Ill Weather
Most of the US has gotten bad weather this weekend—blizzards, tornados, lots of rain. So far, my section of Virginia is just getting rain (about half an inch since last night with more to come). High winds are expected to start later.
Without hearing the weather forecast, I knew lousy weather was imminent. Friday, I had a fibromylagia flare-up with its resultant all-over achiness, periods of mental fogginess, sensitivity to sound, and muscle weakness. Fibromyalgia is what the old-timers used to call rheumatism; now it means that you’ve got something but the doctors just can’t quite figure out what. Mine followed a 22-month bout of chronic Epstein-Barre. For a while in the mid-90s, I saw a rheumatologist who prescribed a variety of anti-inflammatory pills, none of which helped. Getting my blood sugar levels down did help, though.
Anyhow, one of the benefits—OK, the only benefit—of being a fibromylagiac is the advance warning of bad weather. Add that to my current bout of plantar fasciitis (why I’m wearing orthotics), and the reason's clear why I decided not to drive three hours to Richmond for a Virginia Writers Club board meeting on Saturday.
I was supposed to speak at the Bedford Book Forum on Monday night, but I got a call that the meeting’s been cancelled. Now I won’t have to negotiate a twisty rural road up the Blue Ridge Mountains. Since winds have a way of felling trees (especially those whose roots are loosened because of the heavy rain), scattering limbs about roadways, and bringing down power lines, canceling the meeting was probably a good idea.
Meanwhile, I’m battening down for bad weather. As I type this blog-entry, the rain is falling harder than it was when I limped out to feed the dogs an hour earlier. Three of the dogs—Jack, Harley, and Hubert—didn’t want to leave the dog stall, so I had to push their dishes through the entry hole. Emma, who maintains a separate residence in a doghouse—poked her nose out but wouldn’t leave her condo, so I served her inside.
Only Maggie—bred for bad weather—stayed out. She forced her little red ball into my hand and insisted I throw it over and over. “What’s a little rain? A little mud?” she probably said. “Let’s play!”
So, I threw the ball for a few minutes. I made it back inside before the rain fell harder. Now the pines and boxwoods shake in the wind, and sheets of rain blow sideways.
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” the saying goes. However, that saying doesn’t apply to border collies who really want to play ball.
Without hearing the weather forecast, I knew lousy weather was imminent. Friday, I had a fibromylagia flare-up with its resultant all-over achiness, periods of mental fogginess, sensitivity to sound, and muscle weakness. Fibromyalgia is what the old-timers used to call rheumatism; now it means that you’ve got something but the doctors just can’t quite figure out what. Mine followed a 22-month bout of chronic Epstein-Barre. For a while in the mid-90s, I saw a rheumatologist who prescribed a variety of anti-inflammatory pills, none of which helped. Getting my blood sugar levels down did help, though.
Anyhow, one of the benefits—OK, the only benefit—of being a fibromylagiac is the advance warning of bad weather. Add that to my current bout of plantar fasciitis (why I’m wearing orthotics), and the reason's clear why I decided not to drive three hours to Richmond for a Virginia Writers Club board meeting on Saturday.
I was supposed to speak at the Bedford Book Forum on Monday night, but I got a call that the meeting’s been cancelled. Now I won’t have to negotiate a twisty rural road up the Blue Ridge Mountains. Since winds have a way of felling trees (especially those whose roots are loosened because of the heavy rain), scattering limbs about roadways, and bringing down power lines, canceling the meeting was probably a good idea.
Meanwhile, I’m battening down for bad weather. As I type this blog-entry, the rain is falling harder than it was when I limped out to feed the dogs an hour earlier. Three of the dogs—Jack, Harley, and Hubert—didn’t want to leave the dog stall, so I had to push their dishes through the entry hole. Emma, who maintains a separate residence in a doghouse—poked her nose out but wouldn’t leave her condo, so I served her inside.
Only Maggie—bred for bad weather—stayed out. She forced her little red ball into my hand and insisted I throw it over and over. “What’s a little rain? A little mud?” she probably said. “Let’s play!”
So, I threw the ball for a few minutes. I made it back inside before the rain fell harder. Now the pines and boxwoods shake in the wind, and sheets of rain blow sideways.
“It’s an ill wind that blows nobody good,” the saying goes. However, that saying doesn’t apply to border collies who really want to play ball.
posted by Becky Mushko | 10:24 AM
1 Comments:
Becky, I too felt achy all weekend, but didn't have to drive to Richmond or take care of that many animals.
I hope you are feeling better tomorrow. I find a good book may take my mind off my aches and pains. Tuesday will be free and clear... so hang in there!
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