Monday, March 5, 2012

sometimes there is no bad news

My sister-in-law arrived Saturday for a whirlwind weekend visit.  We had a lovely lunch and walked through a local Home and Garden show made extraordinarily amusing by excessive wind.  It is difficult to shake hands with people when they are busy holding their canopies with death-grips in an attempt to keep them from blowing across the fairgrounds.  Most were successful.  There were a few highlights of the show. 

I very nearly won a Wolfgang Puck indoor grill.  And I would have won, too, if the other lady hadn't figured out she was reading her ticket incorrectly.  Why, yes ma'am, I have been reading the last four digits, not the first four.  She had actually won several tickets prior to her figuring out the process. 

We did get four free dogwood trees from a landscaping company.  They look like sturdy stock.  I hope they do well where we want to plant them.

I popped in at the blood mobile to see how my hemoglobin levels are responding to the new treatment and got a very pleasant shock.  When tested a little over a month ago, my level was at 5.5 - steadily falling from the first of the year.  Saturday, however, after three weeks on the new medicine, that level was up to 15!  15 is out of the danger zone completely.  I still couldn't donate due to the blood transfusions from earlier in the year, but it looks like I've managed to beat the old man with the scythe yet again.  Going from a prognosis of 3-5 months to one of 3-5 years... now that is an event worthy of a kermit flail. 

After this fantastic news we wandered through the last set of displays and happened across one for the Women's Cancer Survivors of Lake City who were talking up Relay for Life.  Well, hey, I'm a survivor.  Granted I'm also currently playing host to those wildly multiplying cells, but so far I'm still breathing and that counts, right?  I was on such a high from finding out my new magic number that I signed up for Relay for Life on the spot.  Oh, I won't do the whole thing.  I think 18 hours of walking would give me a whole new meaning for pain.  But I'll at least do the survivor's lap - and maybe a few more for good measure.  And I'll try to collect some donations.  And I think I'll toodle on over to the group meeting this month as well.  They seemed like nice ladies.  We shall see.

Meanwhile. I have chickens in my bathtub.

Yes, you read that correctly.  Chickens.  In my bathtub.  More specifically, in my guest bathroom bathtub, with a heat lamp hanging from the shower rod.  The chicks, four White Jersey Giants, are in that stage of fuzz-and-feathers where they are almost cute but not really.  I'd forgotten how much chicks poop.  And, incidentally, how much chicks eat.  These little girls (the feed store lady assured us they were sexed pullets - but would make no guarantees) are more fuzz than feather, but they can already fly up to the edge of the tub.  They sneak out when I'm not looking.  I know this to be true because they leave little birdy poops on the floor outside the tub. 

The puppies are very interested in these new additions to the family.  Morgie, in typical fashion, wants to be their surrogate mother.  Okay, she wants in the tub under the heat lamp, and if she has to play mommy to four peeping feather-heads to manage that, she's in.  Stripe wants to sniff them.  Stripe wants to sniff everything, though, so that's nothing spectacular.  Stitch wants them to shut up.  Little Bear wants to make sure they don't steal any of his blankets.  Guinea Pig wants to make sure they don't steal any of her belly rubs.  Anubis wants to know what chicken tastes like.  No, he doesn't seem to want to harm them.  He does want to lick them, however.  A prospect not welcome in the world of chick.  So, for now, I have chickens in my bathtub.  We'll see how long that lasts.

In book news, The Schubark Chronicles is increasing in popularity according to sales, and has even garnered a couple of nice reviews.  Solerna is just now going live, and early signs look positive for its success.  It is so gratifying to know that even if the cancer wins, I have managed something that many people only talk about doing.  I thought it up.  I wrote it.  I edited it.  I sent it out for others to pick apart.  We edited again (and again, and again, you get the idea).  And finally, it was finished.  And in a couple of days, I'll hold a copy in my happy hands.  I think that will deserve another kermit flail.

No comments: