It seems blasphemous in these days of global warming, of greenhouse emissions and Goracle worship that we have acquired another car. And yet, we have. Three drivers, going three directions seemed, somehow, to require this convenience, particularly given that one of us will be driving into the sunset in a matter of months. The boy has inherited our aging (read: long paid for) Chevy Cavalier. Not a muscle car, to be sure, but it runs.

“So, are you going to trick out the Cav, now that it’s yours?” I asked. “You know, paint flames on the sides, install a kick-butt stereo system?” He’s a teenage boy; isn’t that what they do?

“No. I’m going to trick it down,” he said. “That spoiler? Gone. Hubcaps? Who needs ‘em?”

Not a car guy, that one.

For the third spring in a row, a mother goose is nesting next to the pond in my backyard. I keep an eye on her and shoo away any kids who seem like they’re on a mission to roost her from her nest. It’s amazing to watch her resting in one place for so long. The father goose never strays far from her side, keeping watch from the pond day and night. They seem like a lovely couple.

I feel sorry for her though, as today there is pea-sized hail and, even for a goose, doesn’t seem like a very nice day to be outside. It must be boring, too, I think, just sitting there, waiting. I want to bring her an umbrella and a magazine. Which do you think, Newsweek or Martha Stewart’s Living? Cooking Light may hit too close to home.

I’d post a picture, but you’ve all seen geese, and besides, you know how expectant mothers are; she probably thinks she looks fat.

I survived my once-every-twenty years physical today. I only had one mild anxiety attack as the nurse went to draw my blood. I patiently explained to her that all medical professionals have had a hard time accessing my veins. They are small, deep and roly-poly, I’ve been told. I said I would try to be as relaxed as possible, but I couldn’t promise I wouldn’t faint if she found herself having to dig around in my arm. I’ve had seasoned phelbotomists flat give up and draw from my hand.

Today’s vampire nurse, though, listened to me, took her time, got me relaxed with a funny story and got in pretty quickly. Just as I was telling her the world was closing in on me, as I got all hot and knew I was down for the count, she said, “Got it!” and I was back.

Don’t mind shots, but go for a vein and I wig out.

Ever notice how you may not be hungry in the morning until someone tells you that you can’t eat? I’m “fasting” for a morning doctor’s appointment so of course all I can think of is food. I am going for my first physical since, oh, I don’t know, HIGH SCHOOL? Should be fun. Actually tossed and turned all night over it, waking suddenly at one point realizing that yes, THEY WILL BE TAKING BLOOD. That, and, I think that my number is up and I will have to endure the boob squisher mammogram humiliation for the first time. I have sidestepped this treat for several years but this year, I promised my father-in-law, I’d do it. A promise is a promise. 

I’m FREAKING out. But I’m still going. Not that I want to. Wish me luck!