My brother-in-law, J, and his family left. Although he is physiologically, biologically my in-law, in reality he is my brother, or maybe more like a son given our age disparity, or let’s just say he’s a hybrid or crossover, like a SUV that has great features of both; and, sometimes, like any other brother, I can say to him or call him whatever I feel like. Like last night, after The Fantastic Beasts sequel to the Harry Potter prequel released last year, both of which didn’t have endings, we stopped by the store on third avenue that my sister-in-law liked because they sold the clothes and shoes from northern Europe that cost twice as much, with measurements in centimeters, wool and faux fur, and pockets and zippers that even I liked. There were some boots she wanted but didn’t get because they were full price, but she now had a ten-dollar-off coupon from a sister-store further north. In fact, I was in the market for a vest as S’s been complaining about my current Kulh product that I’ve worn one time too many while winterizing the tractor, but I like it. It’s the perfect weight, looks rugged like I just got off the mountain, has the nice high collar that’s not too tight, and when its zipped up I don’t feel my pannus.
J pulled up to the store front. It was seven-thirty, Saturday night, and the store was empty but for the lady behind the counter. The kids and J and S waited in the car while Jn and I ran in. While disembarking, J was complaining about Jn’s relative need for new boots and so, holding the door open as she exited the second seat of the Expedition I commented, “He can be such a dick.”
Jn bought the boots. I didn’t buy a vest even though there were a couple I liked. I was too cheap, and besides, I’m thinking I’ll wait a bit before I buy any more new stuff, and there’s always pre-Christmas or post-Christmas sales, and if my anti-inflammatory diet works, I’ll probably be down a size anyway; too many variables for an expensive-full-price something.
We saw them off this morning, the 3/4 ton truck filled up and J’s fat-tire bike on the back that he never rode because he forgot his base layer and was too cheap to buy a replacement set. The windows were down and J was complaining about leaving too late and how there was hardly room for packing everything, the usual things that I used to complain about when in the similar situation a generation ago. I yelled out, “You’re like a dick-turtle. It’s like there’s this nice round shell with a pretty pattern and everything’s fine, and then, all of the sudden, it sticks out its ugly head.” He laughs, and they drive away.
S and I leave for Mayo Clinic Monday to see the specialist. I’m thinking it’s probably not a malignant neoplastic process, and my main concern is whether or not it’s a malignant benign process in a functional sense. I don’t like the shortness of breath and exercise intolerance, but I can live with it, it’s just that, most of the time, these things tend to be progressive over time and I’m wondering how progressive and over what amount of time, like, will I be able to hike the two miles from the end of the road down to the green sand beach on the Big Island? Things like that.