In college we used to say, “It wasn’t a party if no one ended up in the emergency room.”
That is because, in college, we were all complete idiots.
Sunday, as I mentioned, was our anniversary. I woke up to these:
Tucked into the blooms was this little critter.
This is what we decided to do for the day: head toward the coast to go to an artists’ co-op to buy a new piece of art for the house. This is an idea we stole from Himself’s sister and brother-in-law. Instead of gifts, we will pick out a new piece of art for the house every year. We like this idea.
So we headed west.
We stopped first at an organic bakery, split a chocolate scone and wandered around this little garden.
Then we hopped back in the car and headed wester.
When we got to the artists’ co-op, we discovered that it has shifted its emphasis more towards yarns and textiles. Which, although lovely, wasn’t quite what we were looking for.
So we headed up the street to another shop and found this funky bowl which we’ve decided will become a birdbath in the yard.
Then we pushed a car out of a ditch. Yes, a poor girl who parked by the side of the road had a tire slip off the pavement into open space. Four of us pushed the car back onto the road. I was the only one wearing a skirt (which was appropriate seeing as how I was the only woman) and of course I’m the only one who ended up with schmutz on themselves. Figures.
Then as we walked back to the car, flush with our car-rescue-and-recovery efforts, we stopped in an antique glass store and bought a few things.
This is a Martin Luther King Jr. bottle. I have no awareness of there being MLK Jr. memorial glass-ware, and I only picked this up initially because of the lovely color. Then I realized what it was and saw the back:
Not sure how readable that is, so allow me to help: “Non-Violence is the answer.” And so I decided I had to have it. It now sits in the garden. Not that we had a violent garden to begin that needed instructions embossed on a bottle in order to keep the peace, but it’s just a sentiment that bears repeating, lots. In general. Especially as far as my cats are concerned. But 1)the bottle is outside, and 2) the cats can’t read (I don’t think) so I have to tell them verbally anyway. “HEY!” I yell at Nimbus as he is pouncing on Topaz and she is screaming like a banshee, “Non-Violence is the answer!” I do believe my cats would have tried the patience of even the good Dr. King.
And finally, I bought these:
And now you’re trying to be polite, right? Cause you’re thinking, “Ummm…is that an ashtray?” And if you could see it a little more clearly, you’d also being saying, “And does it say ‘Nugget Casino’ on it?” And I would happily say, “Yes!” to both those questions. And here is where you look at me funny and ask why I am spending money at antique glass stores on ashtrays.
And I say to you: “I have a plan!”
And you say, “Lori, you always have a plan, and that is why we are always nervous.”
And I concede that you are totally right.
But “I have a plan!” is all I’m going to say about the ashtray at this time. So there!
And right about now you’re wondering why I mentioned emergency rooms at the beginning of the post. And first you thought the car stuck in the ditch led to the emergency room. Nope! And then maybe the ashtray suggested a trip to see people dressed in scrubs all moving quickly. Wrong again!
About five in the evening, just as we were leaving to go meet friends for cocktails before having our very swanky dinner, I started feeling some stomach pains. Nothing too bad, but I noticed. They got a little worse over the evening, nothing I couldn’t handle. We had our drinks, visited with friends (co-incidentally, the very same friends we were with before I came down with malaria on Easter. Very suspicious.) Then Himself and I headed over to the restaurant, had our prime rib dinner, and headed home.
By this time I was downright uncomfortable. And then by midnight I was doubled over on the floor.
Do I know how to party, or what?
By morning it was a bit better but still pretty bad, so we headed to the doctor’s office, who sent us over to the emergency room (although by this time I had had a few injections for pain, so I was better…and incoherent.) The words “gall stones” and “surgery” were being thrown around. I’m thinking in my head how switching my job last fall has left me without sick-time and how the timing of all this sucks. But mostly I want to not be in pain any longer. I don’t like pain. It hurts.
But the sonogram looked okay, the labwork didn’t show anything scary. They gave me the option of trying to manage it with pain meds for a few days and see if cleared up on its own, and I ran with that suggestion. Ran. Out of the ER and home where I then fell asleep for…a few days maybe? A week? I’m sure we haven’t entered a new ice age. Do robots control the earth yet?
And it’s better today.
But Himself is banning prime rib from the menu for…ever? Maybe not. But certainly not any time soon.
Next year I’d like to celebrate a little less interestingly.