Woke up to nicely moderate temps in the high 60s so I decided to go out and spread a big bag of dirt on the southern flower bed with the new lantana which has been drying out to dangerous levels, then add the rest of the mulch that I hadn’t used on the memorial corner to make sure that everything stayed nice and moist.
Phoo. I was dripping with sweat by the time I got that finished, which doesn’t bode well for all the new topsoil I need to spread over the back half of the back yard. It’s worn down to the clay due to erosion and needs new soil before I can have a hope in hell of getting any grass seed to grow.
And yes, I know, why don’t I put down sod? Because topsoil and seed is cheaper, and I really need to raise the level of the ground back there anyway. Never mind—I’ll brace the left knee and take lots of breaks while I get to spreading.
I also decided to brace the crowds at H-E-B tonight. For those who aren’t familiar with the name, H-E-B is a privately held grocery store chain based out of San Antonio with stores throughout Texas and parts of northern Mexico. The company also owns Central Market, which is the local foodie altar, so I really wanted to check out the offerings at the brand new H-E-B store in Plano.
And I was not disappointed. It’s huge, has a BBQ restaurant on site, the array of pre-cooked and ready-to-cook meals in the deli section is freaking amazing (Lyndon liked the chicken tikka masala I brought back for him and the sushi rolls I bought were yummy), and I picked up a loaf of asiago cheese bread because why not? I could easily drop $300 in that store without blinking, so it will have to remain an occasional treat, but it was fun to check out the offerings.
I am happy to announce that the S’mores ice cream is a hit. Lyndon took a spoonful, his eyebrows went up and he said, “Oh, that’s very nice,” which in British means, “Damn, this is delicious!”
Got the results of my blood and pee tests on Monday and all my numbers look good, so it seems like I’ll be around for a little while longer to make stuff, take care of the J Crew, and annoy the bigoted. So I have that going for me.
Look upon me in awe, mortals, for I have doing All the Adulting. I have:
Or as others call it, my yearly physical. Apart from the fact that I had to fast until 3:00 PM it was pretty painless—talked to the doc, everything was normal, he renewed my scrips, went down to the lab to drop off some blood and pee, cool cool cool.
I don’t know how many people do this, but my particular reaction to grief, apart from crying, is cleaning. When Jordan died I gave the master bath a deep clean, finished recaulking the shower enclosure, and did a bunch of other tasks to get it in shape.
My editor lives in the next town over and knew about J.J. so she offered to take me out for coffee today, coffee being a code term for taking an hour to grab some sort of non-alcoholic drink and something sweet to eat, then hanging out together for a good old-fashioned bitch session.
It really wasn’t until today that I truly understood just how much time I’d been spending on J.J.’s care. My morning routine would be: get up, get cleaned up and dressed, come down and feed the J Crew if Lyndon hadn’t already done it, check on J.J., change his bedding (and pee pads) if necessary, shift whatever was in the washer to the dryer, load dirty clothes and soiled bedding into the washer and get that going, come back and give J.J. a sponge bath, then some sub-q fluids, then snuggle him for awhile, then put him back on the bedding and grab some breakfast. In the last few weeks I would hang over the back of the futon and hold his water bowl so that he could drink, and try to tempt him with some kibble, Lick ‘n’ Lap, or Hydra Care.
As it turns out, digging a grave for a frail elderly cat is more work than you’d expect, especially in North Texas clay with all kinds of thick roots running through it. But making yourself too tired to cry is kinda useful, too.
Melanie Fletcher 