Tomorrow. The Assault on Georgetown University Hospital: Take 2. This time we mean business. Well, at least we mean to get in on the Wyeth vaccine trial, if all goes well with the screening. I’ve been diligent in recording Jeff’s blood pressure once or twice a day so we can demonstrate that he does indeed suffer from white-coat syndrome, and that his normal bp is pretty much under control. Will he get the Magic Juice? + Booster? or just one or the other? Or nothing? Who knows? It’s all a part of the game called Contributing the the General Pool of Knowledge. I have the avoid-the-Washington-beltway-at-all-costs route all mapped out. I better not hate Piney Branch Road.
Today I ate chicken. For the first time in roughly 15 years. Just a bite actually. Enough to determine that it was not tofu (as ordered) after all. The striations were the real give away. Happily the chef at Pad Thai was quick to send a replacement, um, pad thai, and I finished roughly at the same time as Jeff, which was remarkable.
Olivia is downloading Christmas songs to her iPod. I can hear Perry Como singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town upstairs. Gabe is ensconced in the computer room. Tomorrow he gets to take a bike to carpool, just in case I can’t pick him up on time. Not a bad thing for a kid of his ilk.
Rachel wants a send-a-sheep to a wool-weaving lady, sponsored by Oxfam, for Christmas. I’m good with that.
Today, in Annapolis, I realized how I’m not going to bother to live there unless they can put in and sustain a good walking-distance grocery store.
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