It’s a rare day my computer doesn’t cough up deals for laser hair removal or promotions for products I have no use for, especially during this minimalist period we find ourselves living in. But, at least, the Boston Globe’s thinned down. It’s mostly news, now. All those inserts with ads are slim to none, except for Sunday. Trimmed down is better, in paper and people, which is why I should have avoided that scale.
For a few weeks I dodged it like the plague. Now, that’s an old phrase with fresh meaning. But I digress, so back to the scale. Since it’s been a while, I wore my birthday suit, held my breath and looked down for the verdict. TWO pounds up! I wanted to puke, which is not a healthy way to react. Since March, my goal’s been to maintain not gain.
After stepping on and off several times, I determined the scale was accurate. So I dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast. While I nibbled on nothing much, “I puzzled and puzzled ’til my puzzler was sore,” like the Grinch. Surely munching on chips, salsa and grapes, while binge watching Masterpiece Theater did not this problem make. Then, I got up and took a hard look in the mirror. What I saw was a hermit with long hair and barrettes. Picture Jan-the Baptist. Most of you wouldn’t recognize me, if I ever get to walk outside without a mask.
Truth be told, and eventually it must, I’d never have weighed-in were it not for the fact I’m due for my annual physical next week. Can you blame me for wanting to avoid sticker shock, so to speak? Well, I was too downcast to pray so grabbed a fistful of grapes (they’re approved) and picked up The Plague by Camus. I was already in a pit so why not try to finish this book I bought in a fit of panic in mid- March, hoping for insights. From fiction? Some do.
Before I read a page, the phone rang. It was my favorite nurse practitioner calling to say, “due to Medicare and the pandemic, your annual check-up will be conducted over the phone. There’s no need to come into the office next week.” Over the phone? I’m over the moon! You cannot weigh me over the phone.
Well, to any of you diners on “early bird” specials, who tolerate “Sweetie, what are we having?” know what comes next on a medicare check-up. One counts backwards by seven, starting at 100, names some presidents, tells which day it is and swears on a pile of carpets, that there are no dangerous scatter rugs in the house waiting to trip the unsuspecting. A piece of cake! Which is exactly what I’m going to have with some iced tea and a couple of grapes on the side.
And if I didn’t believe before, for sure I know, “God’s mercies are new every morning.” (Lamentations 3:23)
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