Hi readers. Thanks for coming by for a read.
I swan, every time I get feeling low and remorseful, which I mostly don’t, I just can’t hold onto it. Slips right between my fingers the way a broken egg gets away from a person. Doesn’t even leave any particles of eggshell hanging around to try to pick away so’s to save the goo.
What I’m saying is I could get used to this. Something awful. Here I am, snow outside, me inside. Jeanne never lets it get below 63 degrees F here in the house, which isn’t something I’ve experienced since sometime before Y2K. And I’m having to count calories instead of just counting miniscule particles of sodium.
Heck, when I checked into the hospital here almost a year ago I weighed in at 145 lbs, and didn’t have an ounce of body fat. Fasting before medical tests was agony. And here I am at 190 pounds, being careful not to gain any more. I figure I’m around 10 pounds heavier than is ideal for me. But I’ll take it off gradually, or it will rot off if I croak.
I’m cooking a lot of salt-free stovetop bread, both for bun-type [hamburger-like] or somewhat cake-like. Or pizza-like. And no sodium or low sodium isn’t cramping my style one bit. I can whip out curry fish, curry chicken, ginger beef, sauteed mushrooms, and more kinds of siamin than anyone ever heard of using mung-bean vermicelli and no sodium chicken or beef broth.
Jeanne found some extremely low-sodium Swiss cheese and I’ll confess I almost found myself wallowing in ecstacy with the first, pizza, then omelet that resulted soon thereafter.
Whip over to the double-sink with hot and cold running water, spang wash all the dirties quicker than I can tell about it. Sheeze.
Here I am gazing out the window, Otis Redding playing on the gramaphone, Hydrox snoring on his wool old-man army blanket. Shiva the cow cat nosing around finding things of interest under Jeanne’s Christmas tree, curling up on the ‘tree skirt’ [an item I never knew existed].
So here I am trying to work up a good pessimism but it escapes me. Got an old Frederick Pohl novel [Far Shore of Time] about a third read. Finished a pretty good biography of Captain Woodes Rogers, a surprisingly scholarly piece of work by David Cordingly. Pirate Hunter of the Caribbean. Thinking of passing it on to one of Jeanne’s sons, it’s so fun reading.
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not falling into any pit of joy, getting snagged up by the trap of hope. I’m just muddling along grateful as hell it’s so warm in here, watching it snow.