I took Laura to a 10:30 therapy appointment this morning, with a doctor notoriously late for every appointment.
I asked the receptionist if the doctor was on schedule because I had a 1:30 appointment with the physical therapist, not to be missed. The message was passed on, the doctor said if her ten o’clock got any later, she’d take us, instead. She did. I don’t think the ten o’clock ever showed up. Laura is doing quite well.
I read in the news that young Trump holds two smoking guns, and daddy is reprehensible but not impeachable.
Came home, ate lunch, meandered along to my 1:30 appointment. Jen, the regular receptionist, is on maternity leave. Jen is gold; the three women who replaced her are difficult. When the door was not closed behind me Jen would say “Hi, Joanne. I’ll tell Rhonda you’re here.” These three stare at the screen, have me spell my last name three times. Today the receptionist informed me, “I have you for tomorrow.
The paper schedule is in last week’s trash. No matter. I have tomorrow free, too, except taking Laura to work at the porcelain gallery. I’ll probably go up the road to the library and ask the trustee who works there what the hell is going on. I was in the building Monday to see a professional who works there. I’ve never said a proper good bye to the road guys, so I stopped to do so.
Amazingly the combo to the garage door is unchanged. I heard the guys’ voices, and started in, to be met by she who is always difficult. “What do you want!” “I came to say a proper good bye to the guys,” I chirped, and walked down the hall. They were slumped down in their chairs and neither made eye contact. Obviously bad time, so I backed out and left.
My cane always was too long, but no matter when I used it for a rudder. These days it must be a cane. I attempted to lead Laura down memory lane, alighting on the saw we bought last fall. She was adamant we do not have one, so I sent her to the shed to find it on blind faith. I have not been in the shed since last January, but I’m sure a new lawn mower and a weed wacker could not totally obscure the saw. They didn’t. That job was harder than expected, but done. The cane is bent oak, and a bit tough.
In the mail today I have an offer to update my income, as I have not done since obtaining that credit card, and I would receive a credit increase. That really is funny.
Mr. Next Door recently sold his unit with the lovely red metal roof to Miss Next Door, who has a lovely big dog named Titus. Befriending Titus seemed a smart move, so I did. Titus often is outdoors, on a chain, on the other side of the house. Or else he’s half over the sofa in the window across from my bedroom. That makes Toby nuts, and he bounces off walls, howling. Titus rolls his eyes, but refuses to yawn.
Every day it has rained and rained. The grass is still wet and cannot be mowed. Laura doesn’t mind.