After an enjoyable chat with Betty in the morning, yesterday went rapidly downhill. I drove Pat to the hospital and we saw the radiologist for a consultation, learning that treatment for his skin cancers (one Basel, one squamous) requires sixteen visits. I'll have to drive him there every day Monday through Friday for three weeks! Damn! Made the first appointment for the 17th, skipping next week because he already has three doctor appointments and I have other commitments.
When we came out, Pat said the heater problem I've been having means the engine is overheating; he wanted me to stop at Mastercraft on the way home. Well, no way was I going to leave my car, but after we had "words," I did stop just to mention it to the mechanic. He talked to us, but he doesn't think the engine is overheating. Nevertheless, Pat insisted I shouldn't drive the car before my appointment on Monday morning. Of course, he went off to the bay and left me twiddling my thumbs at home--second day in a row.
This left me seriously annoyed and, what's more, depressed and unhappy. I started re-reading my blog entries of the last two Decembers, brooding over how many parties and get-togethers we had enjoyed compared to the few this season. As I thought about it, the idea grew hair and teeth in my mind* that nobody cared, everybody had forgotten about us, and I was doomed to a dull, boring existence even though I'm completely well and full of energy.
Topping off the day, the high-hat light over the kitchen "peninsula" burned out. We have nine-foot ceilings and I'm afraid to stand on the counter and change it myself, so I'll have to ask somebody. What a lousy time for it to go.
However, this is the notion I cling to when I'm down: Things tend to improve after a time and they did. Dennis called to let us know how his and Leslie's son, Pete, is. Pete's in the hospital (in Ohio) with an unknown ailment that seems to involve his liver. It was good to talk to him and to hear a biopsy was negative for cancer. Then Ray called, just checkin' on his pal, Pat, and I was able to ask him to come tomorrow and change the kitchen light. No problem.
Got the mail and was charmed to receive a note from the daughter of Benji G., a long-ago playmate of Betty's and mine on Rosborough Avenue. He became a doctor like his father, practiced in Hawaii, married Indonesian, and died prematurely at 41 in 1982. The other day, I saw his mother's obit in the paper (she was 92) and sent an e-mail condolence message to the family.
In her note, the daughter wrote that she was "delighted for the contact from someone from my father's childhood" and thanked me for allowing her to "share in the sweet memory of my beloved father."
What a lovely gesture. That and just time brought me out of the doldrums and I'm better. Looking forward to going to Alison's for Joel's birthday celebration tomorrow, although we may have a battle about driving my car there.
After dinner, Ellen and I talked and viewed on the web cam, which gave me a lift, too, of course. Still no word on her condo bid, but she'll let us know as soon as she hears.
* Love this expression, but it isn't original with me. Read it in The Last Angry Man, by Gerald Green, a novel of 40 or so years ago.