Weekend. Drive Maine. Lunch stop tiny diner. Bubs order croque-monsieur. It huge. Include mug of maple syrup. Huge. Triple decker thick-slice white bread. Huge. Also potatoes. 112 before eat. Bigfoot swag 100g for 3/4 sandwich, potatoes, syrup, plus Diet Moxie. Retrospect, this meal probably qualify child abuse. In moment, Bigfoot happy Bubs try something new.
Hour + half later, arrive Freeport for winter festival. Meet cousin & daughter. Get in line for festival. Kids run around, throw snow. Bubs trot over I feel a little low. 38. Shit! 4 Glucolift. Ten minutes later 57. 4 Glucolift. 69. Shit! Glucolift travel tube empty. Bigfoot Spouse cold fingers unable open emergency key ring supply—fumble open Cadbury Mini-eggs instead. 62. Cousin find White Chocolate Macadamia Nut Cliff Bar in boot bag. 41g CHO. No insulin. Whole time on shuttle bus, mysterious Mexican Wrestler craning neck watch finger pricker, blood squeeze, snacks. Arrive festival 79.
Burly L.L. Bean ice sculpting instructor notice Bigfoot/pale Bubs hunch middle snowy field, testing. BLLBISI ask Bigfoot cousin, “Is he okay? Is he diabetic? Does he need anything?” Little mouse cousin proclaim BLLBISI kind of rude. He said you were pathetic! This family favorite rhyme misunderstand of weekend. 72. Sweetarts.
Festival maybe lovely? Bigfoot no idea. Only notice it’s really bad that I don’t have any glucose tabs on me. And what if his site ripped out? I’m totally unprepared. And imagine how would I explain this to me if I were my supervisor? I brought him out to this field with three rolls of Sweetarts and a tube of frosting. Wretched. Any rate: everyone live. Kids happy.
Dinner: Portland. Flatbread. Yum. Salad, pizza, blueberry soda, beer. Normal/high-ish BG before dinner: 145. Maybe 60g CHO, bolus as if 45g. Kids finish eating, play outside in snow. Adults stay inside, more Fatty Bampkins. Arrive outside, entire city Portland age 12 & under in snowball fight. Fantastic time. Eventually, Bubs come over. I feel kind of vulnerable. (Are you cold? Do you feel low?) I don’t know. 111. More snowball fight. Then too cold. Good night, cousins.
In hotel, decide try little swim. I’m so hungry. (Do you think you could be low?) No. I’m just hungry. Do we have any granola bars? (Yes, let’s test first.) 82. (You should have a granola bar before you swim.) Can I have two? I mean can I have three? Can we make cocoa in the lobby? Do we have any cheese? Are there honey peanuts in the snack bar? (Let’s start with one granola bar.) Make sure not drop more before swim: 120.
After 20 minutes Marco Polo: I feel low. 67. Sweetarts. 89. More swim, but half-hearted. Shower, PJ’s. 175. Correction. Bedtime. 156. 1AM Bigfoot wake up, head throbbing (Fatty Bampkins?), puke city. Test Bubs 76. Sound asleep, suck down entire Juicy Juice in few long tugs. Read Thomas Pierce* wooly mammoth Shirley story old New Yorker. Sad. 90. Good enough? Bigfoot not able sleep anyway. Throb throb throb. Curse Fatty Bampkins. 2AM 97. Okay? Not sleep. Read The Cookbook Collector. Perfect, easy, fall right in. Grateful Fatty Bampkins headache. Grateful diabetes. So much time for read good book. 3AM 145. Okay.
*From Thos. P. interview re wooly mammoth story. Hmm: We’re all muddling through life, just like Mawmaw. She’s doing the best she can to make sense of the universe with the information she has. The mammoth is a big piece of new information that comes to live in her very own backyard. One option is to ignore it—which she does initially—and the other is to deal with it. I’m not sure that the mammoth shakes her faith, but it definitely forces her to reëxamine** her beliefs.
**I love it when they bust out the umlauts