I am back in my fishing-for-a-compliment breakfast room, where I again received nary a compliment and come to think of it, no fish, either. In case you were burning with curiosity I had a piece of toast (whole wheat, with real butter), an egg, and some cubes of cheddar cheese. And 2939487573 cups of black coffee which the Russian told me is poison.
I met the Russian yesterday when I went to get lunch for Paula's family. Paula got discharged from the hospital midday yesterday, because God forbid they keep you longer than 24 hours even though they, I don't know, LOP OFF YOUR BREAST. They said, "Why doesn't your friend, here, see if you can walk around the hospital and if you can we'll let you go."
They were talking about me. I was "your friend."
Me! I was the guinea pig in this scenario, and if you read my fifth-grade diary, you will recall I am nobody's guinea pig. So they had Paula get up, hang on to stupid ME, and we strolled merrily around the corridors with no nurse following us or anything.
Oh, I was nervous as a cat. What if she fell? What if she went into convulsions? What if I fainted and took her down with me?
You'll be surprised to hear it was all perfectly fine. Paula feels totally well. She's at about a two in pain and is taking Advil even though she has perfectly good Oxycodone on her kitchen counter, and therein lies the difference between Paula and me.
So I offered to pick up lunch for everyone--Paula, her husband, her sister and me--while they schlepped her home, so I went to this little pub near her house. Paula warned me the service was slow, but what did I have but time? I'm on vacation. Sort of.
Come to Sandals at Swedish Hospital! Relax while you schlep your friend around the hospital corridor! Enjoy a tuna sandwich at the cafeteria! Bask in the parking lot while you hump the security guard!
That pub was delightful. It was all sunny with big wooden tables, and I should probably be ashamed to tell you how many sunny woody pubs I hung out in while I lived in Seattle, except this time I drank black coffee while I waited (endlessly) for my order. After a few minutes, this short round woman barreled in. The bartender knew her. "Water and beer," she commanded with an accent.
She mopped herself with a napkin. Clearly she had walked over.
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Guess," she barked.
I loved her, as I love all cantankerous old people. Turns out she is from Moscow, and she is only here because her kids, her grandkids, and her great-grandkids are here, but she does not WISH to be here. Moscow is her home. Her roots. Her soul. She told me all this while she mopped herself repeatedly.
Everyone is gone at work and school all day, so she goes for a great walk each day, then ends up at the pub for a beer. "So I help my blood pressure, then ruin it again with a beer," she grinned. Did I mention I loved her?
"You Americans, though, you are all so unhealthy. Is that coffee you are dlinking?" She talked just like Natasha if Natasha were round and redheaded and a beer drinker. "That is poison. Poison! You drink tea. Real tea. Blllack tea. With jam! Dat is good for you!"
She also told me to stand on my porch naked every day ("Not porch where everyone can see you. Second porch.") and splash cold water on myself. "You all listen to doctor. Doctor doctor doctor. And you all get sick here."
She raises a good point.
Anyway, I loved her. Did I mention that? But I am not putting any raspberry jam in my mouth and drinking it with black tea. Bllllack tea. Bleck. Bllleck.
I miss Seattle. Seattle is a cool city. Why did I leave Seattle? Oh. Right. It's Marvin's fault.
You know I just picked Seattle because they read more books per capita here? I packed my bags and moved here based on that. And it turns out? I did really well. Because other than the reDUNKulous weather, which truly does suck ass, it is a great place.
Crap.
Anyway, I should be off. Am gonna drive around for a while and take pictures of my old apartments. Paula's sister leaves this morning and I am figuring Paula might want some alone time with just her husband. Am gonna call her in a few hours to see if she wants me to bring her anything, but she might feel well enough to go somewhere with me today. It could even be scatter-Horkie's-ashes day. Which by the way, I packed him in my suitcase. In the comments people seemed to think I carried him on. They searched my bag for an hour and 45 minutes because of my COMPACT. You really think I'd have carried on the dead cat?
So how are you guys all doing? I haven't had time to read blogs. What's new?
