Be Prepared!

Yesterday, I had a nuclear/echocardiogram imaging study, locally called a "nuclear stress test."  It's kind of a complicated procedure, involving their injecting me with a radioactive isotope, doing an EKG, taking photos of the blood flow through my heart, then running me ragged on a treadmill, then injecting more isotope and taking MORE pictures.  I also had to eat a fatty snack in there so they can see how my heart & blood flow work after I've eaten something.

I don't like this test much...I don't like having to FAST from liquids and solids from midnight before the test, and I really do NOT like doing the treadmill.  It seems as if they're trying to make me collapse entirely if I have to walk fast and get my heart rate up.  I don't like the injections or the IV port.  It seems like a lot of folderol, but we'll see.  It's a blessing, doubtless.  At least I did not keel over or run out of breath or anything dire like that.  Every time I go near the clinic, though, my blood pressure soars, and they raise hell about that.  And they also carry on about my high cholesterol.

The clinic personnel are wonderful, though.  I love asking them where they grew up.  One nurse was born in Maryland nearby, and the MRI tech is a native of Virginia (with a famous old Virginia name, he said), and the PA is Indian but born in Silver Spring.  I forgot to ask her the name of the best Indian restaurant there.  The Langley Park neighborhood there has many Indian restaurants, and I'd love to sample them.  

But, the part that really got me was when they asked me how I got there yesterday?  Did I drive?  Take the Metro?  I said "Metro."  Then they told me that the Metro is set up to detect radiation, and being as yesterday was the 11th anniversary of 9/11, they gave me a copy of my medical work order (or whatever) "in case they stop you."  Great!  I imagined alarms sounding, lights flashing, folks in dayglo Metro vests charging down the aisle of the car, big German Shepherds sniffing my pockets.

Ha.  When I entered the Metro station, I approached the manager, who was explaining the ticket machine to some outlanders.  "Hi," I said. "I'm radioactive.  I just had a nuclear stress test."  I rolled up my sleeve to show them the bandage over the puncture wound in my arm, and I fished out the medical form.  The manager laughed...."You don't have to show all of that," and waved me on.  I said, "Good!  I'm going home now."  And he said, "Good...have a nice trip."

Nice to know that our Metro system is prepared but doesn't get all flustered when radioactive grannies show up.

Retirement activities

While searching through my bookshelves this a.m., I came upon a commemorative book published for the Millennium by my youngest grandson's school in Scotland.  The grandson, George, is a hulking college sophomore this year, so the book is quite old as these things go.  This was a page in the book that talks about living in a house with a bat nursery!  Not George's house, but one belonging to his schoolmate James.  The Pipistrelle bat is the smallest bat found in Europe. 

The recipe sounds very good in addition to being very old.  The last item in the ingredients is boiling WATER. Doesn't say how much.  I may try this.  It may produce biscuits!

Minor rumblings

It's been a long time since I've actually blogged about my personal gripes, so why not today?

1. Memory

I've lived in this area for 20 years now, and I've always been devoted to the local museums and galleries.  So two days ago, several of us (the arty set) were dining in the park, and somebody asked, "What's your favorite museum here?"  And after much humming and umming, I said, "You know, the round one."  "You mean the Hirshhorn?"  "Yes."  My favorite museum, about which I have blogged and that was established by the father of one of my favorite bloggers, and do you think I could remember its freaking name?  To make matters worse, wanting to display the fullness of my great familiarity with local art spas, I said, "I also like that one up by...you know...Dupont Circle."  "The Phillips?"  Sweet jebus.  I should quit eating outside.  The ozone is getting to me.

2. Politics

I did have a great insight into politics today.  I read "Politics is the art of the possible."  We certainly do forget that, don't we?  "If I scratch your back, you'll scratch mine," that sort of thing.  So the Repugs this year appear to be betting that more people than not will vote for THEIR cockeyed candidates and ideas.  They're figuring it's very possible that the vast herd of us who are not gazillionnaires will be happy to give up things like Medicare, public funding for education, and other delights.  They're figuring we'll be more comfortable voting for a guy who tied his dog on the car roof for a trip and a sallow guy in the worst suits I've seen in public since I was in high school than we will voting for a *gasp* black man and somebody from a really small blue state just up from Ocean City.  Fine.  Personally, I think the Repugs are not quite so sure of their candidates and their world view as all that.  I'm thinking they're going to try their favorite trick of stealing the election!  You do remember Bush vs. Gore?

Snoozeville meets FlyLady.net

When I asked her how she kept her big house looking so beautiful, Sally said she got a lot of good ideas from FlyLady.net. So I visited Fly Lady, and she has great tips on keeping your house clean and pretty. I don't follow all of this, of course. I never follow all of anybody's tips, up to and including the ten commandments. (Well?) (Fly Lady has ELEVEN commandments, which just goes to show you how much she loves this kind of stuff.) My point is that, having lived all this time, I'm no longer compelled to separate my laundry into colors, fabrics, etc. (FL's laundry instructions are pretty strict on this.) I dump it all in one load, use really good soap, and wash everything in cold water. Oh, I do make exceptions, but there's no way I'd accumulate enough laundry for one load if I separated it all. No disasters have happened, and it all comes out clean and fresh. Fly Lady also says we should get up every morning and get dressed completely all the way to shoes with laces!! No way, FL....No shoes worn in the house here, and nothing much with laces, either, inside OR out. She does have three great tips that I like and follow: 1) keep the kitchen sink shiny, 2) swish & swipe in the bathroom every day, and 3) declutter somewhere in the house every day for 15 minutes (I set the timer on my stove). (Today, it's gonna be the dining room table/art center/desk. Uff da!) Easy! Thanks, Sally, and thanks to Fly Lady, too. I enjoy being a member of a house-cleaning gang....

Uff da!

Uff da! (pronounced OOF da) is an old Norwegian expression of my youth that I use quite often when blogging.  Here's what Wikipedia says about it:

Uff da is often used in the Upper Midwest as a term for sensory overload. 
It can be used as an expression of surprise, astonishment, exhaustion, relief, and sometimes dismay. 
For many, Uff da is an all-purpose expression with a variety of nuances and covering a variety of situations.
The expression has lost its original connotation, and it is increasingly difficult to specify what it means now in America. 
Within Midwestern culture, Uff da frequently translates into: I am overwhelmed. 
It has become a mark of Scandinavian roots, particularly for people from North Dakota, South Dakota, Wisconsin, Iowa and Minnesota.^[2] [3]

I have no Scandinavian roots minus those that snuck in during my ancestors' time in Ireland.  This post seems somehow appropriate, since yesterday, my friend Sherwood announced on FaceBook that it was International Bog Day.  Even bogs have their day!  Uff da!!

Half a century!!

Here's the birthday girl some years ago.  She's cracked the half-century mark today!  Congratulations, Peggy!  Happy birthday to a great gal!!  You were such a little mite way back then, and I knew nothing about taking care of a baby.  But you've not only survived, you've flourished!  Go for another 50!!

My GF went on a trip, and all she sent was....

...this glorious photo of blackberries outside the motel (hotel?)....If you look very closely, you can see where she's picked some, which she ate.