An online brew of Coffee and Conversation about the Highs, Lows of living with diabetes... and focusing on coffee and beer.
We had the fun and excitement of pumpkin-carving this past weekend. Of our two pumpkins bought at the now traditional pumpkin spot about five miles south in Whiteland, one became a smiling ghost. The other takes on a civic duty and preaches a good message: "Vote Obama 08." Well said, smart pumpkin.
Originally, we were going to create a work that would have rivaled the magnificance of Michaelo's masterpiece - the Palin pumpkin. We'd stencil her face on the pumpkin, and then of course add an ever-so-fitting witch hat. Nearby, we'd have a button that says, "Lipstick and pitbull sold separately." Thought that was pretty clever, but it was later determined we non-Palin folk must be "anti-American" as we seemed to lack the skill to perfect the stencil-pumpkin work. Plus, it might very well scare the kids away from our porch come trick-or-treat time. So, the voting encouragement won the battle and became engraved on our pumpkin. It beats out the pesky yard signs, and spreads the good word.
Now all we can hope is that enough of the country is as smart as you, gets to the polls, and makes the correct choice. We shall see...
No time for my chatty-typing fingers to engage you today. I'm off to the dentist's office for a dreaded appointment. Thanks to the wonders of D-enduced periodontal disease, this should be a visit full of poking, prodding, pain, and likely some bleeding. Great times. Not looking forward to this visit. Or the next more painful one. I see soup in my future. Maybe Easy Mac. But, I digress. That's all fodder for a future blog post. In the meantime today, talk amongst yourselves. Flap those online gums in the blogging world. And remember to brush and floss.
Are those CGM farm animals alerting farmer to a Low?!
I found myself singing this song recently, while sitting at my kitchen table: "Lantus in the leg. Lantus in the leg. Hi-ho, the derry-o, a shot of Lantus in the leg." Go on. Sing along. You know you want to. Now, I can't tell you What the Fructose a dell or derry-o even are, sine I'm not a farmer and I didn't care enough to Google it. But I do know it's a catchy tune. So that's all there is to it. (Humming to myself... Snapping my fingers to the beat.) Now, just imagine what it'd be like if Old McDonald Had a D-Farm...
Another year with type 1 has come and gone. For those keeping count, I'm now at 33 years with T1D. And for those who've been following along over the years, you may recall that I self-designated March 10 the date a number of years ago, because I really don't know the exact date other than it was Spring 1984 when my diagnosis came along. So, here we are one again. Woo, freakin', Hoo. I'm not one to really "celebrate" having this chronic condition for so long, but rather I more mark it with a head-nod and drink to the fact that I've managed to survive another year without falling flat on my face and staying put in the ground thanks to D. Sure, there's the whole hopeful mantra of You Can Do This these days, but the fears still exist for me that my time could be closer than I'd like, due to this disease. Not yet, Hoskins. Did I mark this diaversary in any special ways? Not really. Though, I did drink some orange juice. No, not be