Monday: work 630-1130; then Plant City Strawberry Festival with Cathy. $20 allows you to ride all the rides you want. After a couple of rides I can’t decide if I like going on the scary rides where I scream my head off or if I just like the idea of going on them. My daughter says, “You never took me to the fair when I was little.” That’s because I was afraid of those rickety fair rides. What if something happened to you and it was my fault because I let you go? Now, the whole time I’m there I eye the mechanics of the ride (especially the ferris wheel which terrifies me—I finally have to close my eyes) and think to myself, “All it takes is one guy who forgot to tighten one bolt…” Maybe that’s the scary part of the scary rides.
I look at the little kids riding the same ride. They are notscreaming. They don’t look scared. They look happy. I think that’s because they don’t know what might happen. What could happen. Maybe that’s why I go on the scary rides. I’m hoping it’ll take me back to my childhood and I can be that blissfully ignorant and fearless again. I return home exhausted, dusty and with no strawberries…
Tuesday: My alarm goes off at 4:30. I hit the snooze button. Bill says, “It’s 4:30.” “I’m awake,” I semi-snarl. “Do you want coffee?” “Yes.” Eventually I roll out of bed, checking the clock as I take my time getting ready, making my bed, sipping my coffee. I get in my car and notice the clock says 5:06. I think, wait a minute. Aren’t I supposed to be at work at 5? (Yes.) Oh shit! I’m LATE. I take the faster toll road thinking I won’t be that late. My manager calls. “You’re on your way, right?” “Yes, sorry. I mis-set my alarm.” I’m 20 minutes late for work. Dementia has begun to set in. When I get home after visiting my hospice patient the ever-helpful Bill gives me a WSJ article about how losing your sense of smell is a warning sign of dementia. I read it. My response: “I can still tell the difference between the scent of a lemon and paint thinner!”
Wednesday: Work 5-10. I’m on time for work. I angst over my emergency dentist appointment. My gums around an upper molar have been bothering me since Sunday. I think of my short roots, my periodontal issues. Will I need a root canal? An extraction? An implant? It feels better this morning but I’m seeing the dentist anyway. The hygienist probes and cleans and takes ex-rays. Could have been something caught under the gum which caused the redness and swelling. But there’s nothing there now and it seems okay. She’s going to shoot some antibiotic up there. She does and I start crying. “I didn’t know you were going to use a needle!” “I didn’t.” She shows me the tiny plastic antibiotic delivery system. She feels terrible. Now everything hurts again. Dentist says all is well. Let $40 worth of antibiotic do its work. My teeth live to chew another day. Thank God.
Thursday: We hike a trail through the Circle B Bar Nature Preserve and look at the wildlife. Numerous alligators and lots of birds. Note to others on a nature trail: Shut up! So annoyed with the group of four loud talkers ahead of us. We kept trying to lag behind to get away from them but they kept stopping to take pictures and talk loud, disturbing the peace and the otherwise beautiful morning. Then we discovered the county animal shelter nearby. They had puppies! And very few of the dogs were pit bulls. One of the pups looked like Pepper and other like my grand-dog, Webster.
Friday: Work 5-10. A busy morning at work, a Publix run and an afternoon at the hospice office.
Saturday: Hospice volunteer appreciation day at Bok Tower Gardens. First time I’ve been there!
Sunday: “Play” tennis with Bill. It rains for four minutes and the power goes off twice. While I’m writing. Throw multiple temper tantrums having lost brilliant dialogue and decide to make muffins because I’m clearly not meant to be writing today.
In between it all? I think about, edit or write more of White Roses in Winter. (I think I finally have it figured it out.)
I read. And I nap. Stay tuned…