This morning, I am keeping my resolution not to become a paper fiend like my mum. Every recycling day, as well as my regular stuff, I've decided to fill one of the old blue bins with paper. So I have just put out my income tax material for 2004 through 2006, extensive notes for an article I wrote in 2005, and two fat old drafts of the memoir. A heavy load, and my, it feels good. More, much more to come. What was the fear that made me, my mother and her father hang onto things? Whatever it was, time to let it go.
Yesterday, I saw the surgeon at St. Mike's about my parathyroid operation - quite routine, day surgery if all goes well. The intern who did most of the explaining was from Thailand, Dr. Premsuda Sombutham, competent and kind with English that needs a bit of work. She talked of my "tyroi grand," which is how I will refer to it myself from now on. My grands. "The lisk is low," she said, to my relief. She stuck a camera down my throat to look at my "wocal co." It was good to enjoy myself in a hospital.
Thence to class and then to the west end to visit Booboo and his mother. Only 2 weeks away, and he's huge - a little boy now, not a baby. He moves all over the room on his belly, knees or bum, and staggers to his feet, clinging to tables like a drunk. We ate a vat of strawberries together, and he slept curled into my chest. Greater love hath no grandma.
OH! Just caught the recycling guys going by - they didn't empty the small blue bin so I had to rush after them, in my slippers in the snow. Apparently they don't take the small ones any more. Imagine, after that Herculean effort of throwing out, I almost had to bring it all back in. But he dumped it for me, this time. From now on, I will keep blue recycling bags in every room of the house. I promise.
Here's a beautiful little film from the BBC:
www.youtube.com/embed/auSo1MyWf8g?rel=0 <
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