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Friday, June 6, 2014
Dear Hubby’s appendix
quit. Between you and me I can’t really blame it. If I was fed a diet of some
lunch meat called Old-Fashioned Loaf and Meat Jerky, I’d quit too. (Notice I
said Meat Jerky? He’s not a persnickety man. If Slim Jim made Raptor Jerky he’d
be all over that.) Anyway, he’s healing up nicely now, after a miserable week
in the hospital. He’s also encouraging everyone to get their appendix out
before it turns on them. I’m planning to keep mine and continue feeding it a
healthy diet of field greens and chocolate to keep it purring along and doing
whatever it is that appendixes do that no one can figure out.
My buddy, Angel, says
that appendixes are like souls, you really can get by in this world just fine
Speaking of souls, some
Jehovah Witnesses just stopped by. It really says something about the solitude
of writers when I greet these women with enthusiasm. Real People! Yay!
Lately I’ve been
writing a story to be included in an anthology that will be published later this
summer. The proceeds of the book will be given to cancer charity—a most worthy
cause. I’d been working on that and fell asleep in my office the night that
Dear Hubby staggered into the room and woke me up with, “Hon, I need to go to
the Emergency Room.”
You are probably aware
it is possible to go from zero to sixty on the scale of consciousness without
hitting any of the digits between those two numbers. In all the years I’ve
known DH he’s never said those words. This is a man who functions with broken
bones for weeks before finally succumbing to a doctor and X-ray. How many times
have I watched him wiggle a hand or foot back and forth while saying, “If it
were broken, I wouldn’t be able to do this!” Since he only has one speed in
life (a speed which can only be summed up as Nads Out) he considers broken bones a consequence of living. As I
child-proofed our house after the birth of our first born, DH said, “Broken
bones are part of childhood.” Wait, what?
Not unless you’re having a movie of the week childhood!
After rousing me to
warp speed mentality, the ride to the nearest hospital in my Time Travel Jeep
was a slow and miserable one for him. Maybe now he’ll get to work on that Stargate,
because it would have come in handy. By the way you might want to negotiate
some sort of deal with your appendix so it doesn’t turn on you during a holiday
weekend. You don’t want to arrive at the hospital when everyone obviously has
way better things they could be doing. You also don’t want people trying to get
to the hospital to see you to get stuck in a parade.
When I say stuck in a
parade, I don’t mean stuck behind it either, or being rerouted around it. On my
way to visit DH, post-surgery, I ended up in a Memorial Day parade right behind
the kilted men with bagpipes. That is not such a bad place to be, if you ever
get stuck in one. I mean it has its perks. But I was in my Jeep, and I was
totally wrecking the whole Scottish theme. The worst part of that experience is
not the police part. They saw and ignored me, because frankly I’m not sure they
could figure out how the heck I got there anymore than I could. The worst part
is now I have to go back to my Time Travel Jeep book and once again insert
another scene before getting it to you, because face it, there are things in
life just begging to be immortalized in fiction. Am I wrong?