The Memory of a Good Deed

AN OLD WOMAN found an empty jar which had lately been full of prime old wine and which still retained the fragrant smell of its former contents. She greedily placed it several times to her nose, and drawing it backwards and forwards said, “O most delicious! How nice must the Wine itself have been, when it leaves behind in the very vessel which contained it so sweet a perfume!”

The memory of a good deed lives.

Translated by George Fyler Townsend. Aesop's Fables (p. 35). Amazon Digital Services, Inc..

Tuesday marked the fourth day I was back on the pill--this time at 2 mg a day. I was also cramping, and extremely lightheaded--on the verge of a migraine and I am still battling the vestiges of a  nasty weekend cold. I had already seen the denial of both my surgery and my Ob/Gyn claims, which was confirmed in an email by the broker working my claim. I was feeling pretty hopeless during the TransAction ice cream social that evening. When I got home, I realized that I only had two choices available to me: I could let either let the hopelessness sink in or I could refuse to let the insurance company scare me. I chose the latter. I also saw my hematologist on Tuesday. My iron counts are back to normal.

Last night, I was on my way to check my email, when I saw a cat in the arms of a neighbor that looked identical to the one that had gone missing. When I asked her where she got the cat, she said it was a stray, and had taken it in a couple of weeks ago to keep it from heatstroke. When I told her I knew who the cat belonged to, she was surprised, because the owner is a friend of hers, too. I carried the cat over, hoping the owner would be home and she was happy to play through the patio door with a kitten that someone had donated to the owner a week ago. She wasn't that excited when I betrayed her trust by coaxing her into my arms so I could take her back until her owner got home. But I didn't want her wandering off and getting lost again while I went back to my apartment to meet the pizza guy.

My bleeding is definitely back today. I was spotting the tissue paper for the last couple of days. It's definitely cyclic. 31 days between the first two episodes and 25 days between the last one and today. You can do the math. But at least I didn't drop a dangerous amount of blood.

Tonight is my third day with the Baby Bellies dance class under Mecha. In a couple of weeks, I'll be swapping that class for a performance troupe class on Tuesdays. I squeezed in zil practice as well as dedicating a little time to the 3/4 shimmies, snarms (tribal fusion snake arms) and external hip circles that Kelsey, my private instructor, and I worked on. Everything right now is mimic and muscle memory.

Tomorrow, it's time to make a trip up to Ogden again to meet with the Intersex Society of Utah support group and dinner afterwards. Saturday, there's a Hafla (Belly Dance party) at Caffe Deffla in the late afternoon, and Sunday there's a potluck after church.

It look like my only chance of getting laundry done is to get my butt up on Saturday and do it first thing.

Hugs and God Bless,
Sophie