Never Say Never

The past two nights haven’t been the best, sleep-wise. Night before last, it was cramping feet. Last night, I simply couldn’t get completely and totally asleep. When I did nod off, I’d dream strange dreams. I don’t remember what they were but they were weird. Maybe it was the coconut ice cream and chocolate chips? When I did wake up after a hard several hours, my right leg started cramping. I can’t win.

This morning, I did my body test. Yesterday, I was down .9 lub. My Mii fussed at me. “At this rate, it may be hard to reach your goal. Remember, you have 190 days. Do you want to reset it?” I said no. This morning, I was down .4 lub. My fickle Mii said, “Good job! You’re approaching your goal at a good pace!” Well, that might not be word for word but the meaning’s the same. Lose a little, get cheered. Lose more than twice as much and get jeered.

Both early and late, I’ve fielded emails from the editor. It was past 1 when I got to bed this morning. I’ll be glad when Q3 is finished and then it will be time for Q4.

I’d been trying to reach my niece to settle what we’re going to do when her cousins (my nieces) arrive. We’ve just about narrowed it down to having a picnic in some park. My offering at that time was potato salad. Now it’s expanded to include marinated cucumbers, Campari tomatoes and olives. Oh, and guacamole + chips.

The funeral for my former neighbor was early this afternoon. I got ready and set out in good time. The chapel wasn’t full when I got there but a lot of people were standing around visiting. I went in and got a seat on the next to the back row. Before the service started, the place had filled until people were having to hunt places to sit.

I hadn’t worn my hearing aids. Big mistake. I missed out on a lot that was being said. The sound system isn’t great. As for the music, there was an a capella number with several voices and a solo at the end. It was very country but beautiful.

It hadn’t occurred to me that the deceased was less than two years older than me. When I talked to DD this evening, I told her it reinforced my resolve to let things progress naturally should I ever be diagnosed with cancer. I would rather have a few good years than battle and be miserable. I must say you would have never known she was having a bad day from her Facebook posts. She was always upbeat.

The funeral started at 2 EDT and I was in the car on the way to Walmart by 2:40. I’m glad I parked as far to the right of the space that I did because a van was so close to me I had to squeeze through the door so I could sit down.

My hair was longish when I went to my great-niece’s graduation and it had two weeks to grow longer. I was desperate to get it cut. There were only two people working in the beauty shop and one of them was the woman I’d sworn would never touch my head again. She was busy. The other girl was busy. When she entered me into the computer, she said it would be 15 minutes. I could only hope I’d get the other one.

For 15 minutes, I roamed the store (Uh-oh! I just remembered I didn’t get cilantro!) and got some of the things I had on my list. I parked my cart in a corner in produce and alerted “my” guy that it was there. Making my way to the shop, I sat down to wait. Another woman came in and sat in the chair on the other side of the table.

We started visiting. I pretty much learned her life history plus her husband’s while we waited. The other hairdresser got through and called her up. Oh, dear.

Next in line, I was summoned to The Chair. How did I want my hair cut? I told her what I’d liked about it before and hoped for the best. She clippered it up the back and then took me to the shampoo bowl to wash the “product” out of my hair (I’d misted it with hairspray after I’d dried it earlier.)

Back in The Chair, she started snipping. She asked what length I wanted the top. I told her. She snipped some more. “Check that and see if it’s what you want.” I pulled it up and said, “It needs to be longer.” I thought she was going to swallow the ring that was in her lower lip. I about fell out on the floor laughing. Talk about LOL! The look on her face was priceless!

When I was in beauty school, all new students were initiated by being told to go to the shop down the block and get the hair stretchers back they’d borrowed. Of course, there was no such thing. She must not have ever been put through the process that we were.

Long story short, I told her to even it up. She offered to style it for me but I told her to just blow it dry. It had almost dried on its own but she gave it a few passes with the dryer and used a large round brush on it, to boot. When I checked out, she magnanimously told me she didn’t charge for drying it. I told her I appreciated it and fled. My first stop was in the bathroom at the back of the store. I left my washed hands a little damp and finger combed it so it looked somewhat better.

Rounding up some more things I needed, I started looking for slacks. My summer wardrobe is very sparse except for Mother’s dresses and I don’t wear them anywhere but home. I’d forgotten to check the size of the pants I had on so I hunted up a tiny associate—she probably came up to my shoulder and I’m short—and told her I had a strange request. Could she check and see what size my slacks are? She did, and told me they are an 8-10.

I went to the rack, got a gray pair and some lightweight denims with an elasticized waist. Now I feel OLD. Taking them to the fitting room, I found my friend, The Checker. The denims fit so I’m set. Later, when I was looking for a small electric fan for my bedroom, there she was again.

There were some things I couldn’t get at Walmart so I stopped by Bi-Lo and spent some more money. Shoot! I wish I’d remembered the cilantro!

The Welcoming Committee was on the deck when I got home. I managed to dodge them while I unloaded. After I put things away, my conscience got the better of me and I texted my cousin. Dragging myself to the house, I fed all the livestock and came back to collapse.

Caged ChickensMy sister had emailed that she had made some vegan rolls (I think). She didn’t want to buy free range eggs because of what the chickens might have eaten. They are meant to eat worms, bugs and vegetation. They also ingest sand and gravel. I don’t know what she thinks the chickens that lay her eggs eat that’s better. I started looking around and found a report that includes findings about Rose Acre Farms, producers of Eggland’s Best eggs. I used to cook with them when I was still eating animal products but I think that would convince me otherwise.

One of the used-to-be ingredients in some commercial feed was inorganic arsenic. Last time I checked, that’s poison. I think the only way to be sure of having decent eggs to eat is to raise your own laying hens. DS2 and his are doing just that. He said the eggs will end up costing about “$1,000 apiece.” I’ll just stay away from all of the animal secretions.

I felt a bit stronger after I drank my water. My second meal out of the way, I called DD and we caught up on our respective happenings as much as we could with my constant coughing.

Twinkle is grooming herself. That’s bound to mean another hairball. And life goes on.

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