It's July 2nd. Half of 2015 is gone and I'm still making sure that I've written 2015 on my checks. How does time speed up so?
Which brings me to deadlines and why I understand George RR Martin, who's adopted "Deadline? What deadline?" as his family arms motto..
Unlike GRRM, I'm not writing an opus work for the ages. I'm just trying to keep up with projects, causes and the occasional articles I write for a small paper and some websites I now admin. For most of my life, as soon as there was something to be done I jumped in and did it. That sort of immediacy only happens now if the toilet is clogged (happens every time Billy visits) or Beest is stuck somewhere on something (happens about twice a week). Everything else goes into my datebook several times, with "MUST BE FINISHED" on the final deadline. Guess when things actually get done? Yep, on the last day possible.
And so, in July, I'm attempting to catch up with the year so far. The last time I posted about life was in March and lots happened in those following 3 months.
Strider and Olive the Kissydog did get to come for an overnight, it was great to see them but too short a visit. I miss them, even though we email almost every day.
After admitting to Billy that I couldn't sit in what we now call The Billy Chair, he told me to get my old wingchair revamped for my birthday present. I found a woman who was happy to work on such an old chair (it's about 80 years old) and she gave it new life. It's good for another 80 years!
At the end of March Chiefy contracted viral meningitis in Florida. He was in hospital for 2 weeks, and was well enough to drive home to NJ mid-April. After being home a week his abdomen swelled up and Billy and Lynn talked him into going to the ER, but he'd only go to the one near his home. There, they ran several tests including a paracentises to drain the fluid and analyze it. He went home still in discomfort, and then began running a high fever. He went back to the local hospital. They couldn't find what was wrong and so he went to Columbia Presbyterian in NYC. They determined that someone nicked his intestines doing the paracentises and he was bleeding out. He was up and down for a week, then the sepsis set in. He died on May 2nd. He was 66.
This not only shocked and upset everyone who knew him, it changed Billy's life and left him friendless. He is the last survivor of the whole gang he's known since school days. Last month he started looking to move here to Vermont. As we perused RE listings, signed on with a friend who's a buyer's broker, and went to look at houses on the market, it became clear that what he wants is the house he's in. Since he and Mac had made a lot of changes there, it's not something easily found. A 20X20 bedroom, for instance, is not a common feature. He's now saying that if something doesn't turn up by Fall, he'll just stay in NJ and do more to that house (solar, new siding, new roof, etc.). He also ended up not taking the puppy Kick was holding in place for him from her German Shepherd's litter, which upset us all. I worry about him. I've no idea how this will pan out. He's not taking care of himself and was sneaking Ring Dings when I left him alone. He cut his visit short by a day and went home complaining of a stomach bug, but there was more to it than that.
MaryEllen had another round of chemo thru the Spring, and though nothing's remarkably better, nothing got worse. She started another round of chemo yesterday. Her strength and attitude are amazing.
We were told that the emptying of The Shire will begin next Summer. They've just begun breaking ground at the new site that will be a senior housing apartment building. There will be another building for the rest of us gimps but meanwhile they're moving low income young folks in here, which is changing The Shire. I'll wait for the second site. Let the old bitty next door move to Red Clover Commons ("Red Rover", we call it), and maybe I'll get lucky and have a year of peace here. She's joined a Holy Roller-type church. Now the preacher and his helper come by twice a week, yelling and singing and clapping. You must know how I love that. They did it last night during the Chris Squire Memorial. I turned up the music to drown them out.
The fate of The Shire itself is unknown. It's worth several million, and I believe that what I've been saying since the flood came will happen. In the end, it'll be sold off to a developer who'll landfill it to above flood plain level and build McMansions on this pretty site along the Brandywine.
Beest is Beest, and abides in a sort of bitchy but sweet way. Gal Friday and I have taken to dressing her up.
Gold suits her. More to come.
I'm thrilled and scared about Bernie running for President. Thrilled because he's just what we need, scared because he has an opponent who's ruthless and devious. It takes a lot out of one to have such hope for a great man to take the reins, but look at the crowds he's attracting. In Wisconsin last night he drew more than twice the size that showed up for Hillary's rally in NYC. People know that Hillary is only another corporate shill for the oligarchs, and maybe, just maybe, Bernie will win...
And I, overall, am fine. Aside from 3 newly-broken teeth and the allergies to Summer, my health is the same as usual. There is always pain. I've come to ignore it as much as possible and keep a smile on when anyone else is around. Since Western Medicine has nothing good to offer I stay away from it, treat myself with herbs, and carry on. I can't wait for cool weather again. Summer is Hell to my body. It's nice to see my front garden so full and flowery, but it's not worth the pain. Bring back the cold and long, dark nights!
Be well, have fun. Tempus fugit.
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