Halloween craft
Where are you?
Where are you?
I just need you to listen.
Where am I?
Keep talking. I’ll follow your voice.
Why?
Don’t tell me what I want to hear but give me honest feed back.
Where are you?
Life holding you?
Where am I?
I’m not talking to hear the sound of my voice.
Why?
This is big.
Where are you?
Time holding you?
Why?
Forget it. I will do this myself.
Where am I?
Standing on the edge.
Where are you?
Nowhere!
My last weight loss journey; feel the burn?
Barium swallow
A barium swallow, also called an esophagogram, is an imaging test that checks for problems in your upper GI tract. Your upper GI tract includes your mouth, back of the throat, esophagus, stomach, and first part of your small intestine. The test uses a special type of x-ray called fluoroscopy. Fluoroscopy shows internal organs moving in real time. The test also involves drinking a chalky-tasting liquid that contains barium. Barium is a substance that makes parts of your body show up more clearly on an x-ray.
Other names: esophagogram, esophagram, upper GI series, swallowing study.
Yes, I’ve had this done.
I got tired of taking heartburn meds every day. So, how about weight loss? It worked. Slowly. Over time, the weight has been coming back. As have the heartburn meds.
Here are some things I’ve tried to lower my heartburn without taking meds: limit coffee intake and eat more foods that help lower acid levels. Apples, bananas, creamy soups, oat meal.
🎉 Update: I weighed myself this morning. 3.8 pounds lost since I started. Not a lot. But every pound is an encouragement.
https://www.prevention.com/food-nutrition/g20433234/best-foods-and-drinks-to-fight-acid-reflux/
The Snake and The Rabbit
January 3rd, Inspector Hopkins came to call. The man that had stabbed her turned himself in. It was Mr. Merryweather’s caretaker. The mean faced man whom I never cared to learn his name. He told Hopkins that he had no knowledge of whom he stabbed. It was a way to keep the constables from chasing him. Their attentions would be focused on an injured person not him. He denied even knowing the person was a woman. It was just a way of escape for him. The knife he had used to stab Lizzie; he had used to butcher at cat earlier that day.
After the death of Mr. Merryweather, his family lost its income. No one wanted to hire him because of the information circulating around about Wiltshire. He had moved his family to London, in hopes of finding work. Still, to the same end. So his family had been eating whatever they could find to survive. He stole the goose for Christmas dinner. Though; when he realized he was going to get caught, panicked.
“It was happenstance.” Lizzie had pulled herself up and walked in to the parlor wrapped in a bed cover.
Holmes put his arm around her and guided her to the couch. This was the first time she had been up since Christmas Eve.
Hopkins knelt in front of her. “How do you know?”
Holmes never left her side.
“I have a gift Inspector. I can tell you that you are going to have two children. A boy and a girl; they will both give you grandchildren.” She paused. He was stunned. “I can tell you that your wife is going to die before you though I know not how.” Hopkins turned pale. “Your wife is pregnant now.”
“No one knows that.”
Holmes cleared his throat and took a deep breath. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
“No.” She whimpered.
“Ara?”
When he called her name, I heard it. I heard the reason why she would only allow him to call her that. I heard that whispered breath, the slight elevation in tone to pronounce the R; ending again with the whispered breath. I watched how they both softened; he in the saying, and her in the hearing. If ever there was a secret between two people, here was one.
She slumped over on him. He closed his eyes and held her.
Hopkins and I went into the hall. “Is she telling me the truth about her gift?”
I related to him the story of Mrs. Mary Tarter and encouraged him, that if he had not read her journal, he needed to do so.
Indeed, Hopkins did read her journal. He and his wife named his daughter Elizabeth Grace. It was his prayer that is daughter had an ounce of the passion that our Lizzie had.
I had been doing little things for her. Little things is what she would allow me. It was never my knowledge as a doctor; it was my friendship to Holmes that made her keep me at bay.
The events of that day are seared into my brain. We were in the middle of a blizzard. It felt as much. Wind blew snow down Bakers Street with force. Snow was so deep that definition between sidewalk and street disappeared. All morning long, my chest burned. Holmes paced like a man possessed. We were scared witless by a crash from her room. Holmes stared at me, I at him. Instantly, we ran to her. She was piled up in the floor unable to move. Her skin was gray and brittle to the touch. We put her back in bed.
Holmes set beside her, “where were you going?” He stroked her thinning hair.
“To you,” she whispered.
I felt her take my hand. Her touch was so cold. “Thank you doctor. Thank you for everything. You are the kind doctor that I prayed Sherlock would meet.” I kissed her forehead. It was all I could do not to break down. As I reached the door, she spoke to me one more time. “Watson, Victoria will make a devoted wife.”
In the end, it was she and Holmes. The amount of time that passed was unclear to me. It was not sobbing or waling that came to my ears. These were sounds I expected. It was nothing. The sound of silence. A deafening silence. All the life had been drained from the room.
Mrs. Hudson entered the parlor. Not a word passed between us for her to understand what was happening.
Images in the clouds
Winter Season
Poem
Yet the silent falling snow caused him to smile. The bitter cold wind made his blood pump warm and wild through his veins. He took a deep breath as he grabbed a note book from the floor and began to write:
I sit here staring out the window lately,
dreaming of tomorrows white blanket stately.
Tomorrow, the day that never comes,
but aches like a thorn under your thumb.
That shining beacon of luster and hope,
so quickly it slips through your fingers like a bar of soap.
But if I sit here long enough,
I will begin to see heavens fluff.
That falls quietly all around,
never making a sound.
Wrapping my soul in that season
I love best.
When other creatures hide and stress,
I wait.
Never to hesitate.
For that white stately blanket to create –
a crown,
and throughout the ground will drown,
in its crisp clean resounding sorrow,
Tomorrow.
He read over it to make sure the sound flowed. When he looked out the window, his blanket was falling. So gently, so clean it caused a smile to light up his face. Despite all the work that lay in front of him.
He climbed off his couch to pour a glass of pop. It wasn’t long before he was sleepy. The warmth of the fire, the calmness created by the snow pulled him into dream land.
Waste not. Want not: soap
Can you use a bar of soap until it’s gone?
I can. I bet your mind is blown.
I made this little pouch.
Making that bar say ‘ouch’.
Waste not. Won’t not.
I will get all the use out of you, a lot.
~
Doodle, fingers nails
The Snake and The Rabbit
By the summer of 1905, Holmes was for all intents and purposes a new man. I say this with hesitation. True; however it may have been, Holmes still fought the black dog. She would just let him be. Always checking that the path to him was clear of any obstructions. Lizzie would smile when she noticed me checking the desk drawer. Holmes had almost quit his deplorable habit.
Lizzie had been such a breath of fresh air in our lives. She had introduced me to Victoria, whom is writing this for me now. My wife. Lizzie was right; Victoria is everything I was searching for.
Over the course of the next two years, Holmes was happier. He smiled more, laughed out loud, played like a school boy, danced, and was a pleasure to be around, mostly.
If it was happening in London, we were witnesses to it. She balanced him out like nothing I have ever looked upon or read about.
As I was to learn, this was true of her as well. Lizzie had a tendency – Victoria and I pondered over trying to find the right words for Lizzie. Holmes was logic, reason, data. While she welcomed these; she was sunlight, dough, (I smile upon that memory). and rabbits. She required not to touch it or taste it to know that it was real. Victoria gave me the right word, faith. Lizzie had an overabundance of faith.
Christmas Eve ’06, we went to the park to listen to the carolers. We were frozen; however, warm at the same time. The music, the merriment, a true measure of Christmas was upon us.
Constable whistles started blowing, people started running in every direction. We stood grounded to our spots. Holmes on one side of her and I on the other, watched with curious excitement at the scene unfolding before us.
A man; whom I presumed to be homeless, was running toward us with a goose in high agitation in his arms. It seemed the faster he ran, the more inflamed the goose became. Three constables were hot on his trail, whistles sounding out over the screaming. When he got almost in front of us, he turned throwing the upset goose at the constables. Two fell as one caught the bird. The homeless man started running again. As he passed Lizzie, she sank to the ground. From her coat, stuck the handle of a knife.
By the time we were able to get her back to Baker Street, Vernet was waiting on us. On this occasion he had a nurse with him and would not allow me to help him. In hind sight, it was for the best. But at that moment, it enraged me. They worked for hours. Finally, at dawn on Christmas morning they came out.
Vernet sat us both down, “this is not easy for me.” He paused looking at the floor. “It saddens me to tell you that if she makes it to the end of the week, it will be a miracle.” He took a deep breath, “the knife that was used to injure her was dirty. Her body has already set up infection.”
I kept a watchful eye on Holmes. He moved not a muscle. Said not a word.
I went in to her. She was still asleep. Vernet had done an excellent job cleaning her up.
“Watson,” I jumped when he spoke my name. “She asked me not to let you help me.”
I was shocked and honestly hurt, “why?”
“The last thing she wants is for Mr. Holmes to be infuriated with you. She said that he is going to need you. If you were here helping me, he would focus his anger on you.”
I had never considered that Holmes would be angry with me. He was still in the position where I left him; sitting in his arm chair staring blankly at the floor.
His voice was but a whisper when he spoke, “ring for Mycroft.”
I did.
He spent the better part of the day with us.
Lizzie hung on to life for the better part of a month. It was mid-January before she left us. With each passing day, we could see more and more of her life slipping away.
My last weight loss journey: coming home
I’ve touched on this before. When I get home, I just want to cuddle with my dog as we sit on the couch. But no, something always needs attention.
Here’s my new goal. As the weather gets colder, outside work will become less and less but here’s to trying. Before I set down, I need to do at least 3 chores. Today, I washed up my dishes, swept, and planted some flower bulbs. 🎉 Wrote a little. Now I can sit down, cuddle with Chico and watch King Kong Escapes. 😉
Oh and not snack before dinner. Sometimes when I get home, I want to eat the house off the hinges. But I can’t do this, tea or water but nothing extreme. Maybe some fruit.
Update: I was invited to join a group of ladies at work that walk. 🎉 The first day I wasn’t able to go. 😢 The second day, we braved the rain and got caught in a down pour. ☔️ Wet shoes and pants legs all around. Thank you for the invitation.
Poetry & More 