Even better. But no Muppet. (And I even have some in the house, which I had forgotten, but R reminded me.)I finally spoke to the Sibs last night, who had been on vacation in Montreal for the week. She called from Connecticut, on the way home. She said she couldn't call anybody from Canada, because she kept getting operators who would only speak to her in French. Sadly, I believe that this is true. I say sadly because I would imagine that it was beyond the sense of those involved to find out how to make a phone call through an English operator. Certainly, The Keeper wouldn't have cared to call anybody, since those he cares about were with him, and the Sibs doesn't so much think in patterns that would let her figure it out. Anyway, I said something about us having to check our baggage when we fly, and she didn't seem to give that much thought, only how she's going to bring her needlepoint and/or knitting on board. But I'd already thought of that, and had emailed her the link to the TSA page that addresses that issue.
My sister needs to have her stuff around her when she travels. She has always been this way. When we were little, and we would drive up to Masssachusetts every six weeks or so to see my grandmother, my parents would assign us our space in the backseat: I sat behind my father, with my toys and whatever on the floor in front of me, and the Sibs sat behind Shirl, her stuff on the floor behind that seat. Except she had more stuff that that. It would also be stuffed in between her and the side -- it was a two-door car, a big 1955 Chevy -- and on the seat between the two of us. As the trip went on, her stuff would spread over, and move in on my space. Which really didn't matter, because when she wanted to lie down and sleep -- she always did -- she demanded the entire back seat. Where did I go? Mostly, I shoved my stuff over someplace and I curled up on the floor like a puppy behind Jack's seat. It was the floor for me. If I got tired of that and wanted to stretch out, I would lie across the "shelf" up behind the back seat. These days that would be child neglect, but back then, kids would routinely sleep up there. If we stopped suddenly and I rolled off, I didn't care, because I would fall right onto the big sister who had put me there in the first place. Served her right.
Anyway, even when she flies, she must take a book or two, needlepoint and knitting (who knows which one she'll feel like doing?) and all kinds of other stuff. She says that when she travels by car, as they just did this week, she loads the back seat with all her stuff, and lies down across it when she's tired. (Little K rides shotgun with his dad.) Years ago, we went to a Yankees game, and the Sibs brought a book in her big tote bag, in case she got bored. O ... kay.
I am concerned this week for my Chum, who's had to make an emergency trip from her summer home in Maine to Florida, where her elderly mother has pneumonia. I've spent some time with her mother over the years and she is just a delight, very easy-going and lovely. This, unfortunately, is part of the problem, because when she spoke to her daughter on Sunday, she didn't tell her she had pneumonia because she didn't want to trouble her. But on Wednesday, after days of not responding to the antibiotics -- which she didn't even get right away; she waited on that one, too -- some of the Chum's cousins who live down there called her and tattled, so she flew down yesterday. I'm anxious to hear from her, although her Internet access is limited. I'd rather not hear her voice on the phone, though, because I'm afraid that would only mean bad news. So send good thoughts down to Jean in Florida, all-around cool old lady.
K is leaving for work in a half hour, at which point I'll change into my other clothes and walk away some pounds for awhile. I may try the 2-mile today. I was talking to OldFriend a little while ago, who has a variety of health and extreme-weight related problems, and who lives in a studio apartment in the city, and I was telling her about the Walk Away the Pounds thing, and I think she can do it. It's got to be the most accessible exercise you can do at home. You don't need equipment, or even much space. She asked if it involved getting down and up again from the floor, which is hard for her, but it doesn't. Even the stuff that requires arm-leg coordination isn't a big deal; I can't do that kind of thing at all, and I just skip it. Anyway, that's my sales pitch for the day.
I bought my two half-pound slices of low-sodium turkey at the ShopRite deli counter this morning; let me tell you, when I ask for that, they think that I am just crazy. I ask for a pound of turkey in two slices, a half-pound each. Then at home, I chop it into cubes and freeze it in 2 oz. bags, and each day I take one out and put it on my salad for lunch. Doesn't everybody do that?
Two of my missing packages have been delivered by the post office, but one is still out there. I believe that an envelope sent by first-class mail should not take ten days. I'm just saying.
