Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)

Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.

This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.

Wednesday, April 28, 2004

Sorry 'bout that.

Had to take a moment to run over to meet Miss Reba at the doctor's office--nothing serious, as it turns out, but you just never know. She's been having more discomfort in her chest the past couple of days, and it seemed to be different from the pain she was having with her hiatal hernia, so she FINALLY called the doctor today and made an appointment. I didn't know she had until she called me--I had just been ready to pick up the phone and call her and see if she wanted to go eat lunch, but when I heard she had an visit scheduled I figured I should high-tail it over and meet her there.

Coincidentally, he's in the same building as Cat's doctor--I'm getting to be quite chummy with the big woman in the parking deck cashier booth. Anyway, I saved my typing I was doing, bid you all a frantic adieu, and headed for the stairs. On the way down, it occurred to me that I couldn't remember what doctor she had said. You know, five minutes earlier. Golly, maybe I should have worn a helmet more often as a child. Whatever--I figured I could find out when I got there. I at least remembered he was on the seventh floor.

Got there, got parked, crosswalk, building directory--Ah-HAA!--THAT'S the GUY!, rode up to seven, got out, found the office and tracked down the lovely Miss Reba, who was sitting around behind the desk in a hidden alcove. Caught up on the backstory, and got filled in on her boss's concern that she be sure and let him know if she was going to be out the rest of the afternoon. Priorities, you know.

Asked if she managed to get the kids to school okay this morning--on these early-meeting days of mine, she has to get them all to school. (I still have to get them up and make sure they get dressed, though. ::sigh::)

Well, there's you another story--seems that she had gotten all their furry little carcasses into the Honda at 6:45, and had just started going down the street when she heard a weird noise. She asked Rebecca what the noise was.

The substory to this was that Rebecca had woken up in a particularly foul mood today--the type of mood that can only be explained by a too-quickly rising tide of female hormones bursting to make a woman of her--and so in response to Mom's inquiry, Middle Girl popped off, "I don't know--it's YOUR stupid van!"

Yes, she is still alive.

Anyway, Reba pulled over at the next street and got out to find that she had a flat tire. The exact same tire that went flat several weeks ago when we were coming home from church one night. SO, she got back in, drove slowly back around the corner to the house, parked it, and loaded up Old Moby with her young'uns. Itself a feat, given that all the books we had boxed up to donate were all stacked in the rear cargo area with the seat scooted all the way forward and the back folded down. Imagine trying to get them all in with their backpacks, then imagine a portion of the seating surfaces constrained with bundlesome heavy things, then imagine you have a barely pre-menarchial child acting like a turd, and I think if you manage to make it through without yanking someone bald-headed, you're on the fast-track to sainthood.

She did get them to school, by the way, with none needing an emergency comb-over.

Back to the waiting room now--we sat there for about thirty minutes before she got called back--I read a fascinating story in TV Guide about someone named The Donald--and get this--it's NOT Donald Duck! Nah, it's just some guy--why would anyone watch that on teevee!?

Got called back, and I went along to be supportive and help her get her clothes off. I am a thoughtful person like that, you know. Always trying to help. The nurse took her vital signs and gave her a large Bounty paper towel to wear, then hooked her up to the EKG for a baseline. That done, time for more waiting. I pawed through the stack of magazines and started reading People--did you know that show Friends is still on the air!? The article said they were going to end the show, and I looked at the date figuring it must be five or six years out of date, but it was from this week! Imagine that.

The doctor came in and after some careful listening to Miss Reba's chestal regions and review of the EKG, came to the conclusion that this was still pains resulting from her gastric problems. A relief it was nothing more serious, but she's still in some hurt from it. He gave her some samples of Prilosec--she had taken some Nexium in the past but lately has reverted to good old Tums. He sent her on down to the lab for some tests, and after carefully watching her as she got her clothes back on, I walked her back downstairs where we said our good-byes and sneaked a smooch.

And now I'm back here, and I got stuff to get done, so all of you are just going to have to come back tomorrow if you want more stuff and junk. INCLUDING the Super-GIGANTIC 4TH INSTALLMENT of the AoW Thursday Three!

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