The Other People living in this house do not get up early enough. I am awake at 5:30 but if I don't have to go to work, I don't jump right out of bed. Wish I could be that disciplined because early morning is the best time for Thoughts.
Of which I had several Important Ones this morning.
Mum and I attended an Alzheimer's support group yesterday afternoon, not because we need it but because I'm writing a column about it and the coordinator wants to help me spread my message about the spirituality of Alzheimer's. So the sleeping hours, which for once were plenty and deep, produced some excellent Thoughts after I got out of bed, made my chai tea and sat in a chair to drink it (still not well enough to sit on the yoga mat).
That ritual is like flicking a light switch. It starts the thought process and I start writing it all down.
By seven o'clock, I could wait no longer to tell my mother what I had come up with and went upstairs to rap gently on her door. She answered, and she let me come in. She was still in bed but awake; I hadn't disturbed her. Not until I entered with my entourage who proceeded to jump onto the bed and all over her.
"Next time I scratch on the door, you won't answer," I said.
"No, there will just be silence," she answered.
"Well, then, I'll have to come in to make sure you're dead."
Pause.
"I mean, to make sure you're not dead."
It's not a Freudian slip, really, it's not.

Been so sick, I haven't been using the camera like I should. But I did catch this photo of Willis ("Whatchu talkin' 'bout?") the One-Armed-Man resuming his housecleaning duties.

Aaaaargh!
What does it take to get this guy to convalesce??

(Please note the disembodied hand hanging down.Gets really weird when it waves at you!)

Guess what I'm eating?
A piece of toast.
Even though it's been almost a year since I ate a wheat product of this size, I feel soooo crappy, I finally gave in and eat a slice of the raisin bread my mother bought yesterday. She was the only one of us well enough to leave the house for supplies.
Did I mention she has my cold, too?
These are Dwayne's nurses. We lie in bed all day, letting the poor, one-armed boy fend for himself. He's getting better care from the puppy and kitten. It helped -- us -- that I switched his extra-strength Tylenol with extra-strength Tylenol with a sleep aid so he slept for twelve hours last night. I'm sure he's feeling much more like taking care of himself today.
Aside from the excrutiating pain in his right shoulder.
I can't believe I don't feel any better today but you know what? The toast is helping. Maybe I'll have another piece.

Glad to report that the surgery is done and we're back home, doing our usual evening routine: Dwayne is eating chips and dip and I'm drinking hot lemon water while watching "Blue Bloods". Ah, home!

Dwayne took a Tylenol with a sleep agent last night and slept like a baby so I got to lie there all night and listen to him breathe and hope his cold wasn't getting worse. Unlike mine which slowly grew to a major sinus cold with laryngitis. Niiiiice. 

It was a longer than expected day at the hospital because Dwayne thought his surgery was at 9, turns out it was 10 but he didn't go in until 11! I had taken the first 68 pages of my novel with me so managed to get 2/3 of the way through it in a quiet cafeteria. 

What Dwayne had done was basically a shoulder refit. He has three pins to which the bicep muscles are reattached and his collar bone joint or something along with his rotator cuff were fixed. Between his stoned-baby impersonation post-op in the hospital and my fuzzy head, the details might be a little sketchy! All we care about is that the surgery is finally done, with no surprises, no complications, and now Dwayne can start healing. I'm surprised at how quickly the surgeon wants him moving his right arm and returning to physio.

Ah! Just went to take a photo of Dwayne sitting in his recliner, wearing in his elaborate sling and eating chips -- but the batteries in both cameras are dead!

"Draw a picture," Dwayne said. 

Dwayne's shoulder surgery is tomorrow at 8 am.
We both have colds, which is terrible timing, but hopefully his will have no impact on his surgery tomorrow.
I will be taking the first 68 pages of my novel with me for the first read-over/edit so hopefully, I'll get a couple of hours to work on that. I know, I know: be careful what you wish for -- I don't want many, many hours, just the regular amount for a routine shoulder surgery.
Mum is in charge of the two dogs and the two cats, the 12 chickens and one rabbit. No idea what the house will look like by the time we get home Friday evening but at least it's not cold enough for her to want to bring the chickens into the house.
Can't believe the surgery has finally arrived. Took a photo last night of his shoulders, as proof of how much his right shoulder has dropped and it's pretty amazing, the slope on it. Trying to collect evidence for what will likely be a fight for appropriate compensation. But Dwayne was told yesterday by the physiotherapist in Halifax, who was getting him fitted in his sling -- will have to show you a photo of that amazing system -- he wakes up with it on -- he was told that he has the best surgeon. Nice to hear.
Let's get this done.

Why everyone's life should include a young, male marmalade cat:

I miss my free writing days. Have I said that before, over and over and over? That's why there isn't much to read here.
I'M TOO BUSY ACTUALLY FREAKIN' WRITING NON-FREE STUFF.
Which is good but I guess you can it puts me slightly on edge. In a good way, I assure you.
Because now I have a new book project.
What? you ask. A completed memoir and one-quarter of the first draft of a novel aren't enough on top of the four columns a month you write for the newspaper and the Facebook stuff you post?
Well, um, no.
Because this one is The Mother Lode.
But, surprisingly, not about my mother. (Not at the moment, at least. I'm sure I can work her in.)
Now that my Field Notes column has been nominated for an award, I am going to try to leverage that into a collection of my Nova Scotia-inspired writing from the last ten years. That's quite a body of work, my friends. All to be pitched to a LOCAL publisher.
This is a bloody brilliant idea but I don't have to tell you that because you already know I am full of bloody brilliant ideas. It's the rest of the world that doesn't know that. The subtitle is lame but mine usually are. Then again, Maritimers aren't really known for being edgy. And, well, neither am I. SO IT'S ALL GOOD.
(Who am I channelling with all these capital letters?)
But where was I? Oh, yes, new book project.
This is called throwing rocks up into the trees and seeing what you knock down. I am now throwing LARGE rocks and hoping none of them hit me in the head on their way back down.
I would much rather be struck by a publisher.
Ha ha.