An interesting evening...a good friend owns a famous jazz club in town. She asked me to accompany her to a show this evening.

Jazz vocalist...Molly Ringwald?! Yep.

I enjoyed the show, though I am not much for jazz. She did some bossa nova, which I do like.

The staff, who sees everyone who is anyone in this genre was a bit cynical, but overall kind. One fellow, who is a renowned vocalist himself said, "It wasn't 'Wow. That was Awesome." but it was, "How nice, you practiced a lot."

Ahem.

She did a lovely bossa version of "Don't You Forget About Me", dedicated to John Hughes.

David, you would love her hair now. Short, short pixie...blond.

Jazz vocalist...Molly Ringwald?!

Her dad is a jazz musician. She grew up with it.

David, you would love her hair now. Short, short pixie...blond.

Yeah!

Her dad is a jazz musician. She grew up with it.

She mentioned that a lot.

My friend said the tickets were $45, which everyone concurred went to her band. Her drummer worked with Sammie Davis Jr. and Tony Bennett. He wasawesome.

My refrigerator isn't cooling, and I suspect everything that's not pickles is ruined.

I spent the last three weeks having my lymphedema treated, which consisted of two hours of treatment, more than an hour of driving, and having my arm wrapped up like a mummy. Today I graduated to compression garments (yay!). Then I started to make dinner and realized things weren't cold. I hadn't really gotten anything out of the refrigerator since yesterday, and when I went to make dinner, I realized things were not right.

I am not happy.

Oh Ginger, that's not happy, on either front. I hope the garments can alleviate some of the lymphedema.

Oh, Ginger, that fucking sucks.

I had let it go while dealing with all the stuff related to the metastasis. It's not easy to keep up with compression garments and the other self treatment involved with four broken ribs. Now that I'm better from that, I figured I'd better tackle the arm. It's just so wearing. And annoying. Cancer: the gift that keeps on giving.

Now I get to see if I can sleep in a new night garment that has a bunch of velcro, covers my hand and doesn't let my elbow bend. I expect I'll whack myself in the head with it in my sleep.

I expect I'll whack myself in the head with it in my sleep.

Wear a motorcycle helmet to bed.

Ginger, I hope that there is some peace in your sleep tonight. And I am thinking aspersions at the gremlins who clearly sabotaged your fridge.

I think I need a motorcycle helmet that covers my whole life.