Three hundred sixty-eight days ago, I had my first experience with the joys of having a kidney stone. It took months to be totally rid of the damn rock; by the end, I was paraphrasing Lady Macbeth on a daily basis: “Out, damn’d stone! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
’tis time to do’t.”
Thanks to dietary changes and a healthy dose of luck (sorry), I haven’t experienced a recurrence. Mostly, I don’t miss the sodium, and I’ve handled most of the other recommended changes–including eating less spinach, darn it–without much trouble. Cutting back on caffeine was pretty much a non-starter, though. Hopefully that won’t come back to haunt me–and I’ll continue drinking eight gallons of water a day to maximize my chances.
What? Eight cups? Well, heck, why didn’t you say so sooner? Anyway, don’t take the above as dietary advice to reduce your chances of developing kidney stones of your own. There are different types of stones, and if you eliminated everything associated with one type or another, you would need to become a Breatharian, a course that would have its own medical risks.
But I digress.
We put up our Christmas tree last weekend.
Why yes, it is hot pink. Makes for a nice change from the red and green that so dominates the landscape at this time of year, wouldn’t you say?
Considering how many years we’ve been celebrating the holidays in front of that tree, it’s unquestionably the best value in cheap decoration we’ve ever scored–although if the talking dog skeleton holds out for a few more Halloweens, we may have revisit that conclusion.
But I digress again.
Most of the gifts are wrapped, the cats are sniffing at the packages, trying to figure out which ones are full of catnip, and it’s not raining (yet). There’s a roast in the fridge, Terry Pratchett’s Hogfather is cued up, and Maggie has the next couple of days off work. Sounds about right.