In Reenie's World of Oz, a grave, unfortunate, and tragic element has been missing from my life... I wasn't given a brain. I got heart and courage... but no brain.

I did it again. I can't believe I'm even confessing to my knucklehead-ness.

For 48 hrs or so, once again I unknowingly operated with too little oxygen. It's just plain stoopid for me to assume my huffing and puffing and dizziness are symptomatic - when all I have to do is check the concentrators, which I pass many, many times each day.

I know how to fix this - short of voluntarily committing myself.

Like I've mentioned before, the error in hook-up isn't sight-discernible. And at the level of O2 I require, the force of flow is so strong, it's difficult to feel the difference... well that's until it's corrected. *sigh*

Momentarily leaving Oz, here's the Dr. Seuss version of my life: Concentrator One and Concentrator Two.





Concentrator One







Concentrator Two


Concentrator Two has a water container attached to help ease the force of air pushed into my lungs. It's this plastic container that's the culprit. If nudged even a tiny bit, oxygen escapes and doesn't reach my lungs. If I simply check as I walk by, I'll feel the escaping O2.

New house rule: Every single time I walk by the concentrator, I'll check. It's that simple.




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Melinda Globe, a friend on Facebook recently posted a photo of her mother with the following caption: This was my sweet Momma Irene. You would have loved her. She, like you, was a very special lady named Irene.

I've known few Irenes, but it seems everyone I meet knows an Irene - has a mother, aunt, or Grandmother Irene - and because of that, over the years I've been the recipient of much unexpected/delightful kindness. It's uncanny the amount of unearned affection and smiles I've been given simply because of my name.

Irene isn't a name one finds on birth certificates anymore. It's rather old-fashioned, perhaps a bit fuddy-duddy. Yet, it has connected me to so many people for sentimental reasons. Though I like my nickname, it wasn't widely used until I moved to the mountain when I started a pet sitting service called *Purrs & Wags*. I was concerned if I advertised as Irene, people would do a negative profile - that I might be too old. So I started using my rarely used nickname. Consequently, the mountain is the only place I'm exclusively known as Reenie. Off the mountain, except for a few people, I'm known as Irene.


Thanks, Melinda, for the kind words.



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The past week was full of delightful surprises.

Judy is a kind neighbor. Actually, the kindest person ever ever. I awoke from a nap the other day to discover this plate of delish cookies on my kitchen counter. Yum!




Judy's Cookies


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Dear friend, Nora Beeman, made this FABULOUS creature she's called Abigail. Abigail is beautiful - the photo doesn't begin to do her justice. She's exquisite in detail. (My energy is ebbing at the moment but I plan to take additional photos to post later.)





Abigail


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Linda brought this delightful kitty from Texas - I can't recall the museum - I believe it was in San Antonio. It is absolutely precious - so very, very precious.




Linda's Cat



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I grew up on the North Shore of Long Island in a charming town called Northport. One of my friends was Susan Arhenhold. I recently received this email from her:

Irene - I am so glad you are being honest with those who love you. Your journal is an inspiration, and you are as lovely as you always were. I was so grateful when we ran into each other on Facebook

A part of me was like, you have known this woman for over 60 years, this isn't right.

My dear friend, may you enjoy spring on the mountain, and know that knowing you is an honor.

Sue's email touched the very core of my heart. There have been others from my youth who have sent kind emails of similar sentimentality. It's so very, very gratifying. Our lives have flung widely and wildly in different directions and pursuits, but we've all been drawn to the specialness that Northport was for us in childhood. It was a remarkable place to grow up - and probably still is. The ties are loosely bound but lassoed with unfettered affection for those unfettered years.

This was my response to Sue:

I, too, remember you with such fondness. Gosh, weren't we the luckiest children ever.

I was thinking the other day that I will never see our beloved Northport again - sashay into The Greeks, walk the pier... everything. I'm a soppy sentimental person. The few times I've been able to return to Northport, I've simply driven around every single road I can find. Every single road.


There's always such a clutch in my heart when I think of Northport - I'm teary now just to think of the good fortune we all had. It was the perfect small town, wasn't it? I sometimes miss it so much.

I want to caution people to never ever take our precious town and friends for granted - but I sense they already know. We were so very lucky.




The Greeks


Northport:














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And to close, this is a photo I took yesterday of Linda. Having her with me has been life-changing. The gift of her friendship is immeasurable. In this photo, she was about to leave for Morton Memorial for Sunday service. I can no longer attend because my oxygen requirements make it too ungainly.




My Beautiful Linda




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Thanks for stopping by to read this long and clumsy post.

Love.