Ah, A Tranquil Sunday

The headline for this deathless bit of writing may infer that I spend my weekdays toiling in Asian sweatshop downtown, churning out hoodies for 18 hours a day.  With a 5 minute lunch hour and those other girls are really quick with chopsticks and noodles!  I am not but I can sometimes get a 3 minute break by the only kindly supervisor to mop up my front before I go back to work on the hoodies.

Rah ha ha!  Sewing a button back on is agony for me.  My opposing fingers are not pin cushions.

No, happily, I am a writer and we don't do jack-all.  We spend our days "researching" reading the media, humorous Websites looking for something to … liberate and/or reading a book "for review in the blog" purposes.

This morning is only different from past Sundays in that the Indy 500 is running (amok some would say) upstairs where Richie is thrilling at the incessant noise - very familiar to me from racing photographer days and not the stuff of dreams.  When the race is over, I can go back to working on solving both the NY and LA Times crossword puzzles.

In the meantime I've visited jigzone.com and done today's puzzle (a hairy dog in a drying off towel) and another that appealed.  Answered the mail, caught up on all of the news sites, took a glance at boredpanda.com.   What patients say to anesthetists while going or coming back was fairly funny …

I remember well and I don't doubt that the anesthesiologist hasn't forgotten it either.
Scene: the outpatient surgical clinic.  She began by injecting something and said, "You'll like this - you'll feel like you just had a flute of champagne!" all tinky winky bright..

At that moment my ob/gyn walked in to the room and said, "I saw you on the surgical list so I just popped in to say hello."  He and the anesthesiologist  exchanged warm greetings and he bounced away.  Hearing the door slam, I said to her, "Oh, so he's here to do an abortion?" and she took a half step back and shocked, said, "Heavens no!  He's a devout Catholic - I remember him as an altar boy!  He was such a sweetie."
"

And then I was rolled into the OR.  I was indeed comfortable and she must have begun to gently bring me back.  Error!  I popped up on my elbows to see over the short screen separating my eyes from my feet, and said brightly, "Whatcha doin'? and  the podiatrist gasped, rallied and said in nor
mal tones, "I'm just finishing up; I successfully removed the Morton's neuroma from your foot."

"Oo, can I see it?" and he obligingly held up a pair largish tweezers with a beautiful shade of  pink blob in their grasp.  "It's so cute!" I exclaimed, "Can I take it home?"   Now his eyes did bulge a bit but he gamely informed me it had to go directly to the lab.

It's now 11-ish a.m. and time for lunch.  A good one is:  two slices of rye break, crusts cut off, one side layered with cole slaw and the other with a spread of mayo and three thin slices of Boar's Head Chipotle Chicken.  Handful of potato chips and will be ready for the afternoon's excitement.  Which may well be listening to the rain (70 per cent chance forecast) and continuing with my book on the art of dying well.  So far it doesn't include slurping caviar, swilled down with  Moet-Chandon champagne. The beginning is a paean on changing evil life styles for healthy ones.  Diet, exercise, social agenda.  I am waiting for scenes at a death bed such as all of the family members standing around intent on their smart phones while the poor individual croaks his last.  And no one hears him … no one at all as their fingers flash on the keyboard.

Promising for a rainy afternoon, no?   I'll wait to revue it until I get to the good stuff.  And the wilder the better.

HAVE A GREAT MEMORIAL DAY WEEKEND!