I haven’t posted much lately. My mind is occupied with worry for my mother-in-law and sister-in-law, both of whom remain in an Amarillo hospital battling COVID. Both are now on ventilators.
On Tuesday I began my journey from Tallahassee, Florida, to Amarillo, Texas. I’m hoping to be a help and not a hindrance to the sister-in-law and niece who have been bearing the brunt of the responsibility these past few weeks.
Last night I stayed with my son and two of my grand dogs and this morning I’ll have a fairly short (four hour) drive to Amarillo.
The son and dogs were bright spots on my trip.
Ryder slept with me part of the night. He snores a lot less than Studly Doright.
Peace, people. Oh, and wear your masks and get vaccinated and boosted as soon as you can.
I haven’t had it in me to write a blog post these past few days, but I’m going to give it a go. On Christmas Day, my mother-in-law, Saint Helen, was taken to an Amarillo hospital where she tested positive for COVID. Her eldest daughter and son-in-law also tested positive.
Due to the overwhelming number of COVID patients there were no rooms, so the three stayed in the emergency room. When a room on the COVID floor did open up it was given to my sister-in-law who had developed the crystals that indicate COVID pneumonia in both lungs.
Saint Helen did well enough that she was released to her middle daughter after a couple of days. Unfortunately COVID wasn’t ready to let her go and she was readmitted a few days ago. Currently, she is in the Intensive Care Unit. She had two really rough days, but maybe turned a corner last night. Middle daughter says they are cautiously optimistic.
My sister-in-law, “Almost Saint Lyn,” is one of my favorite people in the entire world. She remains in the ICU (I believe, I forgot to ask this morning) and also has had some really tough days, and likely still more to come, but we are hopeful she has turned a corner. I’ve texted with her a time or two and she feels good enough to be bored.
Her husband was able to go home yesterday, and according to Almost Saint Lyn’s daughter, who is taking care of him, he’s cranky, so that’s a good sign.
Now, Saint Helen’s middle daughter, Angie, has shouldered most of the responsibility for keeping the rest of us informed. Angie has been the constant solid contact since Christmas, caring for the sick, suiting up and going onto the COVID floor for the once daily 30 minute visits with her mom and the others. She’s had help from Almost Saint Lyn’s daughter and also from Saint Helen’s youngest daughter, but Angie is the one who has born the brunt of the crisis.
Please keep our loved ones in your prayers or send good vibes or whatever you can spare. I know we aren’t the only ones in this situation. The number of new infections is staggering.
So I’m officially granting Angie sainthood. She has earned it. It doesn’t pay well, but we are so grateful to her. Studly Doright and I have felt so helpless being in Florida, so far away from family, but Saint Angie has been our rock.
I joke to keep from crying, you know. Still, Saint Angie has a nice ring to it.
I just finished reading Diana Gabaldon’s Go Tell the Bees That I Am Gone, the ninth book in the Outlander Series. After waiting what seemed like a hundred years for this novel, I worried that I wouldn’t be able to remember all that had taken place in the previous eight novels. And guess what—I couldn’t recall a great deal of it. But it didn’t matter. I loved it anyway.
Ms. Gabaldon’s characters and locations are so vividly drawn, and her writing so engaging, that I didn’t care that some characters weren’t familiar to me or that I’d forgotten Jamie’s nephew had married a Quaker or that William was Jamie’s son or half a dozen other things integral to the story.
Plenty of backstory is woven into the narrative, but even so I often had to shrug and read on when I couldn’t place a character. Again, I didn’t care. I love these characters. The major ones are as real to me as people in my own family.
My only worry is that I might not live to read book ten. With times being what they are, and my age being what it is, nothing is guaranteed.
If you like your books with a little meat on their bones, you’ll enjoy the Outlander series. It’s a feast, not fast food.
Studly Doright and I hope that 2022 will be a year of peace and love for you and yours. Thank you for enriching our lives with your insights, your humor, your wisdom, and your unique perspectives on life.
With love from David (Studly) and Leslie (Nana) Noyes!
Before I had a blog I used to just compose weird stuff on Facebook. This piece of silliness showed up in my Facebook memories yesterday. I think perhaps I wrote it the day after Studly Doright had knee replacement surgery. He was being a complete arse, and I was dreaming of greener pastures.
Pretending for grownups part 3: Wine Tasting
I tasted the third wine offering, swished, and spat (spit?) into a bucket and made some noises along the lines of “lovely notes of asparagus and wheat with a charmingly simple nose dusted with peaches and pork rinds,” when a tall handsome stranger caught my eye.
Danged eye, why can’t you stay in the socket where you belong?
He handed it to me in one graceful move. “I couldn’t help but notice you have an incredible set of buds.”
I blushed, until I realized he was talking about my taste buds.
“Which is your favorite wine so far?” He asked.
I pointed boldly to the red, a heady merlot.
“I like a woman who knows what she likes,” he said with a wink.
“Well, I like you.” I smile.
“I like that you know that you like me,” he said.
“I thought you might.”
He sipped the wine. I sipped mine. We sipped. And sipped. And sipped some more, Closing the deal was never my forte, nor his it seemed.
“Are you married?” He finally asked.
“I was. My husband died in an unfortunate knee replacement incident.”