Late at night while I am getting ready for bed, I dawdle, I digress. I look at reading material, I look stuff up on the internet, I put off brushing my teeth. Suddenly it’s 1 a.m. and I am not done. Last night, the diversion was a 1995 telephone directory of all employees of the New York Times. I have forgotten the names of some of the people I worked with, so I pored over the book reliving old times and being reminded of people I haven’t thought of in years. The other sad thought was that most of them would probably be long gone now and an entirely new cast of characters is running the paper. I also felt eerily proud to have been part of a book that lists me alphabetically along with William Safire, Abe Rosenthal, and the Sulzbergers (the owning family). I miss those days. I miss the prominence of my company, I miss, without seeking it but I had it, the deference I was given when I identified myself as being from The Times. As a vested retiree, I am a member of the Times family. I get discounts, I get cheap loans if I want them, I have a Credit Union Visa card and the staff is super at resolving disputes. I’m going to cry now. Despite some financial problems in recent years, the Times has not canceled benefits for retirees.

I ordered a Feliway product to deal with the WWIII attitude of Juliet, our new young cat, rescued from an abandoned trailer, towards our resident males, Max and Tyler. She is very polemic, doesn’t want to be friends. I am waiting to receive the miracle worker that will calm them down and restore peace. Meanwhile, Juliet owns the bedroom and adjoining dressing room but that is where I keep dry food for the cats, so they are charging to get in as well. And then Juliet growls and hides.

The other odd thing is that after years of nothing, I am dreaming stories again. I don’t quite remember them when I am up, just snippets. Some of them tie in to my current neuropathy. I dream about my legs, that feel as if they are going to fall off just below the knee. It is worst at night, I get around all right during the day. Last night, I was dreaming about meeting someone in New York, and it is raining, and I am walking the streets on my way to a restaurant for the rendezvous. And I don’t remember the reason for the meeting or anything else. Foo.

About 12 days ago, I got some injections for my back and they worked right away and I felt really good. This lasted about a week and overnight, the improvement disappeared, I felt crippled, in pain. So I got an appointment and was given some new meds, also injected into my back and am feeling somewhat better. But the pain relief doesn’t kick in right away. It takes 3 days to a week to fully take effect. On the positive side, I look great, and no one can tell I’m falling apart.

Meanwhile, Sol, our nurse friend, is living with us while getting reorganized. She was looking for a house to buy but now has decided she will have one built. As mentioned, she is super helpful and a great companion. She is my surrogate daughter and we are really close. Her two cats are now allowed to get out of the guest room, so they cautiously explore the rest of the house and there is no war between them – Sasha and Monet – and our two. They aren’t great friends, but they just eye each other from a distance. Sol had gotten what she thought was a great new job at a Punta Gorda hospital (about a half hour’s drive from our place). Then it turned out that she would have four patients (it’s a special unit), but only if she had 5 patients, would she have a CNA (Certified Nurse’s assistant). That might not sound like a big deal. But it is. A CNA changes beds and bedpans and dues all the scut work and it is a full time job. Sol can’t be in three places at once. So she is going to a new interview next week to get into the Lee Memorial System that dominates our area. If she gets that job, she’ll quit the Punta Gorda outfit in a nanosecond. They lied to her. Before getting her nursing degree she worked at Lee Memorial as a volunteer and later as a CNA.

xx, Teal