Stacy Horn

I am fine, but unrecognizable. According to the surgeons, I’m going to be swollen for weeks this time. I can’t leave the house like this. You should see me. I am monstrous. I’m still icing, which I need to get back to.

But I’m mad at Rite Aid right now. I went there after the bone graft and asked the pharmacists in the back if they have arnica cream, which I was told might help with the swelling. “Aisle 7,” I was told. I spent a few minutes looking for it and gave up. I went back to the pharmacists. I was holding an ice pack to my face I should point out, and I was already completely swollen up. I asked them to please let me know where in aisle 7 I should look, hoping one of them will actually show me. One of them answers me, but I had trouble hearing and understanding her. She repeated what she said two more times and I still can’t tell what she is saying and she is now mad at me! The other one finally said, “First aid,” which is what the other person had been trying to tell me. (It sounded like “prostate” to me, maybe the pain killers were just starting to kick in?)

But that was the extent of their help. I’m standing there swollen, in pain, with an ice pack to my face and all they can manage is two more words to help me. And, they’re acting like I’m annoying them. Thanks a heap, Rite Aid. (Actually, I do realize they can’t walk everyone to the product they’re looking for, and I wouldn’t be writing about this if they hadn’t acted so put out about it. But I was the one in need of first aid!)

Bleeck reaches out. Poor Bleeck. But poor Finney too. This kitten is a handful. (A wonderful handful.)

We had choir rehearsal last night so I only saw the last half of the second presidential debate. I came in when Obama was discussing coal and oil and effectively refuting everything Romney had said. I caught Romney talking about “binders full of women,” suggesting marriage as the best response to assault rifles, and that being able to leave work at five to feed your family was the most pressing work issue for women, completely flubbing immigration, and, of course, the Libya moment, the best part of which was when Obama rounded on him in indignation and said, “And the suggestion that anybody in my team, whether the secretary of state, our U.N. ambassador, anybody on my team would play politics or mislead when we’ve lost four of our own, Governor, is offensive. That’s not what we do. That’s not what I do as president. That’s not what I do as commander in chief.”

It was a balm to my worried heart. That said, I want to repeat what I’ve posted many time: I hate debates. Always have. I’m glad Obama won, but I’d vastly prefer to abandon the practice of presidential debates altogether. It’s too much of a warrior thing, which is not entertaining or informative. I don’t want to watch a battle. And I reject that this tells us anything about a candidate’s ability as a president (or how they would do in a real battle).

I have a better idea. Give each candidate a half hour (or more) to lecture. Sorry, I love a good lecture. I’d like to see Obama speak about constitutional law. What would the Romney equivalent be? Wall Street investments? This would give each of them an opportunity to shine in areas they are knowledgeable about and I’d get to learn something.

There’s be all sort of rules, just as there are in a debate. Leave the other guy out of it. No discussion of your opponent whatsoever. This is your opportunity to show the public what you know and also to educate the public on something you think is important. The subjects of the lectures are not released beforehand. This would be to prevent the other candidate from working in references to the subject in their lecture.

I’d have to give this more thought to come up with the most useful guidelines.

I’m going to take a bunch of pictures of Bleeck. Someone I know who also lost their cat and got a kitten has been shooting up a storm. I don’t have many early shots of Buddy and Finney and I want to make sure that doesn’t happen with Bleeck.

Bone graft. There. I said it. For the next two days I’m doing everything to prepare for a short period when I won’t be in any shape to anything, when I will be laying on the couch in agony, unable to function. I’ve been working and cleaning and doing the laundry. I’ve also been swimming every day because I won’t be able to swim for a week.

Unlike my first bone graft, this time I know exactly what I am in for. On the one hand, I don’t want to exaggerate it. The pain is manageable, and while I hate the swelling and looking horrifying for a month (yes, it takes that long although I realize most people won’t notice it like I do) in terms of bad life things, it barely counts. On the other hand though, the needles, slicing open a large area inside my mouth, the blood, my anxiety, fear, pain, I mean, ugh. Just … ugh.

This was yesterday, sitting out in front of the laundry. Pretty much everyone was absorbed in their phone. Not a criticism, by the way. The internet, and people, are absorbing. I love text messages.

In an article about the problems that may arise out of the growing popularity of choral singing, Niall Crowley, a singer in the amateur chorus of Birmingham Opera Company, writes:

“The great danger for today’s choral renaissance is that, in enlisting it to help cure everything from fragmented communities to stress relief, we will drag it down to the level of the mundane. And must we measure everything in terms of health benefits? Should joining a choir become an adjunct to the ‘five a day’ directive? If we concede that choirs are little more than a healthy lifestyle option then it won’t be long before another part of our private lives are colonised and regulated by ‘experts’ and health professionals.

“Choral singing may have curative qualities but if we recast it as just another healthy lifestyle activity, like going to the gym or visiting our GP, then all that’s magical, inspiring and elevating about the choral experience might just melt into air.”

I wonder if he really believes this. First, people participate in activities to varying degrees. Some people read War and Peace and others read Fifty Shades of Grey. I may think the Grey people are missing out, but they’re having fun, so, fine. Second, I joined a choral society for two reasons: I was depressed and I thought singing Christmas music might help, and to meet guys. I had no idea how much more I would get out of singing masterpieces, but I soon found out. So, in the end, what difference does it make why people start?

I would guess he was just raising some interesting points to think about, I don’t think he truly believes there’s any real reason to be concerned. Unless I’m missing something.

At times I need to separate the cats when feeding them, otherwise Bleecker would eat everything in sight. But that often means bringing the food to Finney wherever he is, like curled up on the couch, and then watching like a hawk, otherwise this happens.

I’ve been trying to concentrate on what food I will eat after the bone graft and not the bone graft itself. (It’s happening on Thursday.) Here’s what I have so far. Any suggestions? It just has to be soft. And probably not acidic.

Mac & cheese.
Twice baked potatoes.
Pumpkin pie.
Cheese and bread.
Bananas.

Check out these pumpkins I passed by yesterday. Amazing, no?? Some people are so talented. Of course I feel bad for the scared pumpkin.