Close to Nowhere
The little gray cat started it this year at my house.
We’re kinda like what Erma Bombeck used to write about — holidays equal doctors, sickness, pain, etc.
A week or so before Christmas, the little gray cat, who does not have a name, darted in the front door — again. The feral cat does not do well in the house, but she will brave all the dogs to dart in the front door.
I normally throw her some food out on the back deck and she goes out easily enough. All the dogs were in the house though, so it required quite a scramble to get her out alive. I was so eager to get the sliding glass door shut that I slammed it shut on my finger. I still have a funny-shaped nail and bruise.
A few days later I made a “flying emergency (I was cooking and didn’t have what I needed) trip” to the store. I parked next to the handicapped space and was thinking hard about what all I had to get as I walked up the incline.
There was no incline where I was walking though. It was a curb. Caught the toe of my shoe and threw me flat down. My toe still hurts.
The Friday before Christmas I ran in and got dog food — Great Dane, German shepherd and little mutt — lots of dog food.
I was tired when I got home and within a couple hours realized I had what everyone else had — stomach virus. There’s not much I hate worse!
I didn’t get any presents wrapped — I had planned to wrap in a marathon Saturday. That wasn’t happening though.
I managed to cook Christmas dinner, but there was no eating it for me. I didn’t even get to enjoy the Christmas tree lights. Usually they make me happy and calm.
We managed to survive the holidays, with son Kris taking a new antibiotic.
He came into the living room Tuesday and asked did I have some sort of medicine.
I almost fainted when I looked at him. His face and lips were so swollen he could barely talk. He was having an allergic reaction to the new antibiotic.
He couldn’t eat, his mouth and throat hurt too much. He couldn’t talk for the same reasons.
Much Benadryl later, changed antiobiotic and just plain ole time passing, Kris almost feels normal again.
Normal for us anyway.
Forget black-eyed peas and pork for luck on New Year’s. We’re having lasagna.