Thoughts of the meandering type

I’m up early-early after sleeping not-so-well. I took Tylenol PM last night, as I have the last three, but this time it didn’t work even a little. So I saw each hour on the clock, waking in annoyance from image-and-thought-crowded dozes to wide-blinking-awakeness as I flexed my throbbing, gravel-filled digits and wished for hands less demanding of my complete attention.

The single, bed-time Elavil tablet my rheumatologist prescribed – which I looked so forward to as a solution to the two a.m. ceiling stare – worked only half-heartedly and erratically to help me sleep. But it worked enthusiastically to increase my appetite. This is aggravating. I don’t need help with my appetite; in fact, I’ve only just this year gotten the beast under control after a lifetime of bad eating habits. To suddenly crave buttery Ritz crackers, salty-crunchy tortilla chips and sweet slice after slice of Thanksgiving spice cake with fresh whipped cream – and to mindlessly indulge the craving – is to look away as Doom creeps in the back door, quiet, breathing the rancid-sweet breath of the ketosis-plagued diabetic.

Bleh. I’ve shoved the evil Elavil to the back of my pill cabinet (yes, I have one, to my chagrin) and put ranks of vitamin and supplement bottles in front of it. I’d rather lose sleep than regain those hard-lost pounds. Besides, I gave all my fat clothes to the local hospice thrift store. My wardrobe consists now only of lesser sizes. I like them.


 Yesterday Mr Wren and I took a ride down the mountain to Home Depot. The reason? To buy door levers. Our house is currently equipped with nice, small, round, ubiquitous doorknobs. I’ve never given them much thought. But with my hands in a seemingly endless flare, it hurts like a _________ (fill in the appropriate curse) every time I open a door. My right hand protests loudly at grasping the knob and then shrieks when I twist. The result is me standing in front of the still-closed door, clutching my angry hand to my chest as I turn the air around me blue. And sometimes, the door does not open.

This is not good.

When I told Mr Wren that I wanted to change all the doorknobs in the house to levers (and this after 12 years during which the knobs did the job just dandy), he didn’t even blink. Off we went.

After perusing the door-paraphernalia aisle and exclaiming in dismay over the stunning prices, we bought five “brushed antique” door levers. Two with deadbolts for the front and back entry doors, and three with thumb locks for the bedrooms and bathroom. That leaves one bedroom and one bathroom still to change out, but as I don’t use either of them very often, they can wait for their levers. If I need to get into one or the other, I’ll either grit my teeth or holler politely for assistance.

The hard part will be the actual removal of the old knobs and installation of the new levers. Mr Wren will do his best to procrastinate this unpleasant task until Hell freezes over, but I can’t wait that long. I’m going to give it a try myself today. And if I can’t do it, then perhaps Matt will come to my rescue. One way or another, I’m going to be able to open doors with my elbows if I need to before the day is out.


 It took its sweet time arriving, but early winter (such as it is) has tentatively arrived here in the California mountains. The daytime temps are just reaching the mid-50s; nights are down into the mid-30s. I realize that for most people, these temperatures are downright balmy for this time of year, so I have no right to complain. And I’m not. I like the cool weather. In fact, I live through the warm springs and sizzling summers dreaming of the chill breezes of late fall and the hard frosts of winter. Over the next three months or so we’ll have some snow – more than a little, if we’re lucky – and plenty of rain, also if we’re lucky. I know this sounds perverse to those of you who dread the cold and damp of winter because of rheuma or simply out of preference. But along with the fact that California’s well into its Third Official Year of drought conditions (more like five years, if you ask me), I just prefer bundling up to stay warm to stripping down to stay cool. I like wearing sweaters and thick socks. I adore hot soup – the aroma as it cooks and the flavor when I eat it. I love working and playing outside in the cold so I can go inside and warm my hands and backside at the living room wood stove. I love the way snow transforms the world and the sound rain makes when it spats against windows and drums on the roof.

Yeah, I’m cracked. So what’s new?


5 Responses to “Thoughts of the meandering type”

  1. J. Beaufort Says:

    You’re not cracked at all, BW. Always good to warm up after doing some good outside work on a cold day.

    I too have found that the “X-PM” pills are about as effective to help one sleep as tic-tacs. The original (cheap) formulation of Ambien lasts about 4 hours. Now, a half mg of Xanax, on the other hand, does a nice job.

  2. I love the snow too (including the snow falling on your page — it’s lovely. Hope the door handle thing went well. Little things are so important sometimes.

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