Stopping to smell the Pinesol...

Yesterday was pretty stressful. I managed to get everything done in time - just barely - to go talk to the young woman who's supposed to be doing our books, and who teased me about making sure to not be late for yesterday's appointment (yes, I can be a hard person to pin down). Instead, she was the one who didn't show up, which doesn't advance her cause for future employment, but I digress...

After the non-appointment, I went back to finish off the day at the store and ran into Karen T. who lives with her husband Mike along the road down which I travel to Drew's new place. We chatted for a bit (they're also our customers) and since they'd invited me and Galina (and sometimes just me, when Galina's out of town) over to their place a few times, I decided to reciprocate, and invited them to come over for dinner tonight. When I went home, I felt pretty tired.

Anyway, around 7:30 pm or so, I'm sitting at my desk, printing out the invoices I'd sent earlier in the day, when I become aware that my heart is beating faster than normal. I go upstairs and find that my BP is about 134/85, which is not too bad, but the pulse is racing along at 112, for no discernible reason.

So I went back downstairs, shut down for the night, and came back up to take my meds and watch some television before retiring. Just before falling asleep, I remeasured my BP and heart rate: about the same BP, and the rate has come down to 93.

I slept like a doornail.

I woke in fine fettle, with my heart rate back in the low 70s. I have no idea what caused this... shall I call it an "episode"? I shall classify it as "информация к размышлению."

So there I was, sipping the morning coffee, and thinking about what I had gotten myself into by inviting Karen and Mike. Ever since Galina left for Houston, I've been doing spot cleaning and dishwashing in the kitchen, and the area of the dining room and living room - denuded of carpeting - had begun to look... abandoned.

So anyway, I spent the morning field-daying the place. All dishes are washed, all counter surfaces are wiped, all wood has been polished, mirrors have been cleaned, toilet bowls scrubbed, and clutter has been, um, secured.

Which reminds me of an amusing observation told to me during in Baikonur by Dwight, the safety engineer, about what it means to "secure" something.

The verb "to secure" is understood differently by different branches of the U.S. military. If you tell the Army to "secure" a building, they'll post guards around the place. Ask the Navy to "secure" a building," and they'll turn out the lights and lock the doors when they leave. The Marines "secure" a building with an all-out assault, killing everybody inside and setting up a command post. And the Air Force? When they "secure" a building, the result is a 5-year lease with an option to buy.

I call this an "observation" instead of a joke because, with the exception of the description of what the Marines would do, there is no exaggeration here.

The menu for the evening is corned beef and cabbage, probably an instinctive choice since I wasn't aware that St. Patrick's Day is on MondayThursday (...my error...) until I went to look for recipes (that or the result of corned beef being on sale at the City Market, which may be on account of St. Paddy's, but I digress...).

It's nearly time to button up the shop and visit the market. Company's due around 6 pm.

Cheers...