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New Years gut problems
Sunday, January 1 2023
It was another freakishly warmish morning where we lay on the couch in the living room with a nice fire in the woodstove as we played Spelling Bee. At some point Gretchen called her old girlfriend Barbara, who also plays Spelling Bee, and the three of us played it for awhile over speaker phone.
My intestinal problems from last night continued throughout the day. It rather reminded me of the time recently when I took three recreational doses of pseudoephedrine in the course of five days, though I hadn't even drunk much alcohol yesterday. Whatever the problem was, it seemed to be too low to be affected much by antacids and too high to be affected by anything my ass might be doing. It felt best to lie down, and this afternoon I took a very relaxing nap with Diane the cat. I then managed to salvage a backpack load of firewood nearby from just west of the Farm Road. The wood was very dry.
Meanwhile Gretchen had gone to see a matinee showing of Back to the Future, that famous movie from 1985. All three of the movies in that franchise were being shown at the Tinker Street Theatre in Woodstock, though Gretchen only stayed for the first one.
This evening Gretchen tinkered in the kitchen and made various dips and spreads as well as some sort of brussels sprout dish to be eaten with the disintegrating remains of a bag of injera we'd unfrozen only a few days ago. (That injera had paired very nicely with refried beans, by the way.) We watched another episode of Letterkenny, whose stylized overacting isn't bothering me quite as much as it used to.
My brother Don called a little after that, mostly just to wish me happy New Years (so he said). But the main reason he was calling was to get the contact information for Mary Kay, my childhood friend Nathan's mother. She used to have a framing business, and, since nothing changes in Don's life, he assumed nothing changes in other people's life and that she still has a framing business. I was pretty sure she hadn't done any framing in over twenty years, so I told him he should find a framer who is actually in business somewhere in Staunton. It might seem odd that Don would have something needing framing, but apparently our mother Hoagie had (for mysterious reasons) found reason to part with some old photographs of her famous marathon-winning father, and, since Don is a superfan, he wanted to get the photographs framed. During the call, I could hear Josh Furr clearly in the background. He'd come over with a hundred dollars' worth of pizza, and Hoagie sounded like she was enjoying it. She'd remembered that I would be traveling soon, but in her garbled memory she had me going to Jamaica, not Costa Rica. But that's not bad for someone who just the other day thought she needed a taxi home while in the house that she lives in.
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