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This morning, I started off by having Sarah get her pack ready to go before she did anything else. Consequently, we got out the door pretty much a half minute after saying, "We're going out the door now." Sarah ran off down the block ahead of me, and I walked along, not trying hard to catch up. At the end of the block, she was saying something and pointing, so I hurried some, in case the bus was there early.
It wasn't the bus, though, it was a woman in a station wagon who was looking for the bus stop. She has just moved to the street next to ours (as of Thursday), and her son Andrew will also be riding the kindergarted bus, so Sarah has a new bus stop friend. Mornings only -- in the afternoon he will ride a different bus and be picked up by his grandmother while his mom works.
After that, I commenced my usual walk, and varied the routine by listening to my iPod, since I had put some new stuff on -- some Shostakovich symphony movements, arranged for piano. I was enjoying it. As I passed the funeral home, I looked across the street and saw the Bloodmobile, and realized here was my chance at last to give blood. I had nowhere else to be for a while. I was five minutes early for the start of their day, but when I went over and waited, the door opened and I was welcomed inside. Some paperwork, a small sample, a search for a vein, and I was finally giving blood, for the first time since early in our time in Virginia.
In the 80s, I was giving blood with some frequency, and I was glad to share my O-negative. Then after we moved to Virginia, something went wrong. One time, I had been taking antibiotics. Another time, I sniffled. After that, I have a distinct impression there was a secret policy that if I'd been turned down twice, they'd never take my darn old blood again. I finally gave up, tired of going through the preliminaries without managing to give anything. But here I was again, reclining on something like the astronaut couches in Tintin's moon adventure, bleeding quietly into a plastic bag that was being rocked gently as it filled.
Then there was a small snack, some orange juice, and -- !!! -- a free fleece pullover with the hospital name on the front and the words "Blood Donor." Cool! I'm a donor again! And I have a fleece pullover! I walked on home, thinking I should have taken my camera out and gotten a couple of pictures of the interior of the Bloodmobile, then drove on up to my next scheduled event, a shift on the pledge drive for WFCR. But first I stopped off to take a picture.
( and it's behind the cut )
This morning, I started off by having Sarah get her pack ready to go before she did anything else. Consequently, we got out the door pretty much a half minute after saying, "We're going out the door now." Sarah ran off down the block ahead of me, and I walked along, not trying hard to catch up. At the end of the block, she was saying something and pointing, so I hurried some, in case the bus was there early.
It wasn't the bus, though, it was a woman in a station wagon who was looking for the bus stop. She has just moved to the street next to ours (as of Thursday), and her son Andrew will also be riding the kindergarted bus, so Sarah has a new bus stop friend. Mornings only -- in the afternoon he will ride a different bus and be picked up by his grandmother while his mom works.
After that, I commenced my usual walk, and varied the routine by listening to my iPod, since I had put some new stuff on -- some Shostakovich symphony movements, arranged for piano. I was enjoying it. As I passed the funeral home, I looked across the street and saw the Bloodmobile, and realized here was my chance at last to give blood. I had nowhere else to be for a while. I was five minutes early for the start of their day, but when I went over and waited, the door opened and I was welcomed inside. Some paperwork, a small sample, a search for a vein, and I was finally giving blood, for the first time since early in our time in Virginia.
In the 80s, I was giving blood with some frequency, and I was glad to share my O-negative. Then after we moved to Virginia, something went wrong. One time, I had been taking antibiotics. Another time, I sniffled. After that, I have a distinct impression there was a secret policy that if I'd been turned down twice, they'd never take my darn old blood again. I finally gave up, tired of going through the preliminaries without managing to give anything. But here I was again, reclining on something like the astronaut couches in Tintin's moon adventure, bleeding quietly into a plastic bag that was being rocked gently as it filled.
Then there was a small snack, some orange juice, and -- !!! -- a free fleece pullover with the hospital name on the front and the words "Blood Donor." Cool! I'm a donor again! And I have a fleece pullover! I walked on home, thinking I should have taken my camera out and gotten a couple of pictures of the interior of the Bloodmobile, then drove on up to my next scheduled event, a shift on the pledge drive for WFCR. But first I stopped off to take a picture.
( and it's behind the cut )
