WAITING IN THE WINGS

These men were greeters
at a hotel at Disneyland.
The one on the left is
playing the part. The other
fellow looks "real" to me.

OVER TIME, as I've downloaded photos onto my computer, I've tucked images into a folder labeled "Blog possibilities". As you know, sometimes several of the pictures together yield possibilities to illustrate a story for the day's entry. 

However, there are in excess of 2,000 items just sitting there, a little like the envelope of what I call "bastard stamps", gathered every time postage rises to the point that I don't even know what some of the denominations are. Mr. Bob refuses to use them to mail his bills, so it falls to me as the thrifty one to find uses for those bits of paper. 

I wish we could sit down together and sift through some of these gathered images, although I know that your attention span would expire before we got very far, so my intent (the road to hell is paved with those, you realize) is to grab a random dozen of them every weekend and share them. Whether you'll find that interesting or not is anyone's guess. We'll find out soon enough, by the comments.

Here we go:

I'm a bit appalled to look back and see the size of servings I used to dish up. My servings are far smaller now; yet I'm much bigger. 

Remember the blanket I wanted to make for Owen, with stripes going alternating directions, only I ended up with 36 trapezoids? Frances saved the day, but my plan was thwarted, par for my craft course.

Why in the world? Was this a mistake? I found it too interesting to toss. Now I can.

Montrose is a prime area for studios to shoot movies. Our store came close to being chosen, but plans never culminated. They pay big bucks and make a big mess.

My second (and last, knock on wood) bout with gout. What you see is uric acid crystals trying to rise to the surface. Hurt like a son of a gun and took forever to heal. 

Usually patriotic, I find this scene amusing when maybe I shouldn't. 

Do you love this sign? Is that one hour later for opening or closing?

Mr. Bob is a tough nut to crack.

This appeared in a blog long ago. It was the view from our table as we celebrated our 49th wedding anniversary.

I may yet do a series of houses high on a hill. The idea intrigues me. 

Proof that I had a droopy right eye all along. Talk about short hair!

"True nostalgia is an ephemeral composition of disjointed memories." Florence King

CHRiSTMAS GALA

"

LAST EVENING was the Manor's Christmas party for residents, families and friends. While I stayed upstairs with my stuffy, unmedicated nose and my short hair, Mr. Bob gathered the camera and an extra battery and went down to record the festivities. He returned to our room for a few moments, long enough to report that hilarity was running high and lots of people were in attendance. I wished I could be there. Tim forgot to come, which was okay; it was the first full week that he'd worked in a long while and he was tired out. 


I'm beginning to wish we had a spray of evergreen to scent the air or a wreath to hang on the shower head or something a bit seasonal to lighten our atmosphere, but we've decided it is not to be unless I get to feeling better and indulge in a decoration or two from Trader Joe's, in opposition to our decision to restrain our holiday excitement. I really dislike having to be "grown-up" and sensible. Something in me is yearning to do something wild and crazy, but a lack of stamina disallows it, at least for the moment. 


Since our illnesses were diagnosed, I've been lax about keeping up on the Manor photo album, but I took Mr. Bob's photos from last night and worked up several pages, struck by how festive a color red really is. Working with it actually brightened my mood somewhat. I need to work on an attitude adjustment and I'll do it right after I put my face on for the day (Mr. Bob sometimes advises me to "make it a happy face". We'll see what today brings.)

This couple is not very happy to be in this living arrangement and they looked nearly happy last evening!

Ernie and her visiting daughter enjoy a Christmas nibble.

Carolers, borrowed from the Tam O' Shanter (or Shanty Lanterns) for the occasion........

Ms. Jane and Ms. Mary, inseparable pals, diligently look after each other.

Mr. Tom suffered a stroke and can communicate better without speech than many a wordy person. He conveys when he's happy to see you.

"Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home."
                                  ~Carol Nelson

UNDER THE WEATHER

DIFFERENT DIRECTIONS

USUALLY JOINED AT THE HIP, yesterday Mr. Bob and I needed to go off in different directions. It was necessary for him to head to the Cancer Center to meet with a radiologist and at the same time I had a hair appointment up the hill. So, off he went in the limo with Luis at the wheel and I headed north.


My tires seek out the ruts in the road and I can nearly put it on automatic and daydream my way for the car has traveled that route so frequently in past months. I wish I could express to you my joy at being able to drive right past the hospital with its attached medical building without the need to turn in to honor an appointment. I was nearly giddy with the idea of returning to what I deem the "real" world. 




The hairdresser, Ernesto, is the eldest of 8 children and regales me with stories of his family as the kids were growing up. We laugh a lot and he always asks after Mr. Bob who used to accompany me to my appointments when he still had a driver's license.


The surgeon, when I asked, assured me that I would lose my hair through chemotherapy treatments, even giving me a catalog of wigs. The oncologist said that it might thin considerably and the 2 nurses told me that the medication I'm taking shouldn't cause hair loss. The man I really trust on this is Ernesto and he thought we should wait for a permanent to see what happens. So he cut my hair short, short, scissoring all the curly parts off and now we'll see what fresh hell this is, trying to manage my own straight hair. I should have photographed the curls they swept up off of the floor....my mother would have rescued them to dig in around her rose bushes. It was a lot. 

"How can I control my life when I can't control my hair? " ~Author Unknown

Update on Mr. Bob........next Monday he'll report for radiation, 5 days a week for 7 weeks.

SEASON'S READINGS

IT DOESN'T MAKE MUCH SENSE,

BUT WE'RE DOWNPLAYING

THE HOLIDAYS THIS YEAR, 

WHICH WOULD HAVE MADE

MR. BOB'S LIFE EASIER 

IF I'D APPROACHED IT 

THIS WAY OVER THE YEARS.

I'VE TENDED TO BE THE

SUGAR PLUM FAIRY, 

WEDDED TO SOMEONE 

RESEMBLING

MR. GRINCH OR SCROOGE.

THERE'S MUCH FOR WHICH

TO BE THANKFUL AND

THAT'S WHERE OUR FOCUS WILL LIE.

TIME GOES SO QUICKLY THAT

IT'S HARD TO BELIEVE THAT

CHRISTMAS IS NEAR, TO BE

FOLLOWED A WEEK LATER BY 

A BRAND NEW

YEAR.

"The mere brute pleasure of reading - the sort of pleasure a cow must have in grazing."

                                               ~Lord Chesterfield

AND THE NEWS IS.........

"

WHAT WILL HE TELL US? 

AND THE NEWS IS.........




ACTUALLY, it took 24 hours to find out if there's a go-ahead for Mr. Bob's radiation, but today we found out that since there seems to be no indication of a tumor on the liver, he's a good candidate. There was, after his course of chemotherapy, a remarkable improvement in the tumor in the lung, so that was good news. Even though yesterday the final answer wasn't available, we celebrated by going out to breakfast (a self granted reward......Mr. Bob would have happily returned to the Manor for a meal, but I'm the hedonist who wants to "play", once I'm out of the compound).

I know why they keep doctors' offices so cold, but it seems nearly inhumane. Our friend, Nadine, once shivered so violently waiting in the examination room that they had to bring her a blanket and a hot cup of tea. We must have waited the better part of an hour before Dr. G. appeared with the results of the CT scan.

Today it was my turn. Myra is the nurse who administers the magic medicine (why do I tend to think of it as poison? Possibly because it is?) and I'm ever grateful that I don't have to submit to the drip method, but need to have three syringes full of stuff injected into my implanted port (with tubes that go to my heart...... eeewwww!) and then I'm through. Another week of pills and then I can consider myself 1/6 of the way through with my program. 


I mentioned to the doctor that I keep asking the same question without having received a satisfactory answer. How far should I go in urging Mr. Bob into physical activity and this time I was given the sanction to nag him into action. We've both lost stamina in the past months of coddling ourselves and it would be a shame if we regained our health and found ourselves unable to move.

So, up and at 'em, Mr. B.
Time's a wastin'






"Too many radiologists still believe there is a risk from a chest x-ray. Few radiologists can explain radiation to the patient in words the patient can understand."
                                                                                                                      John Cameron

WHAT WILL HE SAY?

IN 20 MINUTES, we'll head to the oncologist's office to hear how successful Mr. Bob's chemotherapy treatments were. Probably not one of us could claim to like this kind of suspense. I find it nearly suffocating until I remember to breathe and relax the clench of fear in my solar plexus. There is such a thing as self mind control and that's what I'm learning to practice these days. 


Too bad we couldn't have combined our appointments for I'm scheduled to go tomorrow for my treatment. I'm dressed for the cold weather (39 degrees at last report, but it'll warm up later) and feel a little like an immovable snowman, stuffed into my turtleneck, sweater and throw, barely able to move my arms. Mr. Bob has already donned his red jacket, cozy and warm and comforting even in warmer weather. 


Wish us luck!

"In diagnosis think of the easy first."

                                               Martin H. Fischer