The future is a mystery

What a perfect day.

The rain is cold and the sky is grey. All of the houseplants have made it inside except for the mother aloe. I separated all 16 of her babies yesterday and she still won’t stay in her pot. For the time being, she is huddled on the porch swing. If you want to adopt one or more of her babies, just let me know. My sister-in-law took half of the babies but there are still enough left to share.

Chippie, the designated household pest, either slept all night like a good little chipmunk or else he didn’t like the ultrasonic pest repellers that we plugged in. We are hoping this keeps him or her from getting into stuff that it has no business playing with.

I am going to try to make a batch of vegetable soup today even though the grocery store was out of several of the things I usually put in there. When, oh when, will this pandemic run its course and let us return to fully stocked grocery shelves?

I don’t mind so much that we are discouraged from going anywhere but the empty shelves at the store are another matter. I am not one who cans enough fruits and vegetables to get the family through the winter. First of all, I don’t can anything. I am convinced that if I did can stuff then the jars of food would develop botulism and promptly kill anyone who got within 10 feet of them.

Secondly, when I was a kid I was often the one sent down to the cellar to bring up a jar of whatever. Yes, it was a cellar, not a basement. Most of the floor was packed dirt. There were spiderwebs everywhere. I was convinced that there was some kind of bogeyman under the stairs and that it was going to grab me through the open-backed steps. That fear is still there. Nevermind that we don’t have a cellar. A real bogeyman will find a way around that small problem.

Speaking of bogeymen, October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. I’m sure that most people are well aware of breast cancer. All those pink ribbons and endless articles extolling the necessity of getting a mammogram have done their job. We are nothing if not aware.

Personally, I prefer to ignore the whole thing. I had breast cancer. It was taken care of. I am left with two tattooed dots, remnants of the radiation. I hate them. I’m not fond of the body I see in the mirror. For me, it is not a sign of survival, it is a reminder that the cancer could pop up again anywhere in my body. Next time I might not be so lucky.

What scares me the most about breast cancer is how many of my friends have had it. It used to be that I didn’t know anyone with any type of cancer. Now, many if not most of the people I call friends have had some form of the disease. They are all healthy again, thanks to all those pink ribbons reminding them to get their mammograms.

If Chippie would be subjected to mammograms I’m certain he or she would never come inside a house again. The test is unpleasant at best, but currently the best way to detect the cancer in a most tender part of our bodies.

I wonder what this week will bring. Will the pandemic claim people that I know and love?

Will Chippie decide to move in with one of its relatives and leave my kitchen alone? Will that last aloe finally decide to stay in its pot and come inside with the rest of its friends? The future’s not ours to see, nor is it promised to any of us. Only time will tell what the future holds.