COOKIE JARS AND OTHER ORTS in Postcards 4

Cookie Jar

I don’t like the “Leave a note on the online portal for your doctor” bit. No one gets back to you with anything concrete. I got a diagnosis, and I am left feeling totally abandoned, unknowing, and with a clear inability to communicate my needs and wants. Ya like that. I didn’t.

On the third day of leaving notes, like calling for help into deep, barren, snow covered, canyons, I finally got a note from the doc herself. I made the only appointment available, and now I am calling the clinic every morning at 7 to see if there is a cancellation. Life is not boring.

Work is not boring. Last week we had tons of beautiful clothing. This week we seem to have interesting ceramics. Cookie jars…they sell slowly, but they sell. Soup tureens…they sell even slower. I don’t tell them that I keep my toilet brush in one. It looks white, sterile, and clean sitting there under my toilet. No furniture. Boy do we need furniture.

So I have been taking lots of pictures in the shop. Few out in the world as I quietly wait to see if I improve, if I see a doctor. And I do improve.
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• Himself: Work has slowed down, but he still has a job.
• Herself: Slowly inching back into eating. Rice. Scrambled eggs, Chicken soup.
• Reading: Just finished, “Death at La Fenice.” A Donna Leon mystery set in Venice. I like it.
• Captain Poolie: One of us was invited to go spread ashes off the boat. George gets seasick. We declined.
• Gratitude’s: Cheering the less pain and little discomfort.