up-date . . .

The Amazing Dr. Z. called this afternoon. The board is recommending radiation therapy again. The 9TS is not particularly enthralled. They will make us an appointment to meet with Dr. Rao, their head of radiology. He and his sidekick Lauren, are really nice people. We got to know them the last go around. Sigh.

However, when I asked the Amazing Dr. Z. about the possibility of having the radiation done locally, he said he didn't see why not. Hooray. Now that is good news. Not having to spend the holidays in Hope Lodge is a Christmas gift all in itself!!!!

In the midst of contemplating this next step, the hardwood floor is going in the kidlet's room starting tomorrow morning and should be done Friday. And, the new screen door arrived Monday afternoon. The cave is getting a little snazzy lately. Guess the next thing will be indoor plumbing . . .

Yesterday, the twins were due at the vet's for their annual check-ups at 2:45. Good thing we started early because there was no way my gentle giant, Bear, was going into his carrier without a major fight. I have the scratches to prove it. Blood, guts and gore. All mine. We tried nose first, feet first, being poured in. Poor fellow. Finally, I think he just got tired of fighting and in he went. Ninja was only a little better and once at the vet's, she promptly hid in the sink of the examine room. Of course packing them up to leave is a breeze, open the crate doors and in they go. Bear serenaded us all the way there and all the way home. Too bad he only knows one song.

saturday lunch out . . .

have I mentioned that besides our predilection for Friday night dinners at Carrabba's, we also eat out Saturday for lunch. Usually Panera's. Yes, we are boring in our culinary delights but once in a while, we break the mold and yesterday was one of those days.

At lunch Thursday with Robin, she had mentioned the Flagler Fish Company. A little place up the road still farther, where you can literally pick your hunk of fish from the display, decide the way you want it cooked, choose your sauce and generally just have it your way. My kind of place. They also have a Farmers Market up in Flagler every Friday and Saturday morning. Robin had found baby brussel sprouts, fresh rosemary and thyme, portobella mushrooms, asparagus and more. Sounded all too good to be missed.

And so, we headed back up A1A and since I wasn't driving, I got to enjoy this:

not quite as turquoise as Thursday but stunning none the less.

We got to the market late. The 9TS not being inclined to get out of bed any earlier than need be. Produce was, of course, limited and looking a little sad by then, but I still scored an avocado, some of the 9TS's favorite peppers, a tomato that actually tasted like a tomato and a huge bag of fresh basil. Yummo.

After checking out the booths, we headed to the restaurant for a little nosh.

and discovered this

and slurped up this fabulous lobster bisque

and this equally divine shrimp po' boy, which I obviously forgot to take a shot of before my hands had stuffed several bites into my mouth.

On the way home, we stopped at the meat market for a couple of filets and some fresh mozzarella to go with the tomato and basil. Let me just feast and glory in the deliciousness of yet another day in paradise.

Note to Blogger: Please fix the glitch in the new editor so I don't have to keep switching back and forth between the old and the new and settle for little tiny shots instead of great big one. Thank.you.very.much.

babysitting . . .

I am babysitting a friend's two cats; Annie and Athena.  Annie is such a sweet heart and comes running when she hears the key in the door.  Athena, not so much.  She prefers her privacy.  Wednesday mornings conversation:

Annie:  Oooh Hello, let me rub your legs. 
Athena:  I am hiding, you can't see me.  I have my fingers in my ears.   LA LA LA LA  LA
Annie:  Ohhhhhhh rub me more.  More. more. more.  Ohhhh, don't stop
Athena:  I don't care who you are, you are not my mommy.  I am not coming out.  LA LA LA LA
Annie:  Ohhh, ohhhh right there.  That's the spot.  Ohhhhhhh.  Purrfect!!!
Athena:  I don't care if you do get down on your hands and knees and then lay on the carpet.  This is not yoga and I am not coming out.
Annie:  Ohhhhh, once more above the tail, please, please, ahhhhhhhh.
Athena:  You put that arm under my bed one more time and I am going to skitter further to the other side.  So there. LA LA LA LA LA
Annie:  Ohhhhhh, my chin.  My chin.  My chin. 
Athena:  Go away.  I can't hear you.  LA LA LA LA LA
Annie:  I can hear you, lower please.  Ohhhh. yes, right there. 
Annie:  See Athena.  See what you are missing. 
Athena:  Nada.  She's not mommy.  I am older and smarter than you, you dumb bunny.
Annie:  Who cares.  She rubs so well, I don't even want to play with her.  Just let her rub.
Athena:  Harrumph!
Annie:  ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

dear Mrs. Calabash . . .

if you've ever been owned by a teenage cat, you know they have a tendency at certain inexplicable times, to run around the house at full throttle.  Low to the grown, top speed, wending around corners almost on their sides, pitching over furniture, darting through chair legs, flying over beds, in and out of doors, never letting up on the gas peddle.  They finally calm down, panting from the exertion and once again become calm and quiet, sedate and regal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Tonight, after reading a few pages of an Elizabeth George mystery novel; surfeited with good food and drink, I fell asleep early . . .  drifting off to the cool fall breezes, adjoined by the ceiling fan, into the land of nod.  That is, until dear Pippin decided to take the opportunity to rid herself of her extra energy and run, as detailed above, through the house.  The sound wakened me and I lay for a moment half awake, half asleep listening to baby monster cat tear through the loft.  Suddenly, however, I am sitting bolt upright fearful that the fan, now roaring closer in sound to its distant relative, a 747, has become unhinged and has taken flight of its own above my head. Out of bed, in the dark, I cannot ascertain the source of the racket. . .  it quickly having been determined that the fan was still connected as it should. Startled and still not functioning on all four cylinders, I headed toward the source of the din.  It seems, that the not so dear Pippin, had run up and over the lounge chair and across the paper shredder with such force that she inadvertently, slid the machine into the 'on' position.

I am now wide awake and she has still not appeared from wherever she has hidden when she scared the living daylights out of the two of us.

Goodnight Mrs. Calabash, wherever you are.

yesterday . . .

was one of those drop dead gorgeous days that fills your soul with enough warmth to melt even the darkest of reservations about the frailties of life.  I drove up A1A to meet a friend at my favorite fish joint, for lunch.  Blue, blue sky with just a scattering of clouds along the horizon, the fragmented views of the ocean through the sea oats, taking my breath away.  It was a deep, deep turquoise green with small crests of white punctuating the tops of the waves like so much random icing.  The top was down, no humidity, seventy something degrees . . . perfect.  Rejuvenating. Restoring.  Resurrecting.  I am thankful for these moments.

Back home to make a dinner that would fuel the 9TS yet wait for me to arrive home from my yoga class.  A huge pot of chili, made and simmered in my old cast iron pot.  Elegant no . . . fulfilling yes.  Again restoring.  Yesterday was good for my soul . . . for my body.

yesterdays news . . .

The pathologist report showed that they did not get clear margins on either site.  They optimally aim for at least one cm all around a tumor, of cancer free tissue. They didn't. So the options are to go back in, do radiation therapy or let it be and see what happens in another three months.  The doctor is leaning towards letting it go, but will take the case to his board Wednesday after this and call us with their collective decision. So we don't know if stopping where the tumors hit muscle was good enough.  It doesn't mean the cancer goes deeper, nor does it mean that it doesn't. Neutral. Frustrating.

On the good news front, the 9TS is allowed back to the gym.  Up to thirty minutes on the treadmill.  And, in another two weeks, he can go back to doing upper body exercises.  Happiness for the gym rat!  He has missed all the other rats at Gold's.  They run in packs, squeaking on their treadmills, squealing around the water cooler, flexing their little rat muscles.  They have names like Warren, Elliot, Gill and Dick but I know their real names are Rizzo, Ratatouille, Ratty Fatty Arbuckle and Throckmorton.  It is an exclusive club of Rattus Rodents and the 9TS has missed his pack.  Today his whiskers will twitch in anticipation.  Hooray!

artist unknown
 

And just so you know I am not a total slug, I rode with the 9TS to the gym and walked the 2.5 miles home.  

fooling around some more . . .

Credits:  Anna Aspnes:  FotoBlendz, Stitching.  Katie Pertiet:  Fall Clusters #2, Font: PeaErwinScript,  Taylor Made:  Butterflies.

Gotta love digi!