Travels with The Rayman

Who of us knows how the day is going to go until we swing our legs off the mattress, get out of bed, and run into the day.

Will it be a good day?  What could wrong?  What’s on the calendar?  We just don’t know.  

This a.m., I lay in bed thinking until I get the gumption to get started.  Donning my sweats, I head for the coffee, for that pump of caffeine that will start the engine.  However, this morning that routine of sorts was interrupted because I had a chore to run.  As I am want to do, I left a sweater at a party and I needed to get it back.  Collette, Tom our bicycle friends that live in Portland, fly south in the winter and land in Morro Bay for months at a time.  It was their party that we attended and it was so much fun, I took off my sweater.  Nothing more came off…just my sweater (cardigan if you must know).

With rain looming on the horizon, I drove about 2 blocks  (LA Story, anyone?) to retrieve said sweater.  And when I knocked, I discovered I had intruded on a visit they were having with other bicyclists from Visalia.  We had a grand time trading family stories.  So I left much richer than I arrived.  Collette and her female friend (who shall remain unnamed because 1.  I don’t remember and 2. I didn’t warn her that she might show up in blog) are of Japanese descent.  And their grandmothers were picture brides, I think the term was.  That is women that were sent from Japan to the U.S. to marry a man their family knew.  Sight unseen.  What a great bunch of stories they. Had.  

Never saw that coming.  

Then I promised a friend, Diane, that I would pick up her and take her to physical therapy for her new knee.  Off I went.  When arriving, I parked in the driveway and sent her a text.  She emerged from the garage and it is the first time I have seen her walk, unaided, since her surgery of Oct. 31.  So impressive!!  Anyway, she throws herself into the car and announces she is going to give up.  “What?”, I exclaim.  You can’t do that.”

Seems a toe got infected and the when her doc saw her, he sent her to a podiatrist the same day a few hours later.  Out of that appointment, she lost her nail, she gained prescriptions for two types of antibiotics, hydrogen peroxide, bandages, and assorted instructions that include medicating, bandaging, and applying salve.to the toe.  

Which led to the next story where I told her to cheer her up.  It’s a Susie story.

My cousin, Sue, texted me yesterday in a twit about her hubby yelling about a sore finger.  We texted back and forth.  It was decided that men have no idea about pain as they do not have the job of giving birth.  That is painful.  Sore finger?  How painful could it be?  Turns out that he told the Kaiser nurse his pain was a 9, rated from 1, the lowest and 10, the highest.  Sue was aghast and this comment ended up requiring a sit-down.  A conversation.  Pain was discussed.  

The next I heard of this, hubby was at Kaiser.  She had dropped him off there for treatment, the finger was infected.  She was not going to fetch him because she does not drive in the dark anymore.  An old age thing.  Plus it had been snowing and it was COLD.  Their daughter would pick him up.  Whether he got home or not remains to be seen. 

After my visit, I came home and Rayman showed me the inside of his flp-it-off-finger.  Big rash.  He went to the drugstore and picked up some Benadryl.  Now his finger is on the mend.  

Really, people, this is just a hoot.

While I was waiting for Diane, I was looking at my emails, and low and behold, there was an article about the first Japanese man in California and his grapes.  Really.  A true story reported by BBC.  Wondering why it is the BBC.  However, the timing was exquisite.  I forwarded that onto Collette and posted it to FB for the remaining people still on FB.  Now, if I find out that Collette is somehow related to this dude, my mind will be officially blown.

Back at the therapy place, I showed up early to pick up Diane so I took advantage of a person who was leaving the locked office, and scooted in, found a bench and sat down.  To wait.  After a few minutes, I heard Diane say, “Okay, I’m going to call my friend now.”  My reply of course was, “I’m here!”  What a scream.  It was a Fitness Works sweatshirt.  Fitness Works, a gym, sthat hares space with the therapy place.  At this point, I couldn’t resist blurting out, “Well, I am famous for dressing for the occasion.”  Of course, that was not a true statement, but it was a funny retort, I thought.  And what were the chances of wearing this particular sweatshirt?  I have worn the thing about 4 times in four years.  Never even thought about or made the connection.  Just grabbed it because it was red.  And I do love the color red.  

There you have it.  Who knew any of this was going to happen?  A very fun morning, indeed.