Yeah, I don’t have much today. Today’s after-work chitchen crap…

1) GET THE NINJA IN TO FIX THE A/C. Fortunately this was shorter and sweeter than I may have made it sound. Knock on wood.

2) Finding pitchers of our 2014 chitchen reno to find where waaaars and lucky-shuckial stuff used to go. It’s long gone now and my attitude about all of it is something like c’est la vie. If you want to put a fan in the back room, maybe you need to hire some decent folks to do it. And while we’re at it, maybe we should just hire Certified Kitchen Lady to help us re-do the whole back room.

3) A complicated vaxxing convo that I do not want to try to repeat. Although I am a bit uncomfortable about the NUMBER of vaccines recommended nowadays, I am NOT an anti-vaxxer in any way shape or form. Neither is the GG and I won’t talk about what he was trying to say but it involves the government and waivers and his experience with all of that stuff as a co-op nursery school president long ago.

I’m not going to go into vax or anti-vax stuff too much tonight but I do know that people who have witnessed what polio can do are thankful for the polio vaccine.

I was born in 1954 with the specter of polio over my head. From a very wee bit of loose wiki-type research, apparently I didn’t get my polio vaccine until 1955 or so. But I did get it as soon as it was available because polio scared the crap out of my parents back in the early 1950s.

Before I was born, The Commander worked in downtown Sault Ste. Siberia at Monkey Wards. She worked for a man with three young children. All three of his children came down with polio. The kids recovered (they went to my high school, older than me) and the man’s wife came in to the store cheerfully reporting that all of her children had recovered without complications. The Commander’s next sentence was, “The next day she was dead.” Yes, the mother of those children got sick later that day and died of polio.

A boy I knew (via my parents) who was born the same year that I was survived a bout with polio but wore a great big metal brace on one (or both?) of his legs. To help him walk, I guess.

A brace? I was born with a foot that turned a little bit inward. It’s a *thing* but I don’t feel like looking it up right now. I wore what The Commander always called a “brace” when I was a baby. By the time she told me about the “brace” I had long outgrown it and didn’t remember it and I could only imagine I had worn something like the big metal brace the boy with polio wore. As it turns out, after looking at photos of me as an infant, it was a soft kind of extra sock-like thing.

The GG is over at Nicola’s listening to an author talk about his book about John Norman Collins, a serial killer here in these parts long before I lived here. I read a lot about Collins in the news when he was active down here and I am not sure I want to read the book or hear what the author has to say.

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