Idiopathic

id·io·path·ic (Pronunciation: "id-E-&-'path-ik)
Function: adjective
: arising spontaneously or from an obscure or unknown cause

I did not make it to church on Sunday. I was all dressed up, smoke-free, and ready to get my God on. I ended up an hour and a half away eating some of the world's best fried chicken with my cousins and Grandma. So no one misses out, the world's best fried chicken comes from Chicken Mary's in Frontenac, KS. If you've never eaten at Chicken Mary's (or Chicken Annie's, for that matter), you should not speak when the topic of fried chicken comes up in conversation.

I don't know why I chose chicken over church. When I was in the hospital once and had some obvious malady, I learned the word "idiopathic". It's become one of my favorite words. In medical cases, it has the equivalence of "Well, would you look at THAT!" It does not inspire confidence, but it is a refreshing admission of ignorance in the haze of rushed arrogance that often accompanies medicine's practice. When I was finished being disturbed that there was no explanation for what ailed me, I was rather pleased that my failing body had managed to stump a team of well-trained physicians. I think they should give out cars for that. It's at least as much of an accomplishment as anything on Wheel of Fortune.

On this last day of Winter, the season seems to have come to itself. Temperatures have retreated from the 70's and 80's to the 30's. Snow is in the forecast. Spring will awaken tomorrow in at least a coating of ice, if not snow. We've had Spring all Winter. Now we'll have Winter come Spring. I doubt there's a good explanation for that.

My cousin's daughter is 4 going on 30. Her name is Libby (short for Liberty). She has red hair that most women pay to get. She is jaw-droppingly pretty, as some children manage to be. She has a tiny voice that seems too small to wrap around most of the words she uses. She gives precocious a good name. Grandma told the story over lunch that Libby had sat upon her lap a few days ago and asked her how she was doing. Grandma had told her that she was doing just fine, thank you. "You're looking older," the four year-old advised. We gasped and shrieked and rolled with laughter - Grandma included. The honesty of a four year-old begged for the soothing white lies of kindness so I offered, "You don't look that much older."

"I have a mirror," she deadpanned.

She's 82. She looks much older than she once did, for sure. Not suddenly, but in the last five or six years, she seems to have taken on that haggard, stooped, elderly look. I don't know what compelled me to suggest otherwise.

Except for the Three Fag Stumble on Friday night, I have been smoke-free for a bit over five days. Even if we started counting over from the stumble, this evening I'll hit my magic 72-hour mark. The cravings are few and far between and easily ignored now. I bought an enormous can of mixed nuts at the general store today. That should keep my hands busy. I also bought another skein of yarn to finish the umpteenth afghan I've started. Two of them I've ceded to the dog - one because it was too small for human use (my first attempt) and the other because it unraveled and he liked it that way. I don't know why I keep crocheting afghans. Everyone who wants one has one. I'm going to need another wing to keep them in if I continue. Someone suggested that I make smaller lap-sized blankets for the elderly at The Home. I think those ladies have probably forgotten more about crocheting than I'll ever know. I don't want the criticism of the aged visited upon my hobby. I'm not sure why that is.

It's lovely to have the concept of "idiopathic" firmly lodged in one's brain. It excuses the need for a cogent explanation of every little thing. My Therapist said I smoked because it was an Oral Fixation. More specifically, he suggested it represented either a breast or a penis. I said, "Thank you, Sigmund, but sometimes a cigarette is just a cigarette."

Not everything has an explanation. I'm not sure why that is.