I went for a doctor's check-up this morning, and all appears well. My blood sugar was even in the normal range, which amazes me, given the amount of sweets I eat.
I used to take the all-clear for granted, but I'm now the age at which a couple friends died. Nearing sixty... it's a different ballpark, eh?
#beprepared
Working at the thrift store, I've had a couple old work injuries act up.
Some of the on-the-job physical stressors are avoidable: using one hand, for instance, to lift and carry a dozen National Geographic magazines (dense!).
Some are not: the concrete floor is a concrete floor.
The doctor gave me referrals to O.T. (hands) and P.T. (Achilles tendon).
The MAIN thing I need & want to change is what I eat at work. The food there is terrible, plentiful, and free.
A bad combo for me.
I'm like my father, a Depression kid who always loved a cheap deal. He never seemed happier to me than when he was making pronouncements such as, "I got ten dented packages of Nutter Butter cookies on sale at K-Mart!"
His sister, my Auntie Vi, also a Depression kid, went the other way:
"Nothing but the best for me!"
She's 93 now. She lives in Wisconsin and texted me this morning that she'd shoveled light snow off her walk, like Red Hair Girl.
I'd like to adopt my auntie's attitude.
I'm try, try, trying again to buy good stuff to pack for lunch, so I don't end up eating pouches of Little Bites Blueberry Muffins.
I'm not picky about bakery goods, but Little Bites are actually horrible. They're both gluey and fluffy at the same time, even though they're past their due date (which is why they're given to the thrift store, to put out for free).
The due date is a fiction anyway:
these things are going to outlast the human race!
I used to take the all-clear for granted, but I'm now the age at which a couple friends died. Nearing sixty... it's a different ballpark, eh?
#beprepared
Working at the thrift store, I've had a couple old work injuries act up.
Some of the on-the-job physical stressors are avoidable: using one hand, for instance, to lift and carry a dozen National Geographic magazines (dense!).
Some are not: the concrete floor is a concrete floor.
The doctor gave me referrals to O.T. (hands) and P.T. (Achilles tendon).
The MAIN thing I need & want to change is what I eat at work. The food there is terrible, plentiful, and free.
A bad combo for me.
I'm like my father, a Depression kid who always loved a cheap deal. He never seemed happier to me than when he was making pronouncements such as, "I got ten dented packages of Nutter Butter cookies on sale at K-Mart!"
His sister, my Auntie Vi, also a Depression kid, went the other way:
"Nothing but the best for me!"
She's 93 now. She lives in Wisconsin and texted me this morning that she'd shoveled light snow off her walk, like Red Hair Girl.
I'd like to adopt my auntie's attitude.
I'm try, try, trying again to buy good stuff to pack for lunch, so I don't end up eating pouches of Little Bites Blueberry Muffins.
I'm not picky about bakery goods, but Little Bites are actually horrible. They're both gluey and fluffy at the same time, even though they're past their due date (which is why they're given to the thrift store, to put out for free).
The due date is a fiction anyway:
these things are going to outlast the human race!
1 comment:
Sigh! The bad stuff is always calling my name!
Due dates are a fiction! Although once you open the package all bets are off.
Kirsten
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