Aged thirteen, is just this minute having a gallstone removed from her biliary tree. I light a candle for her swift recovery. When she has recovered from that they will schedule surgery to get the rest of it. She was, by the garbled fifth hand account I got, hours away from pancreatitis and the ghastly grip of the Grim Reaper. And, of course, she refused to see a doctor until she was just about a goner. And technically she’s First Cousin Once Removed Katherine, which I hasten to add before my mOm sticks it in the comments.
I don’t mean to whine, but when I siddown in a stall at work to do my bidness, it’s a bit of a shock to have to look at Roberto Luongo smirking at me. You see, we’re having a jeans day (hell, why not have a celebration of naturism day) at work and there are Canucks posters all over the building. Including in the peepee huts. Zow. I’ll be happy when they take the damned posters down. I found the poster on line so you can see what I’m whinging about.
I just got back from a trek to my stylist, Shelene, and damn but her new scissors are sharp. I light a candle for her. She was practically in tears (didn’t affect the quality of the cut) over being abruptly and without any real explanation dumped by her boyfriend.
I light a candle for the families of the dead and the slayer at Virginia Tech. I light two candles for the gal who survived both Columbine and Virginia Tech. Please God, not too many copycat killings.