DOCTOR IN THE HOUSE

Yesterday I had an appointment with a new family physician, Dr. Bishop, also known as my 6-year-old great niece Maddie. Santa brought her a physician’s kit, and after earning a medical degree in record time, she set up her home office. I was her third patient of the day. She checked me in and was ready to hear my complaint.

“I have a broken toe,” I told Dr. B., who was professionally dressed in her blue scrub top and shorts.

“Well, let’s take a look.” She removed my fuzzy sock and did about a 3-second double take. I wasn’t like her other patients of the day with their make-believe maladies. I really DID have a sorry looking toe. She quickly regained her composure and began gently pressing on the toe.

“Does this hurt?”

“Oh, yes, yes, Dr. Bishop! Can you fix it?”

“We will need to wrap it up,” she concluded, quite businesslike. She took an Ace bandage to my toe, but when it proved cumbersome, her nurse, AKA: Mom, advised her to wrap the entire foot.

That done, and quite nicely I might add, the doctor gave me a shot or two or three in the arm and then gave me orders.

“Now, you must rest your toe tonight. The next two days you may jog, then the next day after that you should rest again.” She repeated the instructions about 10 times and then checked for my understanding by making me repeat them back to her.

“If your toe still hurts after that, call 9-1-1. Or you may call me at 232.…”

I enjoyed my visit to Dr. Bishop’s office very much. I didn’t have to wait in the lobby for an hour and I didn’t have to be humiliated and shocked by getting on the scales to be weighed before the doctor would see me. And the best thing about it: when I asked how much I owed her, she said, “There is no charge.” Now, that’s my kind of medical care--a FREE clinic! I can’t wait to return for my follow-up.

DRIVING IN A WINTER NOT-SO-WONDERFUL LAND

Late last night, from 10:15 PM to 12:30 AM to be exact, I drove 65 miles from the big city to my home---in a snowfall. Yes, it took The Flaming Bore 2 hours and 15 minutes to go 65 miles because I was scared I was going to slide off into oblivion and never be seen again until after the meltdown. Making it worse, I couldn't find my glasses--just my sunglasses I'd used earlier in the day. My advice: don't wear sunglasses after dark. In a snowstorm. When it's foggy out. I was better off just jamming my own nearsighted eyeballs against the windshield.

I had a passenger in this ordeal--my great nephew Bo, age 16, who slept through the first half of the drive. That's how confident he was that his weather-challenged dear auntie could deal with any peril that came my way. I forced him to stay awake during the last stretch through the Flint Hills and look for the white line on his side of the highway shoulder because I was having a heckuva time finding it--and any semblance of a pathway, for that matter. As we snailed our way down the hills, my hands formed a white-knuckle grip around the steering wheel and I prayed for Divine intervention.

We finally staggered into the driveway over two hours after starting our little Nightmare on Highway 54. "Eureka! We have found it!" I'll tell you why this time of year is called a "Winter Wonderland." You'll wonder how in the hell you ever made it home!

TWITTER

Big Bore and I refuse to become Twitter-ers on the computer, but we don't mind having REAL twitter-ers hanging out in the yard. We have plenty of feeders around, homemade and store-bought, that he keeps filled with sunflower seeds and other bird-type cuisine. Here is a friendly Golden Finch or two having Christmas dinner. And, yes, I stayed inside to take this picture. Being out in the cold weather is truly for the birds.

TAKE THIS JOB AND SHOVEL IT

Since the winds died down somewhat and the temperature soared way up to 20 degrees, Big Bore went outside this morning to remove some snow drifting in the driveway. I, of course, continued to remain inside. When he saw me "reverse window peeping" at him working, I got a big shovel full of snow in my well-protected face. I need to find more willing subjects for my camera lens.

ALL IS CALM

We didn't do much on this Christmas Day, 2009. The weather was frightful--cold, windy, and snowy--so we cancelled plans to venture to Pittsburg and stayed inside. We exchanged Christmas cards, making sure to convey kind words to each other, and frittered the day away watching television and eating Big Bore's Fried Taters.

I took this picture of our spruce tree from the warmth of the bedroom, although I did dare to go outside a few times on the front porch, bundled in a blanket, looking for the big city newspaper. No luck. Somehow I went an entire day without Sudoku or the other puzzles in the paper that never arrived. Amazing.

We got the cats six orange ping-pong balls for Christmas. They are already missing in action--not the cats, but the balls. I figure I'll find one in the middle of the night when I'm sleepwalking to the bathroom, fall flat, and break another toe or two.

No dreaming of a white Christmas for me. I'm dreaming of a heat wave.

MAKE A JOYFUL NOISE

It's official. Big Bore has become a Gleek. For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's a person who is crazy for the TV show Glee, about the escapades of a high school glee club and those who love and despise the students who are in it. I am to blame for his Gleekiness, as I watched the show first and he sort of got lured into viewership because he likes the music.

So, how do I know BB is a Grade A Gleek? Well, tonight he was watching Glee--and it was a rerun we'd seen before. Moreover, when the glee club finished singing Queen's "Somebody to Love," he applauded--not just a polite clap-clap, but a hearty, big-time ovation. He loved it. Even the second time around. So did I, but my big left toe was throbbing, so I didn't feel quite so enthusiastic. (By the way, the big toe clip art from a few days ago has been replaced by the real broken thing. I dare you to look at it without saying, "Ouch!" Or, perhaps, "Yuck!" is a better description.)

But back to Glee. I've read somewhere that the average Gleek is female and 11 years old. I'm keeping that piece of information from Big Bore. He has enough problems to cope with as it is--living with me being right up there high on the list.

OF CHRISTMAS PAST

Christmas 1953, Big Sis was still playing with dolls at age 10; The Flaming Bore, age 4, cashed in with a doll and teddy bear; and Santa brought Beans, 7, a nifty pair of ear muffs. Didn't take much to make him happy in those days.