Brotherly love, that is, as it turns out my bro has the same exact spinal problems I do (misalignment, protruding discs and arthritis), except worse, as he’s older and hasn’t done anything to treat them for a decade. It looks like talking to me about how much my surgery helped me – along with some new, excruciating symptoms - has helped him to decide to pursue treatment. He’s started getting steroid shots, and even asked me to re-send him my cartoon guide to spinal fusion, so he can show it to his friends at work when he explains his situation.
I’m really glad he is finally taking care of himself and seems to have good doctors, but of course I worry. I worry because his situation has progressed to be far worse than mine – he’s got advanced arthritis and severely protruding discs between every single vertebra in his neck, and they haven’t even done the lumbar MRI, yet. I also worry that, these things being genetic and he and I clearly having more in common than looking ridiculously alike, I, too, will be looking at possible multiple surgeries in the future. Crap!
This is really going to set back our plans of forming a family troupe of trapeze artists.
It looks like August is going to be a busy month. Besides the yearly celebration of the anniversary of the blessing that was my birth, Mrs. Nator has decided she’s had it with the shredding flooring in the hall, falling plaster all over the place, rusting refrigerator, and our continuing argument over what colour to paint the bedroom. Decisions have been reached, and she plans to take a week or two off that month and set to renovatin’ and paintin’. I will probably advise and watch. Okay, maybe I’ll help, but not on my birthday.
Meanwhile, I learned last week that a.) no administration workers are getting raises this year at my workplace, due to all the hub-bub and re-budgeting that have come with having a new GM and him bringing in new ideas and staff, and b.) in August I will be moving to a new office and working for a new person. I knew a move was imminent, but I didn’t know about the new boss. She’s someone who’s not come yet, so I know nothing about her or even what her title will be. I am told that my job will be pretty much the same, although it’s not certain whether I’ll also be doing some assistant work for the new honchess.
Overall, I am very slightly nervous, but pretty much fine to go with the flow of all this. After all, I’ve been fairly over this job for a while now, and after not being able to finagle getting laid off earlier this year, I’ve decided to refuse to worry about anything that goes on here as, hey, the worst they can do is lay me off. We got a little back-up money, so I’m surprisingly low-stress. Actual worst case scenario? I hate the new boss and have to find another job. I’m doing research on possibly going back to school, anyway (shhhh!), so, what? Me, worry?
The I-Am-Going-To-Hell Dept.
Bombing innocent citizens of Lebanon is bad enough, but this wanton destruction of kitty toys must stop!
The Second Deadly Sin Dept.
Once every year or two, my friend Cat Lady L and I go out to Blue Ribbon and gorge ourselves silly. Neither of us can afford (or stomach) this kind of meal often, but so few others we know truly enjoy raw oysters the way we do, and you’ve gotta live a little now and then. So, while carrying on a delightful conversation, she and I manages to polish off the following:
Spring water, bread & butter, 2 glasses wine (Savingnon Blanc for her, Reisling for me), one dozen raw oysters (Nova Scotia and New Brunswick varieties, one of which has a terrific,springy sweetness), sautéed calamari (in a garlic pesto sauce - fabulous, succulent and similar a dish I had in Ptown), whole roast garlic, string bean vinaigrette (too heavy on the vinaigrette, IMHO), beef marrow and oxtail marmalade on toast points (delicious, PETA-inflaming, heart-attack-on-a-plate), warm goat cheese salad and a root beer float.
Halfway through the meal I had a distinct vision of the peasants breaking down the door and hauling us off to the guillotine. Truly, I do not know how the upper class does it. I’d say I left the place ten pounds heavier (I could barely walk), except that’s probably the amount of weight that went missing from my wallet. All in all, however, the food was excellent and the service absolutely impeccable, as usual. If you haven’t been there, go thither, at least once.
Have I mentioned that this evening I’m attending an orientation for a weight-loss program? (Burp.)
We now return you to your regular attention span. Cheerio!