Diversions

Sprung the hubs from the hospital the other day.

He’d been enjoying the singular pleasure that is the only-to-be-found-in-hospitals-of-a-certain-caliber water-pump heating pad for four days, yet still, shockingly, he was willing to be sprung.

Had a little bout with Diverticulitis. The kind with the capital D. Spent a few days living off of IV fluids and Rocephin. Oh, yes, and that to die for heating pad.

Quite reminiscent of my E-coli days. We might have even been in the same room. With the same heat pump. How cute.

Anyway, I imagine there’s a 5-figure bill with our name on it coming soon to theaters near us. That damned angelic pad probably runs $500 a day. Gah.

I would guess that there’s a black market somewhere for those things. Oh good gracious, I’ve found it. The black market. It’s name is Amazon. For a skinny $675, you could have your very own heat therapy pump, one disposable pad included. I’m here to tell you, it is almost worth it, and some day when I’m a bit more decrepit this might be mine.

Anyway, Diverticulitis.

And from this little detour (diversion?), and the threat of future detours (diversions!) involving hideous things such as colostomy bags, we have come to a necessary reordering of our dietary lives. It appears we can no longer live with our heads in the sand, but have to deal ourselves into the high fiber game. You know, after these first two weeks where fiber is verboten.

The priorities are rearranging themselves as we speak.

We eat pretty well, really. Not as crunchy as I wish we were, but not bad for ourselves, given the propensity for meat and potatoes that shares a bed with me. Even so, I must admit that the best of our good habits have let themselves go a tad since the nest has emptied. Gone a bit flabby. You know, around the middle. Somehow the release from the responsibility of raising children has equated to more of a grab and growl nutritional situation, and it hasn’t served us very well. I would say this little Mayo Clinic vacation puts a pretty fine point on it.

So it is time to buckle down and fire up the meal-planning motor, be a bit more intentional on the fiber front (how much chia is too much chia?), and schedule in a bit more time in the kitchen than I’ve been spending this past while. Gentlemen, start your engines…

I’m grateful, actually, that THIS is all it took for us to stand up and take notice of the sinking nutritional ship. That wake-up call can come in much more unpleasant packages than this one. (Though I would venture to guess that Scott would say this was plenty unpleasant. What does he know?)

I’m grateful that our little noodge back into healthier eating came at low cost (5 figures is probably cheap, relatively speaking), and I’m grateful that it came when it did, for more selfish reasons.

I feel like I’m finally getting a handle on this whole empty nest thing. It’s taken some time, and the ride is still a wild one, but at least I’ve found the oh shit handle. I feel like I’m a little better equipped at this particular moment, as opposed to, say, a year ago, to take this on with the attention it deserves. Which is good.

Also, I’ve been working hard for the entirety of the empty nest period to find some work-life balance (ha!). I started gig work about the same time as the final fledging, and shopping and delivering people’s groceries may have become a minor, you know, just a tiny little, insignificant coping mechanism. I wasn’t home much, and I love home. I wasn’t writing much, and I love writing. I wasn’t doing much of any of the things that I love a whole lot, and it was stinkin’ the place up.

And then came that whole two-month dental distraction, the one that kept me at home for the bulk of December and January. It took that disaster, all of it, to wake me up from my little empty nest fever dream and realize that the balance wasn’t coming unless I put my freakin’ foot down.

So many awakenings.

The foot is down folks. We are returning to sanity, gently strapping that whole self-employment blessing into it’s appropriate seat so it can’t drive the bus anymore. We’re finding balance, dammit. Which is also good.

OK, stay with me…

Back to the second awakening, the one we’re here to talk about, the eating more fiber than a squirrel one…

Can you see where I’m going here? The second one, the healthy food awakening, came right at the time that I’m not only best equipped to handle it, but also at the time that will necessarily help me keep the first one, the healthy life balance awakening, well, awake. Which is also good. Because I need all the help I can get.

Long story short, I’m grateful. For all the awakenings.

---

So Scott’s birthday got a little hijacked. By the diverticulii.

Don’t worry, the free pizza folks assured me that they’d give him his free pizza a little late under the circumstances. The free ice cream folks will also wait. So kind. The party cometh.

The birthday wasn’t the only thing hijacked though. So, too, was our third annual cabin trip with our woods and water (and fire!)-loving older friends from church. We were supposed to leave the day after the ER visit turned welcome home party in room 41013. Didn’t quite make it to cabin #3.

Alexsi turns 91 in a few days, and we were hoping to celebrate him up there along the shores of the Big Lake, but it seems we’ll be postponing that one, at least the cabin component, until fall. Sad days.

I’ll leave you with a few pics from Year #2, way back in 2022, the year of the great blog fast…

If you need me, I’ll be here, struggling to stay awake,
KJ

Oh, and also, the latest Christmas Letter is up. 🙄