Life rhythm and pattern

We’re around again to the 330. Today is the real 330. There is a DC columnist’s heading, News from the 212, which is DC’s area code. One of my friends, at least, starts her morning Facebook post: The 330 this Morning!, or something close to that.

Today, in my world’s inexorable turn on an axis, we have the ephemeral rendition of 330. Gone at bedtime, for all practical purposes.  I went to the post office this morning, because it’s raining and tolerable, because I wanted to go out and breathe the advance of spring.

The pot of Mom’s chives caught my eye, not for their specialty but for their appearance. To now there have been only green weeds to signal spring. Chive shoots are the prescient herald of the event. I leaned in to clear away the old leaves, dropped what I’d lifted, and stepped back. Three inches of snow are forecast overnight, and freezing temps in the morning.

This morning a neighbor stopped with a package left at her door in error. A florist box full of tulips, from a friend. The card said “Happy to have you in my life!” Laura and I arranged them in the vase from the box, to the delight of all, and Toby not the least.

Toby cannot keep his lips off tulips. “I can’t help it woman! I’m transported to them!”  There is no place here he cannot access and only one room I can close down from him. 

He barged into my bathroom this morning. B.a.r.g.e.d! The door hit the door stop and returned to the door frame, nearly latched. OMG, what has happened! After several maneuvers, he was free. I will move the tulips to the loom room when I go in to weave later today. That door can be securely closed.

The tulips came today to wish me happy birthday tomorrow. Don’t trust those pesky delivery services on a Sunday, even if it is your birthday. Mine were delivered to my neighbor, after all.

I see several doctors, but actually not too many. I have them carefully sorted, and discarded the ones I found extraneous. One of my favorites is my endocrinologist. I last saw him in June, and broke my femur the following week. I saw him again last week. He did not even turn to his computer until he had a bone by bone account of the event.

When we were done with the blood work discussion, he informed me there were four items on his list today, and now he had covered three. The fourth was our ongoing discussion of bone strengthening drugs. He’s been pushing them for several years, and even has a couple of Chantilly lace bone scans to wave before my eyes.

For several years I parried the proposal with the request to answer “Where does the stuff go?”, and, of course, he had no answer. Sally Field and Blythe Danner notwithstanding, I personally knew one case of dental jaw problems, and given my extensive history of dental work, I haven’t been about to try a bone drug, past calcium.

Working to solidify these damn broken bones the last eight months has caused me to reconsider.  But the only good reports of Prolia are from doctors, not patients.  So once again, no bone meds. And that’s most everything from the 330, on 330.