There were a few months when having an evening cup of tea became a Thing To Do. It was pleasant, to have tea on the back patio in the evenings. With the advent of summertime, however, and assorted other changes, evening tea fell by the wayside. Alas.
Herself speaks.
Yesterday, I took my car to the dealer for the 60,000-mile service. I thoroughly dislike attending to Car Things, but sometimes, things just must be done.
Kudos to the dealer, for their health and safety precautions. And to the patrons, too, with the exception of the one slothlike woman who strolled into the establishment unmasked, and languidly applied her mask inside the door so that everyone else was obligated to be within her unmasked airspace for an unduly long time as she carelessly looped the mask over one ear, and then the other, leaving her nose exposed. I would say, a pox upon her, but she had a child with her -- an unmasked child, well of an age when wearing a mask should have been simple -- and I do not want to wish ill upon an innocent child's mother.
Sigh.
I knew I would be there for a couple of hours, so I brought my camp chair and book and parked myself in the shade on the front patio while I waited. Occasionally car-shoppers would walk by to look into the vehicles strategically displayed there; everyone kept a respectful, masked distance.
There was one man whose goal there was temporarily unclear: was he shopping? Waiting for service on his vehicle? What quickly became obvious, though, was that he was... a jerk.
He had several telephone conversations with a woman who was clearly his wife, and each one was angry, and loud, and contained veiled threats about the nature and duration of their relationship. It appeared that he was waiting for her to provide either credit card information, or money, regarding their vehicle. He chastised her for not "pulling her weight" financially; scolded her for allowing her sister to help her because it was only her responsibility; reminded her that he not only helped pay her health insurance premium, but also that of m'hija; and questioned, what was even the reason "for all this" (the marriage) if she couldn't do her share? He would berate her, and then tell her he "had to go" and hang up; and then would repeat the cycle a few minutes later. It was... terrible.
He could see I was within earshot. Did he derive some kind of pleasure from verbally accosting his wife while I could not help but hear? I ignored him and read my book. What else could I do?
Would I have done something differently if she had physically been there?
I wanted to somehow reach through the ether to this woman. Her life is hard, this much was clear.
I wonder if she is a Crane Wife. Shrinking herself, under his gaze and his voice (and perhaps his hands), trying to be small and needless and therefore somehow worthy.
It doesn't work, I want her to know.
You are worthy of support and love, I want to tell her.
Would she understand? Would she defend him? He's right, I need to get a second or third job, it is my fault that he is angry, I just need to try harder. He doesn't abuse me -- he doesn't hit me. He is just trying to....
It doesn't matter what he is "just trying to" do.
He will eventually leave her, as he threatened in his phone calls. And he will blame her, telling her he is going because it is her fault that he is angry, because she didn't try hard enough. And she will believe him.
I am sorry, woman on the other end of the line. I wish I could help. I hope for better for you.
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As lonely as social distancing has been, there has been safety in not interacting with people, too. It's a terrible place to be, here in pandemic limbo, afraid of both the carelessness and the bubbling anger of strangers.
Save us from ourselves.
Herself speaks.
My work computer was replaced yesterday. Exciting! (And a welcome change, given that I had to reboot the old computer three separate times the day before, just to be able to print.) Super fancy! slick new screens, and so very speedy! Nice.
On my old work computer, I had used a photograph from a lovely camping trip (this one from two years ago) as the background. I needed a photo for the background of my new computer, and so I opened up the photo folder on my phone and began to scroll through, looking for something suitable. And interspersed with a multitude of pictures of Tiny Dog and New Old Dog, were photos that suddenly seemed unbearable to look at.
Photos from the last Zoom call with my siblings and my parents, capturing all of us on one screen. Photos from college reunions, with long-ago-familiar buildings behind the smiling faces of people whom I will not see until the next reunions - three or four years from now. And photos of Cherished Friend, which he kindly allowed to be taken despite his loathing of the camera, from the morning when he left for New Places.
The Pandemic rages on, and I don't know when it will be safe for me to see any of these people in person again. I think my heart is broken. Again.
I am tired of social isolation. I am enraged by the people who cannot be bothered to wear a mask correctly (or at all) -- who make it unsafe to do mundane things like go to the store for necessities, or take the car for routine maintenance. I am lonely. I am uncomfortable during interactions with other people. I don't know what to do to feel better.
I am sad.
I wonder how things will unfold in the months/years to come.
We shall see.
Herself speaks.
Content notification: concerns unglamorous breast health issues. You have been warned!
Although I put off a few health care appointments, because pandemic and all, I nevertheless summoned up the courage to make an appointment for an overdue mammogram/ultrasound screening, because of my prior history of questionable, though ultimately mercifully benign, problems.
The procedures were particularly painful this time around, likely due to where I was in my cycle (an unpredictable factor for me), and seemed to take an eternity. I needed ibuprofen afterward. Crabby.
The results posted to the portal over last weekend, and all appears to be in order. Same previous spots without changes, and no new concerning spots. Back to your lives, citizens, nothing to see here.
I did notice two statements on the reports, though, that I have never noticed before on previous reports. Let's see if we learn something new!
On the mammogram report: "suboptimal examination, excess axillary breast tissue."
Well, that's interesting but unsurprising. I've known for eons that there's a tail of breast tissue that extends up towards each armpit. The realization came decades ago after the offspring were each born: the first few days after my milk came in were an absolute agony, and included being unable to fully put my arms down because everything, including my armpits, was so swollen. Still makes me cringe just thinking about it; it was almost worse than the delivery itself. After the newborns and I settled into a nursing routine, everything settled down. Thank God.
"Excess" is an interesting choice of word, though. How much axillary breast tissue do other women have? What if they have none? Certainly would be easier to get all relevant tissue into the mammography machine; it's impossible to get one's full scope of armpit in there. (Though to the technician's credit, she certainly managed to squash a whole lot of me into the machine.) Imagine how much less difficult/uncomfortable that might be.
I occasionally wonder idly what it would be like to be a smaller-breasted woman. (I don't entertain those thoughts often because I am afraid of inviting harm from the Universe.) To have clothes fit properly. To be able to wear the teeny sexy bras that are not designed for more ample women. To not have strangers and acquaintances assume I have loose sexual morals purely because of the size of my breasts. (That used to be particularly annoying -- though the assumption appears to have disappeared as I've aged past my 'last day'.) To be able to wave my arms around, squeeze around obstacles, lie on my stomach, without breasts in the way. I don't know. And I don't really want to have to find out. Don't smite me, Universe.
On the ultrasound report: "Texas Henda's Law." What is that? Let's research.
Henda’s Law changed the standard of care for EVERY woman in the State of Texas on June 17, 2011. House Bill 2102 requires all mammography centers to specifically notify women about DENSE breast tissue and the increased risks associated therewith.Today's everyday object: one of the lettuce dishes.
There are huge plates, smaller plates, medium bowls, a pitcher, a covered dish -- a sugar dish or sauce dish, perhaps? -- with a lid and a matching spoon, and an oblong serving bowl. I am greatly amused by these dishes. They are large and ungainly and magnificently leaflike. I hardly use them, and that is a shame. They bring me an unexpected happiness. Perhaps I should use them more often. Just because.
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