Sjogren's Syndrome

Apparently, I have — wait, how do I spell this again? — Sjogren's Syndrome. Or I may have, at any rate. It came up in a routine blood test. It's an autoimmune disorder. I'm a bit early for it (it tends to come on in the late forties), and it's unusual in men (it's much, much more common in women) and there is — gasp! — no known cure (so they treat the symptoms as they come, instead of the cause).

I suppose there could be a great deal to get upset about, particularly if you're the kind of person that experiences medical symptoms while reading about them (my wife is that way), and there could be rather serious effects — but I'm not all that concerned. I'm not even sure I've exhibited any of the common symptoms.

It seems that a purple ribbon is worn to promote Sjogren's Syndrome awareness, but could also represent some two dozen other causes as well, which seems rather confusing. Perhaps there's some sort of wink-and-nod or a secret handshake that is used to distinguish Sjogren's Syndrome patients from, say, someone wanting to call attention to the risks of drug overdose.

Forbidden

I'll come out when I hear them making noise on the deck, chasing after one another or climbing on the furniture, not too long after dark. They're excited and very animated when they see me — they'll often run away, but then when they realize who I am, they come scurrying back, to sniff and paw at my feet. (I try not to wear sandals when I do this, just to be safe.) The more timid one will usually peek at me from the edge of the deck, only to come up when everyone else is eating. They still don't trust me, not completely, not enough to be completely comfortable around me, which is probably for the best.

It's a bit like a forbidden romance, really. You know it must end, sooner or later, but you enjoy the small moments while you can (and you hope nothing leaves a mark you'd have to explain).

Steinbeck

I went into watching Of Mice And Men afraid that, after years of seeing the characters relentlessly parodied in cartoons, I'd never be able to take it seriously. But it's been years since I read the novel, and I'd forgotten how deeply sad the story is. Now I wonder if I'll ever be able to watch the cartoons in the same way again.

Bronchitis

Why is it I can't just 'catch a cold' and be done with it? I'd just take a cold remedy, bury myself under several layers of blankets, sleep it off, and be better the next day, or perhaps the day after that. These past few years, though, when my son brings home some exotic virus from school, it taps him lightly on the shoulder and completely knocks me over.

This time? Bronchitis. I did my best to ignore it last week, but it finally caught up with me yesterday.

Canal

I think I've discovered what I want to do for my next vacation. (It's been so long since I've had a formal vacation, I think this might even be my first.) Did you know? You can rent a boat and travel the length of the Erie Canal (it runs the length of upstate New York). The boats are well-accomodated (almost a floating hotel room), and while the small towns along the way are supposed to be the big attraction, I think I'd enjoy the quiet of a peaceful journey — and sights like this one.

The Bird and The Bee

I had a $5.00 credit with Amazon.com — but could only spend it on an MP3 Song or Album. Amazon's MP3 store seems fairly thin on music that I recognize (or don't already own), but I happened across The Bird and The Bee. And I remembered a review I'd heard on Fresh Air not too long ago...

(I must tell you, one reason I wouldn't otherwise bother with Amazon's MP3 store is that it requires the installation of a separate program to facilitate the download of purchases you make. I'm honestly not sure why that irritates me so much, but it does.)

So where was I?

There's a distinct quality of distance to the music, and even to the vocals — yet I still find it all charming and delightful. I've been completely won over.

Inside

There's a hole in the screen door in back. It's not a hole, really, but a large section where bottom has torn. It would be large enough for the cats to get through, if they knew they could. (They don't.) I know this, because it was large enough for two of the young raccoons to crawl through last night.

I was upstairs working, and hadn't noticed how late (and how dark) it was. When I went downstairs, I was greeted by two little masked faces peeking at me from the dining room. One bid a quick retreat back through the hole in the screen, and the other followed, presumably, while I was upstairs making sure the cats were all at rest. They missed out on all the excitement, which didn't last all that long to begin with. (I don't think the raccoons were in the house for more than a minute or two. I don't even think they found the bowl of cat food.) But no harm done.

One of them even tried to sneak back in beneath the screen, though he quickly scampered away when I warned him off. (I admire his persistence and curiosity.)