Last week we had my birthday festivities. I hit the Double Nickel -- 55. And so Mrs. Dr. Phil ventured forth a week ago Saturday to hit up Chicago 7 pizzeria. Which was once Joe Chicago's by the Rivertown Mall -- opening and closing twice. Then it disappeared, but reemerged as Chicago 7 in Grandville. And... a good thing we checked the website, because it said 28th Street SW, not 28th Street SE. Huh? Turns out they moved again, from the harder luck end of 28th Street to the affluent Cascade area.
Anyway... So last Sunday I had a Chicago stuffed pizza -- cold -- with sausage, black olives, mushrooms, roasted red peppers and spinach. And a peach. Oh, so good. And the Sunday paper in the little conference room at the end of the hall. Large TV in there and the Cubs game. And we kept flipping back to the Tigers game as people, both patients or visiting relatives, drifted by to get score updates. What a perfect Sunday... Later in the week I got 1-1/2 more slices. (grin)
On Labor Day, Mrs. Dr. Phil brought the blue GVSU cooler bag again, and even before she wheeled me down to the little conference room, she revealed the new can of Redi-Whip. At the beginning of the summer, perhaps even before I got sick, I had commented that I wanted strawberry shortcake at birthday time. And Mrs. Dr. Phil had frozen the local wonderful strawberries, so we had my damned strawberry shortcake.
And THEN on my actual birthday, Mrs. Dr. Phil shows up with a box and brought out two carrot cake cupcakes from Marie's Deli. OMG how wonderful.
That was last week. THIS Sunday, we had arranged to bring fixings for my favorite summer tomato sandwiches. Normally if I was home I'd have these every day for lunch. Today I had two. Ah, real bread. Huge ripe tomato. Chunky peanut butter. Kraft Olive Oil Mayonnaise. Heinz ketchup. Perfect.
So despite the travails of being trapped by my infirmity -- but I'm getting better -- life does not totally suck.