Drum roll please. I have not lost anything. Not a thing. My new classes run from 8:45 AM until 1 PM Monday through Thursday. It is a 35 minute commute each way. I have to eat breakfast on those days or I would never, ever make it. If I have to work after school, it makes for a long day. At this point, I have not figured out how to fit in exercise. I've got to sit down and figure out a plan that will fit into this new schedule.
I've been thinking about my friend's blog post. She talked about being called 'sweetie' by young store clerks. Since she is doing the whole chemo thing again and has lost her hair, she wondered if it were because she looked pitiful. As a person on the other side of the counter, I thought about that. I have a lot of customers. Our store is busy. I am a blabber of the very worst caliber. Just ask Amanda, or Sophie, or Barb, or Kelly. My heavens. I could carry on an animated conversation with a stump. Anyhow, I've been thinking on this. Do I address people as 'sweetie'? And I think that I do. Young folks mostly. And you know who eats that up? The tough looking young men. I call them 'sweetie' or 'hon' and in a lot of cases, they seem to get a charge out of that. They'll look up from that sullen place in which many teenagers seem to reside, and they will say something, and then I'll say something back, and next thing you know, we're having a nice little conversation that doesn't involve a cell phone and texting. The elderly, well, I call them sir and ma'am. It's just my way. I would not dream of calling an old man 'sweetie'. Stuff like that could be misinterpreted, and I don't even open that door. I joke and laugh with them, same as I do everyone else, but they are never called sweetie, not by me. Older women? Well. They are ma'am, but if I have struck up a friendship, I might use a term of endearment. It might be 'sweetie' even. But it seems to me that there are women who you can call sweetie, and women that I would not dare to use the word on. Interestingly enough, I don't strike myself as a person who others would call sweetie.
The one thing that I would venture to say is this. Whoever was on the other side of the counter looked up and saw WhiteStone. Just that fact alone is remarkable. I'm often waited on by people who scarcely look at you. She saw an older woman, with a scarf. She may have surmised 'chemo patient'. Maybe she did feel pity. But she tried to be kind, and God knows, kindness is in pretty short order in this world. I try to bring the same thing to my own counter.
It has been a rough week here. A couple friends have each received some very bad news, and although I would like very much to be helpful to them, I'm so busy that I've scarcely time to make phone calls to them, let alone stop by to be helpful or to say the helpful thing. I feel badly about that, especially since each of them have been such encouragers for me. We are again without a pet. Buster has returned to his 'mother', home from Nashville. I haven't even had time to talk to her about her trip. As nice as it was to have an animal in the house, it's good that Buster has gone back home. Karen would have had a fit if she knew that he'd been tree'd by the neighbor dog.
Last night we had company for supper, which was nice, just relaxing. She also lent me a bunch of material for Anatomy and Physiology, and assured me that I'd make it. That was good to hear. Then we sat down and watched a movie that Cara had picked out. '500 Days of Summer'. If you have not seen it, I recommend it. It is a sweet movie, funny, captures perfectly a young man's first 'grand passion'. I loved it, and I have to say, Cara can pick some lulus when it comes to movies.
On that bright note, it's back to the books.