Well, it was either Bleak House or Hard Times, you take your pick. I thought calling it Oliver Twist would be too graphic, as the only twisting we’ve been experiencing around here is in our stomachs. And no one really wants to hear about that, I’m sure.
Truthfully, it’s not all that bleak. Ella’s appetite is starting to come back. Her request for food today came twice. She wanted a panini, twice. In other words, she wanted a crushed grilled cheese sandwich, once for lunch and another for dinner. I ventured up the strength to make a trip to the pharmacy (by the way, Imodium is the same in French as it is in English – just make the “I’s” sound like “E’s” when you pronounce it), and stopped in the grocery store next door to pick up some cheese and the loaf of bread featured in today’s photo. I got a kick out of it being called American. True, so true. Back home, I made her the first of her two sandwiches before taking a nap. That LONG walk to and from the store, you know, to the end of the block and back, did me in. I was awakened by the buzzing of my phone, a text message from Melinda checking in on us. She and Chloe get back tomorrow, an occasion I plan to celebrate by dropping the Charles Dickens references.
Speaking of Ella, I’m tracking how she is doing as I think she got sick about 12 hours before me. If that is true, then at about midnight tonight I’m going to have a hunger craving, perhaps in the form of the ghost of the Christmas panini.