, frankly), and eventually tried some stretches with mixed results. I want to say Tomorrow I'll stay in bed all day with hot beanbags (and anti-histamines because lord but the allergies are ferocious today) but of course that's the worst thing I can do. So tomorrow I'll go out walking again.

Another reason I do double crostics is so I can pretend I'm decoding secret messages at Bletchley Park, though if I were at Bletchley, it's almost certain the Germans would have won the war.

As noted everywhere else, this is being a dull autumn. There are one or two red or yellow trees doing their best but mostly it's the faded greens of a very wet year.

Found my electropulse thingy in the drawer I never open. I doubt it does any good but like the arm bands it's a placebo, and placebos do work, don't they?

Last year I bought a set of elasticized Arena Strength bands because Therabands *always* break, the cheap things. Intended to increase my arm strength with them but my elbows were having none of it, so they languished unused. But my pilates woman has me doing leg stretches etc with metal springs, and my legs like it, and my headboard has slats, and I can loop the bands through them and thereby do that marching exercise my bad knee won't let me do standing up, so go me. Also a sneaky way to get me to do my other exercises, because once I'm lying down feeling that lovely stretch with the bands, might as well do the tedious quad exercises as well.

I do wonder what life would be like if I had no inner three year old resisting me bloody all the time. Bet it's like those ADHD people who go on meds and find that hey, things aren't always difficult all the time, no wonder other people can accomplish so much.

Herodotus is getting to the boring bit ie the actual Persian wars, and anyway I can't keep anyone straight given H's tendency to interpolate backstory, so I turn to my other Wee Free Library find of last summer, I Brought the Ages Home. And am at once reminded why pre-70s Ontario was such a claustrophobic place. All Canadian biographies of that era begin like this:

"I was born in the village of Exeter, in the county of Huron, on the eleventh of January, 1876, the morning on which the first train of the new railroad, the London, Huron and Bruce, came through Exeter from London to Goderich. My mother was Mary Treble, of the Trebles of Vognacote, Devonshire. and my father, John Currelly, was the son of Thomas Currelly, who had settled in Durham County, and was of the ancient gens Corelea of Rome. My father's mother was Jane Doney, sister of Thomas Doney, an engraver who spent most of his life in Paris, and later came to the United States to do a series of historical portraits. The elder brother worked in Paris until a nervous breakdown made it necessary to bring him back to Devonshire. As my great-grandfather was moderately well off, he was advised to bring the poor shaking boy to the new world. where, it was assumed, the quiet forests and all the wonderful developments that were being talked about would probably cure him. Unfortunately he died soon after they arrived."

Ie 'Lest anyone should suppose I am a son of nobody, I may say our line is an old one, related to the Trebles of Vognacote, Devonshire (where?) and tracing our ancestry to the gens Corelea of Rome (what?), and bitheway we had this obscure artist in the family as well whose brother (?) had a breakdown and died in Canada.' If you don't declaim your ancestry, however obscure, in Anglo Canada, how will people know who you are?

Thank god for immigration.

Otherwise I find myself in a peaceable psychological backwater, very pleasant for as long as it lasts, where I'm quite content to do my exercises three or four times a day, especially when I can intersperse them with the stretches my pilates woman showed me that may succeed in opening up my hips. I even began the chair pilates exercises again, hampered only slightly by the disappearance of sound on my upstairs tablet-- for that site, at least, because youtube plays just fine. Fortunately it's closed captioned, since I'm not a fan of people's voices at the best of times.

The wind blusters about the house but before it rained I got to the Christie St coffee shop that makes the amazing smoked salmon bagels with what I took to be dill mayonnaise. Only it's not: it's cream cheese whipped with olive oil and lemon juice and dill, and delish. I hope the place is a money laundering operation because there's never anyone in there.

In the Eat More Veg dep't, I bought baby artichokes and have concluded that there's really no point to artichokes, young or old. Almost worse than pomegranates.

And then there's the cozy comfort of the latest 100 Demons, to which I shall return shortly.

Joyfulness. We're supposed to have snow starting mid-November. That'll be me doing all my walking in the house. And through January and February as well.

Or maybe our city's vaunted greenhouse effect will cut in? Watch this space.

I should hire a cleaning service but instead I buy a new vacuum cleaner, one that supposedly works better than Dirt Devils.

There are good joint days and bad ones, and this is a bad one, but because it's also garbage day I vacuum the downstairs (with that unsatisfactory Dirt Devil, yes) and swifter the kitchen floor and do a load of laundry and then go and do Pilates, which guarantees I'll be crippled tomorrow.

DHL in its OC Teutonic fashion sends me multiple emails on top of multiple texts to say my package is in transit, that it will be delivered today, and that it has been delivered, but at least I now have the new 100 Demons.

I have my own Torontonian reasons for disliking Jo Walton nearly as much as I dislike Margaret Atwood, but Among Others was compulsively readable. Of course it left me with a book hangover and mal de mer, but then it would.

Could be returned allergies, could be returned rainy weather, but I'm inclined to blame my Pilates exercises for the current 'run over by a car' feeling. Was going to say 'mild as they are' but of course today is the day after a full hour of them. Shall see how I feel tomorrow.

Did get to laundromat. Must not go on weekends. Rarely as I do go- maybe once every six weeks- this is the second time I've run into the maskless loud-voiced Spesshul Snowflake who never stops talking- bellowing, actually- if she finds a victim to latch onto, and who does five bags worth of laundry at a time, including sheets and comforters. Times I wish I weren't a Torontonian so I could tell her to put her flipping mask on.

Second Pilates session. Given that it's not that heavy a workout, it's amazing how zonked I am. But loose, yes indeed.

Thermostat is bumped up over 20 which usually makes my place into a hothouse, but I feel cold. That may be because in winter the house goes below 20 a lot easier than when it's 13C outside, so furnace comes on more often. But no blinking the fact that my windows are not up to par except in the room where the thermostat is, so yeah, I'll feel cold.

Made it to the Dufferin Mall and located my watchmaker's stand, today operated by a slender south Asian woman, presumably daughter of the regular guy, who got the back off both watches only to reveal that one is a self-winding watch that has ceased self-winding no matter how much you swing it, and the other is indeed battery operated but will not operate even with a new battery. So, continuing to spend money like water, I bought a new watch, a great turnip of a thing on a chunky metl band, because I need an expandable band and women's watches only have fiddly buckles and such, which generally require someone else's help to do up. Creeping coupledom and watches as accessories that only get removed at the end of the day. Pfui.

But at least I no longer have to rely on my phone to tell the time, something that I simply Do Not Understand. For one thing, it's damnably difficult to read a phone when you're outside, so I have to wonder what all these people walking along and staring at their phones are actually seeing. For another, it requires having your phone in a handy pocket, that thing that women's clothes don't have or don't have deep enough, and you have to pull it out and turn it on and go to the clock app because the time on the lock screen is too small to be visible outdoors. A mystery.

My doctor calls and has never heard of referring someone to rehab, but will see what she can do. Will not prescribe any stronger anti-inflams because oh your stomach lining! (I have coaters) and oh your kidneys! (well, same for my current meds) and oh heart attacks! (I have statins) and have I tried Tylenol? Tylenol is not an anti-inflammatory, dear. Oh well. She'll try to get me this heavy duty cream that athletes use for muscle tears, but only certain pharmacies compound it and mine may not. Life in the time of opioid panic. Not that opioids work for me either. / gloom

Then came back to my 'hood and had a Tom Collins and more pig than I actally wanted at the local greasy spoon, so at least there's that.

Workman finished staining my stairs and very nice they look. But. He said he'd cut up the wood from the old deck and didn't. Said he'd dig up the mulberry bush and didn't. And I'd asked him to take my watch to a very specific watchmaker to get a new battery, and he assured me he knew how to change watch batteries, and then- like several other watchmakers in the past- couldn't get the thing apart so sorry, here's your watch back and it still doesn't run.

Ah well. I may some day be limber enough to go to the Duff Mall myself.

...involves having dinner on an outdoor patio in the rain and occasional thunder, not something I'd normally do. Should have brought a jacket because there's 17 degrees and 17 degrees, and the one I left home in was not the one the rain fell in. But it was nice to be with my bro and s-i-l again at our local. Had to cab it there with my regular company and back with another because my regulars were going to voicemail, and of course cabbie coming back calls me to ask where I am when I'm right where I said I'd be, out front of the restaurant with m walker.

But I got home in one piece and only slightly wet, and will stay in bed tomorrow until noon while the rain still falls. As my coming cabbie said, why are we getting the dregs of a Pacific storm? But apparently we are.

Oh, she says, getting cold feet, this is such a bad idea. Too late now. But our business co-ord called me today to tell me all the news. Her mother had a knee replacement fifteen years ago that never worked properly and now doesn't work at all, so she's back to St Mike's to see what's what, and she has a female surgeon! Angh. I want a female surgeon too!

C had kittens at the notion the Toronto Western will send knee surgery patients home the next day, never mind the same day. But I fancy procedures have changed in 15 years. For one thing, they no longer do general anesthetics for that operation. Epidural, nerve block, and sedation (from which, I am told, you can be roused by a loud noise, so mild sedation). Has the side effect of keeping you pain free for a while, which is good and certainly better than morphine which does nothing but make time pass veeeery slooowly.

C was also pushing for me to go to St Mike's, but since her mother's surgeon was such a loss, I was never that keen, even though I was referred to a different surgeon who was at that time the doyen of the profession. My nursing friend gave me the side eye when I was scheduled for there, which rather sorts with my own impressions of the place. Anyway, que será será.

In reverse: don't put the fans away until the first frost. We're having that warm autumn we were promised and I swelter without my standing fans. Oh well. Another day or two and we're back to highs in the mid-teens, which is what the lows have been these last ten days.

Everyone is being very encouraging about the wonders of knee surgery, which is as well, because these days I can barely move for lower back pain. Most distressing. I have no assurance that a new knee will loosen anything up, but if it gets me back to where I was three or four years ago, I'll be content. Latest encouraging words come from Elmwood's mother down the street, who is currently single-parenting because husband has a four-year contract in Germany. She has help, fortunately, and will be moving somewhere closer to him in future, which probably means Brexit Britain whence she originates. But in the meantime, if I need anything from the super, do text her etc etc. She also recommends a pilates studio up the street which will design a program for you, one which helps with the umbilical hernias we both have. Definitely something I will look into when I'm mobile again.

Walk every day, they said, so I walked over to my local cafe. Hoped they might be doing indoor seating by now, but no. David the barista said Maybe naninaninani, but David's estuary accent and sotto voce voice are hard enough to make out when he's not wearing a mask, never mind when he is. No matter. It will be months before I'll be able to get back there again.

Because it's in the same direction as Fiesta, I checked it out. And of course, because it's the warm Sunday of a long weekend, no crowds and no lineup. Also, alas, no more pumpkin pies. Bought two strawberry rhubarb ones, my normal fave, but the crust is different and not as good.

There's a very fine line for me between maintaining and gaining, and one drink a week plus bread puts me over it. Evidently an hour's walk every other day doesn't count as sufficient exercise, not the way I walk. Oh well. I'm sure I'll lose weight post-op so I'm not going to worry.

Evidently there's only so much a foam roller can do because in today's downpour everything hurt like blazes. Still went over to Fiesta because no one in their right mind shops on the day before a holiday Monday and I'd hoped the rain might discourage people. But no. Line up to get in, people shopping with two or three kids in tow, and as I was pushing my rollator to the end of the line some fleet-footed able-bodied male with his mask under his chin grabbed my place. I swore into my own mask and he, looking startled at the existence of someone other than himself, half-heartedly offered to let me go first. I waved him away, refraining from saying No thanks, I'd rather not breathe your air (aches and rain will almost override my Torontonian enryo but not quite) but indulged in a small pumpkin pie as compensation. It's a very good pie; I wish I'd got two, or one big one.

Supposed to be sunny tomorrow. May get out for turkey dinner, may stay in and cook my frozen turkey breast, may wait till Monday to cook since tomorrow's humidex is supposed to be 27, which is not oven weather. What I really want is alcohol, and I've ordered some sherry which won't come till Tuesday because the other thing I can't do is send some poor schmuck to the LCBO on a holiday Saturday or Sunday in the rain or the heat, TYP.

Possibly a side effect of losing weight but recently I've been able to use my foam roller as, well, a foam roller and not just the thing I do leg straightening exercises over. It's still very precarious because it's a 6 inch (15 cm) roller and I can't support myself on my arms as you're supposed to because my elbows Do Not Do That. I figured a smaller roller might let me get more areas, like the quads and adductors, and I had a smaller roller once upon a time, only it wasn't in any of the places it should have been. Possibly I threw it away in an unwonted fit of tidiness.

So I ordered a travelling roller, 4 in/ 10 cm in diameter and a foot/ 30.5 cm in length, which arrived today. Gave it a try out. Yes, much more manageable but ouch much harder than the big one. Still, rolled my IT band, which of course you're not supposed to do, but ah the looseness. Then looked for a place to stash it handy. Right beside the bed belongs to the large roller so stuck it in the open bottom part of the bedside table, which ordinarily holds cassettes and ankle weights, neither of which I use but you know I *might* and if I put them away I'll forget I have them and won't be able to find them if I need them yadda yadda. Something falls out the back anyway as I wedge the roller in. It is of course my other small roller, the twin to this one. So now I have two. Which as as well, because the length is too short to do both quads at once and one at a time doesn't cut it. One at a time with a tennis ball or two is just fine, of course.

So either the stretching with the big roller has loosened my legs or today, in spite of humidity and rain, was a good knee day. In any case got to the laundromat with microfibre bathrobe and towels, and up to the Little Free Library/ Pantry with tinned meat and tuna. However much I like chicken or tuna salad and however healthy they may be wrapped in lettuce, tinned protein simply doesn't like me. And I also disposed of three toothbrushes and four small tubes of toothpaste because my dentist's assistant insists on giving me two tooth brushes and two packs of paste every time I go there-- which has been twice in the past two months. 'You need to change your toothbrush every day you're in hospital!' Err, I don't think so. Shall be surprised if I'm even able to the first day, what with IVs and all, and when I'm home I use an electric brush. But anyway, pass on the largesse to those who need it and call myself virtuous.

...if we actually had some sun some day? or at least dry cloud? Something other than Vancouver or London-ish 'if you can see the CN Tower it's about to rain, and if you can't, it *is* raining'?

They say sun next week. I hope so. There's things I'd like to be mobile for.

Lows are only in the midteens and highs in the low 20s so I don't know what this desire to have the heat on is all about. Maybe beause it's so clammy? Whatev, I'm still chilly.

If I refrained from biting on chocolate covered almonds I'd have saved me ssveral hours and a good two hundred dollars. A quarter of that was cabs because today the streets of TO were all parking lots. Work from home, you guys. The air was so much cleaner when you did.

Being awake at 6 this morning, I fell asleep at 7 this evening so my night will be late. This is why I want to find my ativan stash.

Elizabeth Peters has succumbed to the same syndrome as her namesake Ellis. Is there a charming modest well-mannered young man on the scene? That's your murderer. I thought she was going to subvert the trope in her latest, but no. Villain all the way. At least she's not quite as cookie cutter as Cadfael (disgusting older man, sweet young female married or engaged to same, bumptious rough diamond, charming young man, 1 is the victim, 2 +3 will end up together, 4 is the murderer) but enough of the time she is.

I want my addiction solitaire back. I miss my addiction solitaire. It's an addiction.

IE still works to get me yukon solitaire, which is what I used to play before I got addicted to addiction, but IE won't load any other webpages but those.

When you lose a crown your nightguard no longer fits and keeps threatening to come out, is why I woke up frequently during the night, is why I remember the Gaiden dream I had set in the army mess of the Western Army with Tenpou and some others. There was a kind of glitch in reality where the one army butler was actually two people but no one registered that the butler on Monday was not the same butler on Tuesday but Tenpou was beginning to figure it out.

So there's this antibacterial wash you're supposed to use for two days before surgery. Available at your pharmacy. Well, no, not at mine. 'You'll have to go to Starkman's,' she says. Call Starkman's. They don't carry it. 'Call Rexall.' Rexall isn't answering their phones. Try Shoppers Drug. Shoppers Drug webpage offers me various soaps but not the one I'm supposed to get. Go on Amazon. Large size, $47, ships from the US, border and customs fees and will arrive the week of the 18th except the smaller size which will arrive the 22nd. But someone in this chain of 'No we don't/ the webpage doesn't reflect what we have in stock' mentioned that it's correctly called something other than what the hospital handbook calls it, and *that*, hallelujah, is available from amazon.ca. Not from any of the pharmacies, you note.

I celebrate with chocolate covered almonds and promptly pop a crown. Dentist will glue it back tomorrow, so I must count my numerous blessings one by one. (John Gardner's Grendel quote. We go back fifty years on that one, when both Grendel and Gardner were considered All That by the callow English majors of my acquaintance. Wrongly, I now think.)

Flannel and comfy duvets mean I sleep in to 11, not even waking and rolling over to sleep again. Hibernation mode comes early. Except yesterday when the phone rang, or I dreamed the phone rang, interrupting a dream of a successful slave uprising in either Haiti or the American south, and because my walker was to be delivered that day I had to get up. But yawned through the day and had great difficulty limping down to the library later on. However, because I had my vax certif in my bag, and because I hadn't done it in over eighteen months, I stopped at KFC on the way and had eat-in chicken and poutine.

Warm today, so laundry goes out on the line. An advantage of a new smooth deck, apart from the alas! fading wood smell, is not having to wear shoes out on it. This helps with the perennially seizing lower back: I can walk reasonably well in my stocking feet but add shoes, any shoes, to the equation, and oh the grumbles.

Latest sadness is that desktop computer/ ancient Chrome will no longer load Addiction Solitaire. Says my clock is fast and the certificates won't load. My clock is synchronized to the interwebs so it's just ancient software no longer cutting it. Can still play on my tablet but for obscure reasons, possibly having to do with shoulders, I prefer the desktop.

Made it up to the surgical supply place on the parking lot that calls itself Bathurst after sitting in the parking lot that calls itself Dupont. Cabbie and I exchanged condolences on the horrid things that happen when people build condos (Dupont) and the city replaces sewers (Bathurst)-- and, as I added, when restaurants take up lanes on each side of the street, as happens nowadays on any street south of College. 'It was bad enough before,' he said, 'but now I never want to go down to the entertainment district' which is anything south of Queen. We actually cut ten minutes off the drive when I, with my bicyclist's instincts, pointed out an alleyway off Bathurst that took us right up to Davenport. He congratulated me on my perspicaucity and we parted with much mutual goodwill.

There were a lot of people at Starkman's but I succeeded in getting my rigid frame walker, adjusted to my height and deliverable tomorrow. I also priced the ice cuffs for swelling but Starkman's, already known for highway robbery, charges $45 more than the hospital's crony supplier, and supplier will deliver it to the hospital, which is something of a plus.

Then I contemplated the parking lot which is Bathurst and screwed courage to sticking point and decided to walk home. Yesterday was an extremely owie day and I wasn't sure about today, but all was well. Also there's a diner on the way which I haven't been to in 15 years onaccounta it was the last place I went to before coming down with an epic norovirus that lasted for ten days, because I hadn't learned not to drink cold water or carbonated beverages while in the throes of a norovirus. Ate on patio, had a Long Island ice tea, made it home in one piece.

I went out to dinner with bro and s-i-l last night, yes down in the Entertainment District where they live because our Annex local is now only open four days a week. Very pricey and not to my mind very good, though s-i-l was enchanted. We'd made outdoor reservations on the sort-of heated patio, which was as well because in my fuzzy state I forgot to transfer my vaccine certificate from my backpack to my purse, and my cranky phone wouldn't access my data plan so I could call up the requisite email. In fact my cranky phone, or possibly just unreliable Rogers, wouldn't give me a phone signal either, so the waiter had to call me a cab, and then call again fifteen minutes later because someone else stole my cab, and then my s-i-l had to run up to King St to grab it because the cabbie was waiting up there instead of coming down the side street where a) the entrance is and b) he'd been told to come. Stay away from the Entertainment District, yes,

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The rodents are running hurrah! hurrah!

Entries tagged with rl_21

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