Either I really do have a huge black cloud hanging over my head, or I never noticed before how many of life’s curve balls can fly past any one person. Over the course of the last two years, no less than all of my best friends have been handling life-threatening diseases in themselves or in an immediate family member. While baking cookies and making casseroles for the various affected parties, we had come to joke about my curse. But maybe that further jinxed us.
The curse has struck again; either that, or John and Mary were really meant to stay a couple more days in our neck of the woods. On our way to the Museum of Appalachia, we had to take a u-turn to UT Hospital, where Mary was admitted for testing and observation. As Richard and John accompanied Mary into the ER, I was tasked with checking her in. On the admission form, there was a space for me to enter my relationship to her. I almost wrote “spit sister” in the allowed space.
I became spit sister to Mountaintop Mary while taking her to the hospital in Maryville when her husband Don had been hit by my curse, and she drank out of my cup of water. While doing our last book signing, Jack finished the barbecue plate that I had started and abandoned on our display table. I told him that this meant I was his spit sister. He doubled the club begun with Mountaintop Mary.
Then along came Music Mary, drinking out of my cup of water while riding in my van. I’m now up to being spit sister to three and blood sister to one friend. This is in addition to my four birth sisters, one deceased, and scores of soul sisters. All I can say is that I’m happy for the ability to send holiday and birthday greetings by the phone and email; otherwise, postage and card costs would put us in the poor house.
Mary’s unplanned ER visit did give us the opportunity to introduce John, not to the Museum of Appalachia, but to the wonderful Thai restaurant where Mary and I had eaten a couple of days before. At this point, we’re waiting for the doctors to finish their testing, while we get to have Mary and John’s company for at least one more night. We’d happily let them move in with us, if only our house had a bit more space. John and Richard have been like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, rebuilding the porch steps and the pump house with both of their many power tools.
Mary has pointed out that she knows there’s room on our property for a travel trailer of their own, but she’s not sure we have enough space for all of John’s “big boy” toys and tools. While he recently sold his motorcycle, John does still have his sailboat. Somehow, I don’t think our pond can compete with the Great Lakes for sailing. Oh, well…