Marvel. That is her name.

I asked her how she's doing.
Hanging in there, she said.
That's about all you can do, I said.
Then she said, with a thoughtful chuckle, I'm fine. Just fine.

Her daughter, mother of four young children, is dying of cancer. Brain tumors, two surgeries, many treatments, more tumors growing, nothing more can be done. Nothing. So she is dying. No question of it. Her mother tells me she has learned courage from her daughter, and patience and how to accept what is terrible but inevitable with a cheerful heart and countenance. Her mother has taught me courage, because she has to have courage, too.

And here is what else I have learned over the years. People respond, if hesitantly, I'm fine, because that is easier than having to talk about it again and again. When you have to talk about it, that means you have think about it, go through it all over, and it's painful. I know this. So I think long before I ask that question: how are you?

Probably you already know these things.

What I Have Observed

It seems to me that people of a certain age are trying to look ugly, grungy, dirty. They are accomplishing it.

And because they are accomplishing it, others, who are a bit older and want to be a bit younger, or at least appear that way, are adopting the same grungy look.

To each his own? I suppose. But I might ask why. Is it just because they can?

These are the views of me, an older person.

Let's not argue about it

Winning an argument does not mean you're right. You might be right, but winning the argument does not make it so. Winning only means you won. Maybe you argued better or had a louder voice.

Losing an argument does not mean you're wrong. Or right. It simply means you lost.

So let us not argue. Duh.

These thoughts seemed important to me today, and just now have reminded me that my husband would never ague with me. Not that I wanted to argue a lot. But he would leave the room. Of course, he left the room most of the time whenever I wanted to talk about anything.

That's enough of that. It's the stuff at the top that matters to me today. So don't forget it.

S O S

Hmph! Snowing again today.

Molly got blood out of me. Yay!

It's Bloody, But Not Very

Last Tuesday I put out an S O S--Sick Of Snow--and Glory Be! we've had no snow since. Such power I have.

Except when it comes to blood draws. Like yesterday, two different places, two different people. No blood, no way.

First at my dr's office. I had told them--if fact I have told them a dozen times--please send in the best/phlebotomist, But, no, they sent in Mort. Mort Demers. It's French, he said, the last name. So full of himself, so certain this should be a situation of him up and me down. You know, he knows everything and I know nothing. He told me how good he is at this blood drawing thing. Turns out he couldn't even find the veins, but that didn't stop him from poking a needle in. He was ready to try the back of my hand but couldn't find a vein there either. Of course, it's my fault. I should have drunk more water. Like all night long, I guess

I didn't tell him Mort means death. It's French.

I think now Mort is intimidated by me. Ordinarily that would not please me, but in this case it pleases me a lot.

They sent me to another St Luke's clinic. "They can get your blood." A guarantee.

Shelby, a nice big girl, was a floater there yesterday, and they had not shown her where "the adapters" were. She could see she would have to use a small needle because my veins are small, but small needles require adapters to collect the blood. She looked in every cabinet. No adapters. She called in help, but that person didn't know where the adapters were either. She looked at my arm again. I showed her where Mort had failed to get blood. She said whoever did that should not have stuck a needle in there.

"Who did it?" she asked. "Mort," I said. "Oh, that explains it," she said. Apparently she knows Mort. By the way, I say she's big, but it only means tall. Mort is big, and it means obese.

I left the second St Luke's clinic because--well if you have read about the adapters that could not be found, you know why.

I called my regular clinic, made another appointment for next Monday and told them I wanted Molly, only Molly. (She's a real phlebotomist.) I also said I don't want Mort to come anywhere near me.

Also, just so you know, I lost my debit card in one of those clinics.

Happy

Blue sky two days straight. I'm so glad. Makes me feel good and happy, and so I give thanks. For that and the very fat robin on my front lawn.

Ho Hum

Nobody likes a complainer. Tough. We're all complaining. Too much snow. Do you hear? Too much. Snow.

The good parts:

• People are kind, neighborly, helpful. Really.
• There are breaks in the snow, meaning a day now and then when it doesn't snow or freeze. That's when people get out of their houses and go. Costco is packed, long lines, everybody knowing why. Smiles and chuckles abound. All in the same boat, so to speak.
• And the old one, it's pretty.

The not so good:

• Not today. It's not pretty. Dirt and slosh and deep sloppy icy ruts in the road. Read in my street. Makes driving scary, and I'm not kidding.
• Accidents. Plenty.
• Fear of flooding, as in schools and basements.
• Children who happily celebrate a few no school days are now sick of staying home.
• Not to mention their parents.

All this you already know. But now I've said it.I hope I feel better.