I have appointments . . . I must be busy. (I shouldn't have bemoaned not having any last time.)
A haircut or two before my French Alps trip in June, I told my hair stylist to let the hair at my neckline grow out a little so that when I was wearing a hat, I'd be less often mistaken for a boy. Not that curls at neckline are any guarantee of gender. Still . . .
At the appointment following the trip, I'd somehow grown curliness all over my head, so we decided to give it just a little trim to see how it all went, then I'd return to see her in four weeks. By the time of my appointment on Monday this week, the hair had turned into a wild mass that felt like I was wearing a winter hat.
Therefore, it was with great anticipation that I tapped on the stylist's door and tried to let myself in. Locked. I peered in windows. Dark. I listened. No dog barks, no TV prattling.
I called her cellphone number that she had posted on the door.
She was out of town. She didn't have her appointment book with her. She'd be home that evening and would call me, but meanwhile she asked me to leave a note for anyone else who might show up. I threaded my fingers through my perspiration-dampened hair, tugging it straight out, letting a little air through. Rats!
That afternoon I drove down the hill to the little city for my annual dermatology appointment, wearing egg beater hair, taking the super-scenic backroad. The main road is undergoing construction for who-knows-how-long, during which I'll be using the scenic backroad or the super-scenic backroad with scenic enhancemenst (more curves, more potholes, fewer cars) to get to the city.
I used to think it was funny that dermatologists refer to certain of the brown spots that start to appear on our bodies as we get older as barnacles. But now I decided I'm not so fond of being likened to the bottom of an old boat. In any case, I had a couple of things on a shoulder I wanted him to take a look at, and another couple of weird patchy things on my other arm. I always ask for a complete inspection since I can't see all over my body. (My husband used to do such a good job of spotting things to tell the dermatologist -- something else to miss.) There was nothing suspicious in the out-of-view areas except for . . . he left the part where he might say barnacles blank. The self-identified things called for three to be zapped with nitrogen and one to be biopsied. He'd call me within a week with the biopsy results.
Then I shopped, and shopped, which as I reflect on, just generated a to-do list. I'll spare you at the moment but must keep it for myself. When I bought kitty treats, there was a nice sale on a pop-up cube with an attachable tunnel. I walked by it on the way in, but succumbed to it on the way back to the cash registers. I also arrived home with far too many nectarines and peaches.
|The obligatory cat |
|The new kitty toy (the cube & tube on the left)|
When I got home I had a message from the Flooring Guy who will replace my carpeting with vinyl in preparation for the new toilet (at which time I'll probably grace you with another toilet photo, although probably not with a pink seat). We set up an appointment for him on Tuesday to take a look at my tiny bathroom space and show me floor samples.
My Photo A Day for Monday was WRITING, wherein I show a sample of papers with my writing and other notes, which also serve as a mouse pad.
Early Tuesday my hair stylist called and we set up an appointment for Wednesday noon, provided my window washers had left by then. Her schedule showed my haircut was supposed to be the previous Monday and I had been the no-show. When I got to counting weeks, I think the error was mine in entering the date in my PDA.
I took Sister to a Soroptimist meeting for lunch. She has finally decided that she is spending enough time here in the mountains to contribute time and effort to Soroptimist and she is joining.
My phone, which seldom rings, went crazy on Tuesday, ringing, it seemed, every few minutes that afternoon and evening. The window washing people confirmed their Wednesday a.m. appointment; charities and political campaigns solicited; I declined, telling them at the first instant I could get a word in edgewise that I don't respond to phone solicitations, however much I might like their cause, and they try all the "but will you's . . ." because I suppose they are being paid by their successes and I'm trying to be polite and not make it personal.
Flooring Guy's caller ID showed up on a call. He was due around 3 p.m. and the crackling cell phone call arrived closer to four. I could only decipher "running late" and "Oak" before the call dropped. That was enough for me to know he was an hour away and would be in a cell-phone dead zone for that long, so the remaining question was whether he'd still be able to come by that day. Another call from him as he approached the neighborhood (and the call didn't drop!) and he made it with the samples. My tootsies will miss carpeting on cold winter nights.
At 5:46 the phone rang again. The dermatologist's name showed up in caller ID.
Uh oh. Calling the next day? This can't be good.
He did the greeting, then said he had the biopsy results. It's cancerous, a basal cell carcinoma.
Relief. He did not say melanoma or some kind of metastasized breast cancer.
He got it all on the biopsy and I only need to return on my regular annual schedule.
The Photo A Day for Tuesday was 8 O'CLOCK. I collaged it.
The window washers were due at 9:30 on Wednesday. I hopped up early, having left scooping litter boxes and pulling certain things away from the windows until morning.
Yikes! At 9:10 their truck appeared in the driveway. I was close enough to done with my prep chores. These guys manage to reach over things and behind things and move things I can't. They hand wash both sides of the windows and wash screens, many of them requiring tall ladders. The two young men quietly went about their business and finished it in under an hour and a half.
So no probem gettin to my noon haircut appointment, although there was a brief stand-off as the screen door was locked. This time, however, a ding of the doorbell set off a chorus of dogs and my stylist had to give the broken latch on the screen door a sharp rap to get it open.
So I'm shorn now, but still not back to my previous shortness. We'll see if it's cool enough and we've got the weather to test it. I went to town for my mail after the haircut and noticed there was a 30° difference between the outside and inside temperature when I got home. Tepid water was coming out of the cold water tap.
I was ready for a nap, but another phone day had arrived.
The Photo A Day for Wednesday was GLASSES. I used the picture of Sister's cat Healey, sitting among the glassware, that I had in my last post. My camera has been rather silent for the past few days.
See you soon.