So, a couple weeks ago, Sprite and I were scheduled each for our own medical appointment, both of which were rescheduled because Central Maine decided to throw a blizzard.
Both appointments were rescheduled for today.
When Central Maine decided to throw a garden variety winter storm.
My appointment was before 8 a.m. — physical therapy at the hospital across the river. It had snowed only a inch or so on the overnight, and while the roads were covered, the Town Plow had been through and had liberally spread ashes and sand on the roads, so the trip looked Perfectly Doable. Which it was, for values of “doable” which meant Steve drove while I fretted in the passenger seat.
Driving was. . .a little trickier than it had seemed it would be. Still, we got to the hospital in plenty of time, I did my appointment with the therapist, and we came home, in far, far trickier conditions than earlier.
Now, the Traditional Reward for going to an appointment before 8 a.m. is that one has breakfast out, after. Not today. Today, we went home, stopping only to put gas in the car in preparation for tomorrow’s trip to Brewer, and a second time to buy a dozen eggs.
We then came home, and the roads are significantly worse now, where Steve made us egg and sausage and cheese sandwiches for breakfast and I called the vet to reschedule Sprite’s appointment again.
No, I don’t know how much she’s paying the weatherbeans. The more interesting question actually is what is is she paying them, and if she has enough to last ’til August.
In the meantime, we have the rest of today to Get Stuff Done — and that’s what’s happening.
Steve is in the living room, reading Fifth of Five, ably assisted by three coon cats, and I am in my office writing this blog post as a way to put off starting the income tax prep for another couple minutes. Scrabble has appointed herself my Tax Assistant, and in that role is sleeping on the box full of records I’ll be needing to consult.
Y’all have a good day, now. . .