My trip to the cardiologist was basically a non-event. I have a little plaque and my BP is fine (now that I'm taking a pill), all of my heart parts are working just fine (it was cool to see the heart cath and EKG films and know that was my heart pumping away so happily and efficiently), so I don't have to go back to see him if I don't want to. And I don't, although if I need a cardiologist in the future he's who I'll call, we both liked him. He was good at explaining. One thing we both laughed at was him telling me I might think about being more active. Durwood already scolds me for never sitting down, but I'll make an effort to spend a little time on the treadmill (or the dreadmill as MR said the other day) just as soon as I get all the empty boxes off it. Really, I'll work on it.
I need to sew more. Last night I went downstairs, dug out some space around my sewing machines, and whipped up a little something that I need for this weekend. Except on my first try I sewed the seams so that the seam allowances were on the outside. That's not right. Not even close to right. Good thing I had a seam ripper close at hand. I despair when I make rookie mistakes like that. I fixed it and finished it and I like it well enough. It turned out just the way I imagined it would--but I can't believe I sewed it together backwards. *sigh*
October 29--Alfred Stieglitz, The Steerage. It was hot down there and loud, so loud that Anna couldn't sleep. She lay with her back pressed against the side of the ship feeling the cold of the sea water seep into her bones. It felt good. Babies cried, people retched and moaned. She wasn't seasick but the smell in the airless cabin threatened to push her to it. How could it be so hot and so cold at the same time? Ellen, who came from Harwell too, lay shivering in the bunk below hers. "I don't think I'll ever be warm again," she said through chattering teeth. Anna was glad for the cool metal hull at her back to cut some of the heat from so many bodies crushed into too little space.
I'm off to the chiro to get my skeleton rearranged, and here are the trash guys or guy now that we've got those big wheelie bins and they pick them up with a robotic arm to dump them. It's efficient, I guess, but it seems like a whole sub-culture of garbologists is out of a job. Okay, I'm off. Hasta la vista, babies.