Well, I sure have had my comeuppance. My cat scan from a week ago shows that I have had a stroke. Or a CVA. No symptoms, still doing all my stuff, no pain, no breathing problems, no palps. I told them they read the wrong film. But I am taking my doctor’s advice to have a low-dose aspirin a day. There’s no reason for this “incident” -- low blood pressure, normal cholesterol, perfect tests on heart and cardiovascular system.

I drove all over “town” yesterday doing errands, feeling much more comfortable with getting around because I am doing so much of it. There is major road widening taking place on Pine Island Road and that will just mean more malls. They can’t widen all the way down to our island because, even though it looks like a road, it’s really a causeway edged with mangroves that are protected. Also, our community is a historic district. The snowbirds have left and traffic is light. Makes driving a lot less troublesome.

Ed uses me as an alarm clock. I don’t set the real alarm because the little button that turns it off is too hard to find in the dark. So I use a kitchen timer. Last night, at 11:00, I set it for 7 hours, because he wanted to be up at 6. Here’s how that goes. The timer chimes, he can’t hear it -- his hearing ain’t what it was and he is resisting a hearing aid. Me: "It’s 6.” Him: “Give me another 15 minutes.” Max shows up, wants out, wants food. I deal with him. I turn on the Keurig so it can warm up. I go back and say, “it’s 6:15.” Him: “Let me sleep till 7.” I’m wide awake now (lately I go to bed around 1 or 1:30 a.m.) and go outside to get the paper. It’s trash pick-up day and a “something” with four legs and teeth has tipped over the garbage barrel and ripped all the bags open. I get gloves and go out again to clean up. We’ll have to stop putting the trash out at night.

Once, in New York, Ed wanted to go to a gun show -- 100 miles, we need an early start -- the early birds get the “good” stuff, I’ll keel over if I am too late for the “good” stuff. Where is it exactly? Follow the pick-up trucks with Biff driving, or maybe it’s Bubba or Billy-Bob. So, up at 4 a.m., I do make-up, get dressed, tell him I’m ready and does he want his coffee. Him: “I’m too tired -- we’re not going." It has been 20 years and I think it’s time for a talk about this system.

Brunswick still asleep, still not his old self, but improved. He is on an antibiotic, a pain med, a nausea med, an appetitite stimulant, an antihistamine and the phenobarbital he gets for epilepsy. The unfamiliar emulsions taste awful and he agitates and keeps pawing at his mouth after he is dosed. He should be p’oed with us for all this, but he is his loving, sweet self even after he gags on something. I have a wicker basket in the bedroom and I have been putting my jeans and casual pants in it, rather than in the dresser. Brunswick has decided it is his now and sleeps in it every night, parked on top of my pants. Who can say no to him?

Xx, Teal