Icelandic poppies at the Bellagio. I had a sweet meal of crepes and salad out of a styrofoam container, rushing past this garden on my way back to the ER course at Planet Hollywood, a month ago in Vegas. A month ago?? How can time move like that?
I have been working and trying to sleep, not drinking much alcohol because my stomach's so often upset. A few days ago I gulped down a Gibson Martini before Jule's hockey wind-up at the Legion; it fit perfectly into the day, gin and vermouth and pearl onions, sweet pearl onions on a skewer, yum. The whole day was perfect; it was my day off, and I had nobody in hospital to round on; I got up at nine, had a bath, drank coffee, tidied the kitchen counter which had been packed with random papers for way too long, ate a healthy lunch, organized the tax stuff with Pat without a major argument, bought used books at Wildwood Country, attended an appointment with Dr. Hwang who ordered the bloodwork that I requested, walked across the river and past Centennial Park and over the river again with my family, drank a Gibson Martini, had spaghetti and wine at the Legion, talked animatedly with Doug, drove Caleb to karate and smoked a cigar, the sky heavy with clouds, watched Jule receive his first hockey trophy, spent an hour at the Friends of the Library book sale and bought four bags of terrific used books, read a short story by Evelyn Lau, ran twice around the block, ate a night snack with the kids, and went to bed, slept soundly. The ideal mix of family and alone time, rest and work and exercise; and the weather was good, too.
My stomach did not hurt that day.
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