Not My HOUZZ

No, But Who Could Resist Stopping for A Peek?
(andlook.they'reevenpaintingitforme.ohhowsweet)

Moving plans are hard timber. It's tough tackling what is right and what is enough; where is ideal; why you like what you do; how many years you have left on the planet; is Dave Ramsey "full of it?"; can an old couple set in their ways learn to start a business; will we ever have to eat dog food because I'd rather do dishes, laundry and volunteer, than get a job...? The daily soul searching is scraping the bottom of who I thought we were.

Today I wondered if my continual reassurances to M.Breadwinner that "I'll be OK living in a tent under a bridge" are not counter productive.  Maybe he needs to hear me say, "I'll be d#%$'ed if you make me live in a tent under a bridge..."  Positive thinking and all that.

One thing is certain. I've UNsubscribed from Houzz.com so as to limit the shimmer lust that overcomes a medium-aged female with expensive tastes and no wallet.  It's working. I'm happy capturing my little digital images, pondering their merits,

...and stopping in for a bite of brownie or carrot cake now and again, just to make sure I'm still breathing.

VA Visit. Hospitality Low Down

His name was C.  I renamed him Texas C, at least until the nurses at the VA Tenth Floor nursing station insisted they didn't know who that was.  Oh.  I forgot that I was in a military installation,  and my civilian lack of respect needed shoring up.  No nicknames.

Once appropriately set straight, the whole idea seemed to unfold like a well laid plan, even though I was just making it up as I went along... I won't detail how I found my bedridden vet, but, suffice it to say, it just wasn't that hard.

Once there, I explained to the most In Charge looking nurse why October 3, 1993 was a day worth memorializing. He allowed me to visit any room where a STOP sign didn't appear on the door.

I found one just around the nursing station counter corner, and the nurse inside was OK with my presence. She even OK'd my request to bring in cookies the following week (VA website said not to bring in food. Never hurts to askASKask if they really value that restriction...)

In the first bed on the left, patient "C" lay.  I introduced myself, and asked if he wouldn't mind if I visited for a minute.  He wasn't going anywhere, he said; seemed at once surprised and happy to have a little ripple in his boring, bedridden routine.

I inquired about Mr. C's injuries. His service time. His career. It was an enjoyable exchange. Easy. After five minutes or so, it was time to go.  I promised cookies and inquired after his favorites. Not hard to follow through with that promise a week later --yesterday.

There he was still.  Had they moved him, I'm sure the cookies would've found a home somewhere worthy, but I had rightly guessed his condition warranted a long stay in that unit. Next Wednesday, I may have to go back yet again.

[  Playing right now on GladRad (Gladiator Radio) Pandora: Time To Say Goodbye, Emile Pandofi  ]