'Tis a gift to be simple.
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Send help. Please.
When we look back on this day (and look back at it, we will, we most assuredly will) I want it remembered that I was seriously impaired, felled by illness and medical science and I was not capable, neither of decisive action, nor clear thought. Parker's new pet is looking around at where fate has landed him, his eyes blinking rapidly, his nose wrinkling as he tastes new air for the first time. He has no name. After all, he's only just become a member of the family and is still a stranger. And there's not much stranger than welcoming a rat to live in your kitchen. (Help. Save me.)
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9.8.06 02:17
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The only expectation I had regarding the followup at the surgeon's today was that I'd be minus some little bits of metal that were more than ready to be minus me. Filling out the paperwork and chatting with a surprisingly kindred-spirited receptionist, I was relaxed. And trading chitchat with the nurse, I was relaxed. And when the doctor came in, I was relaxed. He looked about as I'd remembered him looking, though today he wasn't wearing surgical garb. He inquired about how much I knew about what had happened during the operation and when I gave my best account of the results, he excused himself and came back with a report. It's a good thing I was lying down. It's a good thing I have some time on my hands to think through what I was told. I had one question: how could I have been that sick and not have known it? The answer to that one wasn't very reassuring either. The good news is that the three surgeons did their job. (Three? I didn't know that another one had been called in--another surprise). I've been told not to do more than I'm doing here, though I have a thing or two I won't wait any longer to do. It's either do my laundry or buy more clothes. The yardwork will have to wait, except for the weeding I do for a while each day. The whole place is starting to look like one of those naturalized places. Maybe I could bring in some wildlife to accessorize with--herds of something picturesque or more likely scary little rodents of some sort. But first--I'm going to take a nap. Have a good Friday evening, all.
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11.8.06 20:09
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My computer has been 20six intolerant all weekend. The site would not load in any way, shape, or form. All of the blogmaterial that was burbling up within me burbled away while I waited for the site to load and when it didn't, the blogstuff--and this was great material -- all dissipated. It's gone. So what we are left with, now that the site loads and I can post something, is an update on the lives that speed on while mine is largely on hold, stalled out like 20six loading on a long, long weekend. So here's the report: Jean's stint as an employee of the Wisconsin State Fair is over, the fair having closed for the season tonight. The habit of working every single day, weekends included, is one that she will enjoy getting away from. She lucked into a pretty cushy job--in an airconditioned vault counting money and not outside in the sun and heat jollying huge prizewinning hogs or having to deal with rowdy fair goers while wearing a big-fake headed costume. She worked with an interesting young man who had been a member of a band that was wildly popular with her high school classmates, and they were never so understaffed that they couldn't schmooze some time away each day. Tomorrow it's back to sleeping late and sunning for the girl and I believe she'll enjoy it more than ever before, the nightmare of honest labor still haunting her napping mind, but not cutting into the hours of good sunlight. She also played violin at a garden party this past week and charged more per one hour of performance than she earned in one day at the fair. They also fed her hoity-toity hors dourves and complimented her playing. Nice gig, as musicians put it. Ratt and Parker are still both alive. We believe the Girlfriend may be finding a new BoyFriend, as happens everytime they've put up with each other for about a month. We will learn more tomorrow. Stay tuned for further bulletins. Mack has had the birthday which makes him the age I was when I had him. Our lives at this age are very different; I wouldn't say his is better or worse than mine was; I expect that's a judgement to make when he's my age now. Rick is doing just fine in Chicago. Yes, that's what I tell myself anyway--I don't hear from him very much. His job is demanding and I do understand the adjustments he's having to make. The heat here has settled down to very tolerable levels, so I trust that he's feeling fine as fine can be. Should I hear anything to the contrary, I will let you all know. That's it--let's see what the new week will bring, shall we?
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14.8.06 04:24
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Make sure you know where the exits are.
Indiana has leased the management of its toll roads to a private company. The fee has given the state a shot of cash to its budget, but Indianians question what the future may hold for them. The lease is for a 75 year term and the forces of the profit motive could drive tolls up and drag the condition of the roads down until one's ability to get around Indiana could be very difficult and expensive indeed. If you've ever been to Indiana--and I have been there six times that I can think of--you would understand why the people of Indiana are so worried. They don't want to be stuck on that endless flat span with no chance of getting out and no chance of someone interesting whizzing through, maybe stopping at the McDonald's to enliven the life there by ordering something exotic like a McBurger without ketchup. 
This photo is from an article called, "Flat but Not Dull: Understanding the Central Indiana Glacial Landscape". I beg to differ with the title of the article.
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23.8.06 16:12
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Basic instinct
Can't be bothered to do much these days. The clock moves faster than I do. Back-to-work in less than two weeks. Trying to care, but not trying very hard. Maybe I should think of my little paycheck as: 
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24.8.06 21:51
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A legend in the making
Glancing out of the window next to my computer today, I saw a quick little bird busy in the trees outside my room. Something about the bird captured my attention. Its tail had markings on that I couldn't remember seeing on birds around here before, though if the bird hadn't had those, I would have thought it was a chickadee. We have a plentiful population of those handsome birds, but this bird didn't quite look like one of them. Not being content to shrug it off as a maybe-this or a maybe-that, I pulled a small-ish pair of binoculars out of a nearby drawer and stood near the window, trying to get the bird in my sight, though by this point it was flittering through the top branches and was nearly never in sight. Standing there, pressed against the windowsill, steadying the binoculars on the windowframe, all of a sudden I thought that if my brand new to the block neighbors saw me, they would certainly think that I was spying on them. In their minds they would go on with the image and in telling other people about what they had seen, I could become a neighborhood legend, the evil woman with the big eyes, past whose house children rush on dark nights, lest they have the hag's Evil Eye fixed upon them. If I have anything to do with it, the Evil Eyed Woman of the legend will have one of those pretty birds to do her bidding. The first thing I'll do is to ask it what kind of bird it is, because I never did manage to get another good look at it.
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26.8.06 03:10
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It's gonna be a lo-o-o-o-ong day
Somewhere around three this morning as I was trying to settle in for bed I asked Parker, as I had twice earlier, where my cell phone was. I knew where it had been--tucked into a snug pocket in a backpack I'd used yesterday, but it wasn't there anymore. Parker gave the same "I dunno. Maybe you lost it" answer, but this time I wasn't buying what the 14 year old was selling. "Just get it," I told him in an even tone, "I'll wait until you do." Parker, as you will recall is nocturnal and I believe trying to avoid parental attention--and maternal attention in particular--is the "realest" reason for it. Now he saw his mother standing in the way of a long night playing online games with his friends and that vision motivated him to go off looking for the purloined phone. He searched, came back. "It's in my black shorts," he reported, "Where are they?" "I don't know, Parker. Go find them." Some time later, after coming back a few times to complain about a world where a boy can drop his drawers in the middle of a floor and not have their sanctity respected, he was offically stumped. I had one other idea. "Go downstairs and check the laundry." And that's where he found my phone. Oh yes, it was in his black shorts, all right. "It went through the dryer." He reported, ignoring the logical preceeding step. "And the washer." I supplied it. Parker's oldest brother Mack, having a long stretch off from work had made himself more helpful than I would have been and did his brother a good turn, gathering the boy's far-flung clothing up and washing it. (The kids in this house do their own laundry, starting around the magic age of 12.) Now, I know that Parker isn't the first teenager to snitch his mama's phone and isn't the first one to break it or lose it. But here's where Parker went wrong: "It's Mack's fault. He put it into the washer and dryer." "And it's not your fault for stealing it?" "No. It was fine until he threw it into the wash." Parker won't be seeing friends and won't need to rush to the computer today. The power cord is tucked safely away, snatched by his mother and put into some pocket somewhere. And if Mack happens to wash it into uselessness, well, that's fine with me.
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31.8.06 18:15
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