Just call it a great ….
Just call it a great day for a ride in the country. That is how I’ll describe it now. For three weeks or more I was stewing about April 7. Seems the clinic scheduled me for an appointment in the heart failure department.
Never at 1 p.m. and no mention of a lab checkup. I got up and was ready to go, but nothing happened. I even checked at the desk and they tried to assure me everything was ready. They did bring my lunch a bit early, but who can enjoy food waiting for something to happen? Finally, just before noon, a Comfort Carrier pulled up and the young lady driver asked if I was Robert.
I found out her name was Autumn and she was the nicest driver I have had yet. Sorry, guys.
We got to the clinic and thankfully there was no long line this time. When I got checked in, I asked about the lab. She said you don’t need the lab; just go to your appointment. Which I did and Jolene, the lady in the heart failure department, came in.
She too asked lots of questions, many of which I could say, they’ve done that at the Rehab and Living Center. Finally she said, we’ll check with you in two months, but do it remotely at the Rehab Center. She didn’t even unwrap the bandages to check for sure, just gave the legs a good squeeze. That was it, I was done and just had to find Autumn to take me home.
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I can tell you spring is really here. I’d given up on seeing a robin, but just now I have had a pair hopping around outside my window. What a nice thing to happen during the Easter weekend.
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Easter was a week earlier this year. As I glance at the calendar, I see that a year ago tomorrow it will be a year since I moved here. I can tell you life is not boring. Except the week the internet was down.
Seems like there is always someone popping in with another pill or something. They sure are a friendly bunch. They are getting well trained too, as my final request at night is some ice water and two Nutty Buddy bars. One for now and another for sometime after midnight when I wake up.
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I saw this somewhere and got a kick out of it.
He: What’s for supper? She: Nothing. He: We had that last night. She: I made a double batch.
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Jackie and I each have one of those gadgets where we can see each other when we talk. It’s nice but sometimes it gets real easy to spend an hour and then some talking.
Today the topic was fried chicken. I don’t know if I ever told what a good cook my mom was. At least there were some things much better than other things she made.
The fried chicken started on Saturday afternoon. Kill and pick the feathers from two chickens. Turn them over to Mom, who cleaned them and cut them up, ready for Sunday morning.
Just before we left for church, she rolled them in flour, browned them and popped them in the oven. When we got home from church, the chicken was ready. When most of my brothers and my sister were home, the chicken platter was getting pretty skinny. That’s where I learned to like chicken wings.
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Raising chickens was yet another story. At one time we even hatched our own eggs. I wonder if those old incubators are still in the attic?
We had two choices. Run of the mill, or get fancy and buy only hen chicks. Only hens were nice and there could just be too many roosters.
Raising chickens went in a couple different stages. Once hatched, the little chicks you bought started out in the dining room. Mom made a little fence for them until they were big enough to move to a bigger coop.
When we built the new barn in 1937, a portion of the hay mow became the chicken coop.
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What a surprise this morning. I woke up thinking about Easter and how we always had a bowl of hard-boiled, colored eggs on the table. It was help yourself, but it did take a little thinking to get just the right one, you hoped. Otherwise take one and a second if that didn’t suit you.
So my breakfast tray came. There was my bowl of Malt-O-Meal and another with an egg. An egg with the shell on it and colored brown. Oh my. To think someone else knows about how to eat hard-boiled eggs on Easter morning.
