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Archive for April, 2016

Today will be our first 80 F / 26 C degree day. The first real temperature change always throws me for a loop. I either over estimate or under estimate how warm or cool it’s going to get and end up dressing inappropriately. I have no illusions of getting it right today.

In other news, Yarn Rascal has decided he’s a hunter this year. His breed has no hunting genes, but that doesn’t seem to stop him. He runs from window to window and door to door yipping and growling as he whips himself up into a small lunatic. All the animals are moving this time of year, but we don’t know which one in particular is setting him off.

His breed is known to wander. The yard is large and bordered by woods on three sides, so the Rascal is always on a leash when he’s outside. It is quite an exercise for the arms walking him when he is in hunting mode. On the upside, yarn is the farthest thing from his mind when he is hunting.

It is also the growing season. Racks and racks of seedlings are sitting downstairs under grow lights, getting the tending that all seedlings need. Some have been repotted already, others are just reaching the repotting stage. I can’t complain about The Skipper this year, because I’ve added a significant number of seedlings to take us over the normal amount. Once again I have meticulously researched and sought out specific flowering plants that deer and rabbits don’t eat. I’ve selected color and the texture of the foliage so that it is a harmonious mix. Something enjoyable to look at during the summer. I’ve made sure that the plants are beneficial to birds, bees, and butterflies. Usually the whole scenario ends badly. Either the deer or rabbits decide to extend their menu options or The Skipper, in his infinite wisdom, mistakenly pulls them up thinking they are weeds. I am going to do my best to try and avoid those scenarios this year.

Knitting has taken place. Pictures will be forth coming. One baby sweater is ready for public release. The second is ready for test knitters. The third is trying my serenity, but is close to done…providing the yarn holds out. Yes, I may have miscalculated yardage. Yes, it is a specific hand-dyed colorway that cannot be matched. Yes, the bonnet is crucial to the look of the overall design. No, I don’t know what I am going to do if I run out of yarn. To make it even more interesting, I used scrap yarn from my stash for a color accent. I thought I had enough of that yarn too. But now I don’t know. I’ve tossed the stash to find more, but came up with nothing. This is masochistic knitting at its best. Still, I knit on.

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A Short Interlude

I know this is a knitting and life blog, but today’s post is a little different. It’s a very, very short story I wrote. Perfect it’s not. But I had to get it out of my system. None of it’s really true. Here it is:

I’m a pharmacist at CVS and Monday was my day off, but I was called in because they were short-handed. I really resented didn’t hardly mind at all. I was working with the lickety-split crew. No matter where they were in filling a prescription when quitting time came they left. The crew was headed up by Princess Natasha. She didn’t “do customers” who came in to pick up prescriptions. Natasha always reminded everyone she was a pharmacist not a customer service rep.

Then there was Walter, who was best kept away from customers. He was short of a few interpersonal relations skills. Walter took umbrage over having to “consult” with people about their medication. He felt that if after seeing their doctor and getting a prescription they didn’t know what it was for there was little sense in him enlightening them because they were denser than concrete. Many squabbles occurred when Walter manned the customer service line.

Finally, Spikey Chris. His hair stood out in the form of spikes from his head. He used so much hair gel that even a tornado couldn’t undo his do. He was a caffeine addict complete with jitters and tics. I think he had stock in Red Bull, he drank so much of it. In general, he made people nervous with his “hurry up, man” and “come on, come on”. It was by silent consensus that Chris shouldn’t man the customer line.

The start to the day was pretty shitty. The kids were back in school and so were the lice. The lice treatment was kept on the top shelf. I’m not that tall and the step stool was nowhere to be found, as usual. I ended up toppling the lice treatment onto my own head. Thankfully the package didn’t rupture, but it did hurt when it hit.

The next prescription was for Oxycodone. I had to open a new bottle to complete the script. Sometimes the way they seal things makes them hard to open. Instead of opening, the bottle sort of blew up and Oxycodone pills sprayed up and out onto the counter and floor. Oxycodone is a highly regulated narcotic so the spill was tantamount to a severe haz mat situation or a def con 5.

We, except for Natasha, were crawling on the floor retrieving the pills when the first eight customers showed up all at once. It always works that way: customers come in bunches like broccoli. I went to get up from the floor and hit my head on the counter. The same spot where the lice medicine had walloped me.
Rubbing my head, I took my first customer. As I filled her order five more customers lined up. By the time I told her to have a nice day four more customers had joined the line which was now wending its way down the laxatives aisle.

I kept my head down and wondered if people realized how much their medications revealed about them without them saying a word. Moving the line as quickly as I could, I kept saying next, name, date of birth, grabbing the prescriptions and repeating have a nice day.

“Name?”

“Christ, Jesus H.”

My fingers paused from punching the name into the computer.

I looked up at him. He had a beatific smile. Outside of that he looked remarkably normal.

“Date of birth?” I asked and smiled back.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “December 25th.”

I put the information into the computer sure I wouldn’t find a thing under Christ, Jesus H. But there it was, a prescription for Xanax.

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