For decades, I had the same forks, supplemented by forks from my childhood. When I went to LaGrange when my folks were living, I had my favorite utensils and I knew just where to find them in the drawer. Some of them had a history that was passed along to me – like the tiny ice cream spoons they used when you had to make your own. And the iced tea spoons and the forks with engravings.  They were so “always there” they could have been the basis for a universal philosophy.

After living with my grandkids, I have very few forks. Where do they go? I don’t know. I gathered up a platter loaded with knives  and announced that for each knife, there should be at least two forks and two spoons. Some of the sets started out with two teaspoons and a soup spoon for every knife, as well. So what  is happening.

I don’t think this is the first time I have posted about my silverware problem. I think the spoon shortage was the first hint that something was very wrong.

I am not happy about this; how can so much silverware disappear? Who throws silverware away? Well, obviously, it is happening here. I am beginning to feel as if I should take a hint from gulag life and carry a wooden spoon in my boot.

Hey, I’m getting it over with; I’m fasting tonight and by the time I make it to the lab tomorrow to have my blood draw it will be oh, 13+ hours.  Fasting goes slowly sometimes, but at least it has started. Please, don’t let me forget and get up in the morning and in a daze eat a foldover.

Der Bingle has done a remarkable job dieting and now I am challenged to lose more weight – including the few extra pounds I regained this last month. I am inspired. The task is to stay inspired and I am toying with adopting an alternate personality to achieve this. I just need to feel out a list of characteristics and act out that personality and woo-hoo, there I am lighter, tighter and fitter. I’m certain there must be a computer app for alternate personalities.

I don’t know if it has the possibilities of plastic surgery – to go horribly wrong.  I check the wrong box and I’m a serial killer . . .

I am finally tired of putting the puzzles together in Cross Fingers. But I haven’t got a replacement obsession yet. I guess I’ll take care of that in my personality refitting app. I don’t think it will be tatting, though. I appreciate lace, but tat, tat, tat could become like Chinese water torture.

My ribs are feeling much better; the Aleve bottle is mostly empty, but that’s okay. I can climb stairs, sit down and get up, and can even pick something up from the floor without having to steel myself. I feel very lucky, since someone scooted the sofa back, which moved the dog back, which caused me to crash down  again. Fortunately, I fell on nothing except and expanse of floor – all the pressure evened out.

My house is a real example of a clutter museum; if someone wanted to straighten up things and organize, I suppose that would be all right, but I am not, nor will ever be, a housekeeper of librarian tendencies. Just think, if a volcano erupted and my house was the only one excavated in a couple of thousand years, scientists would call us the SlobPeople. Yes, one word.

Maybe I’m making the decision to fast too fast. Right there, is a tendency to express myself weirdly that can be eliminated in my alternate personality.

Ah, I have to fast soon for blood tests, but I think maybe I’ll do it Wednesday or Thursday night. I probably should sort of practice tonight.  Usually I don’t mind fasting, but the weather is cooler and fall food smells are in the air. Fortunately, I can drink as much water as I want, so I’ll fill up on that. And then I’ll probably be up half the night un-filling myself.

I see I have slacked off posting, which may indicate I’ve been reading. Ah, Summer is here; maybe that is why.

There are always true stories.  They are everywhere, maybe in parts in time and place, but for as long as people interact, there will be stories. They may come round and round in different tempo, but they have been told and will be told again. And sometimes they just happen and there is no one there to tell. But they exist.

And just at the universe is soooo big, and the atom so small, so it is with  Machiavellian tales. We read and marvel of the machinations of the Borgia family, political deals, manipulated news coverage. History book stuff, mini-series stuff, exposes of betrayals of country and family. But on the atom level, there is no big to-do. So I guess we have to handle it, to go on, to file our protest and take strength from the fact that we have done just that – stood up for ourselves.

And perhaps that is the most hopeful story of all – that everyday, somewhere, someone is saying I will not be pushed down and trampled without struggling to our feet and  saying, “Ok, we maintain our dignity.”

I am sitting at the hospital in Alison’s room. Is it Sunday they call Funday? I don’t know, but I may have to be creative. Right now that seems a little bit of a strain for my brain. But, wait, was that a spontaneous rhyme? Could a few neurons be clicking on? I hope they don’t take a look around and push their snooze alarms.

Today when I was encouraged to go to the doctor for the pain in my side, I wound up standing in front of an  X-ray machine. The technician said that she wanted me to stop breathing. I asked if I could eventually start again. Fortunately, I had made a couple of  other semi-humorous remarks before and so she did not stare at me as if I were an idiot.

I have fractured ribs. You rest; you may possible use a “pillow splint” and you should take deep breaths so you do not get pneumonia. When I had pneumonia four decades ago, I coughed so hard, I cracked a rib.  I made no jokes about this ironic twist.

I was seen by a nurse practitioner because it was a last minute appointment and because it was pretty straight-forward: I fell and hit my side and it hurts now.  She was very nice and competent and after she had asked me all about the fall and any preceding wooziness or other unsteadiness, she talked to me about how important it is for people to make certain their surroundings are sort of fall-safe.  The people of whom she spoke were I knew, in medical speak, little old ladies. I now have a sheets of instructions  – single spaced- about the details of how not to fall. One suggestion is to sit in an armchair while getting dressed.

The ribs hurt; the Little Old Lady speech has not truly registered yet. I was not ready for this. I sat there, staring at her with a nonchalant expression on my face thinking: Oh my God,  my denim skirt is turning into a flowered dress and my hair is becoming very white tight permed curls on my head and I may or may not see my Skechers turn into bunny slippers if I look down.

When she called in the afternoon to confirm that the ribs were crunched, she first carefully introduced herself and reminded me I had seen her earlier for side pain. I could not resist replying, “I remember.”

But back to the stop breathing comment. I was tempted to remark about the PBS show with Judi Dench – “As Times Goes By” in which Lionel said when he saw her, he stopped breathing. Then he added, I started again, of course, or I would be dead now. I decided to keep my mouth shut. It was probably a wise little old lady decision.

And Pottermom, thank you for the comforting hug.

I may have bruised or cracked a rib in a silly-looking fall I could not recreate if I tried, and I am not going to attempt it. It is amazing how many little tendons, ligaments and other body parts are connected to an injured rib.

Yes, I am complaining, but I am not asking for sympathy. It is just somehow comforting to remark on it. I have a boo boo. There, see, I feel better already – well, better until I forget and move. Let me try that again:

I have a boo boo.

I wrote a post, I pushed Publish; nothing happened. I pushed the tab again and got the same result. I noticed both times that Publish was showing up at the very bottom of the page; I thought this was to give people plenty of time to consider if they really wanted to do it. Apparently, I was a little jokie on WP’s part. I scowled – not a pretty sight, but especially right off the bat in the morning – and gave it one more try. This time Publish showed up in its usual spot and it worked.