Staying Put in Upton

Wednesday. I endure taking the Memere for a cardiac ultrasound, after which she emphatically states that it was painful, and she'll never have another. She says, "It's OK for young people and people who are sick, but for old people, why bother?" I think maybe she has a point. At 85, what difference does it make if there is something wrong with her heart; she surely will not consent to surgery at this late stage in life. I quote further: "The more they fool around, the more things go wrong." How true - if they keep testing us, some abnormality certainly will be found. "Leave me alone and let me be old" may be the motto here...

So, on to Worcester I go, picking up Syl at her apartment and heading to Trader Joe's for my monthly shopping trip. We buy lots of culinary delights, load up the car, and head to the Flying Rhino on Shrewsbury Street. It is a self-described eclectic place with stained glass windows, zebra-striped carpeting, and tablecloths that look good enough to eat. Sipping glasses of rioja (and raising our glasses in honor of Kate, absent from our midst, and having her own culinary adventures on The Other Side), we dined on tuna tartare, Asian lettuce wraps, Mediterranean salad, and a coma-inducing decadent chocolate cake. It was a lovely evening, after which I had to go sing for an hour and a half, feeling like the proverbial fat lady. And then it was over...