Item 1: We're in the middle of another bathroom remodel, and this one's a doozy: We've had to move out of our bedroom and into my studio, which has meant drastically curtailing quilt projects.
Here's the Before of the bathroom, which opens right smack off our bedroom, which is why we decamped to my studio.
Formerly a closet, the former owners converted it, c. 1960. We added a counter in 1990.
I haven't used this shower since since we remodeled the other bathroom in 2014
Now we have a barn-like space:
Gutted. I can tell where the medicine cabinet's going to go, anyway.
The master bedroom looks like this:
The plastic wall, which is hiding...
...lots of fabric, odd items of furniture, and who knows what
My studio in normal times:
My studio now:
It's like living on a ship--very, very compact. (The bed is brand-new. Why not add researching, trying out, and buying a new mattress to the remodel mix?)
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Item 2: Some of you know that Jerry's son, David, was diagnosed with a rare sinus cancer last year. After the most grueling treatment you can imagine--simultaneous chemotherapy and radiation--he needed to have surgery to remove the last of it. That happened last Monday, and his doctors are confident of a happy outcome. This is something Jerry and I have been worrying about since last spring. David and his devoted wife, Michele, have pulled through what has been a very difficult time.
With David and Michele
Much more minor: I'm still struggling with atrial fibrillation, despite meds. In February, I had a stress echocardiogram that revealed a sluggish area of my heart wall, which could mean that I've had a silent heart attack. The doctor wants to "suss it out," so next month I'm going to have a nuclear stress test that will show the blood flow in my heart. My doctor told me last week that he thinks it's not coronary artery disease, which bucked me up. Somewhat.
Getting old is the pits! I've got friends who are sick, one with ovarian cancer (doing well post-surgery) and one with lung cancer (a very effective chemo pill that's working well). Yet another has been diagnosed with congestive heart disease. Another friend has roaring in one ear and was just checked out for a blocked carotid artery: negative.
Hell's bells. How on earth did all this happen?
Here's my strategy:
Also the title of a very moving film I saw recently (Netflix)
Some days it works.
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Item 3: Jerry and I are trying Blue Apron, the meal delivery service, and I have some free meals to give away (everyone who signs up gets to do this).
The fixings for three dinners arrive at our house every other Wednesday, beautifully and frigidly packed in sturdy cardboard, ice, insulating foil, and plastic covers, all very sanitary and fresh. Well-organized recipes accompany this, and after working our way through them, we two non-cooks have been surprised by very tasty meals we've produced.
Vegetarian pizza made with real live pizza dough (who knew? We usually use Boboli.)
Chicken something-or-other, delicious
The down side: You still have to cook, which involves chopping, reading instructions, and dirtying pans. Every other week is all we can handle; deliveries once a week make the whole undertaking seem like a chore, and I get resentful ("What? Another damned box?!").
The up side: It's been fun working together to see what we're going to come up with. We're paying $20/meal, or $60 every other week based on our delivery plan. Our grocery bill has gone down. Occasionally, there are leftovers for lunch.
I have five free meals to award to friends who might like to give it a go. Let me know and I'll give Blue Apron your e-mail address, and they'll contact you with the particulars.
The minimum you can order is for two people so I don't recommend this for people who live alone because it seems like too much food. But y ou could always freeze the meat/fish/poultry and cook the meal later.
Let me know.
