Another week has passed (yes, I’ve begun marking the beginning and ending of my weeks by Thursdays. I’ve no idea why but it seems to be working so far).
The things I’m seeing on the news are terrifying – ISIS is terrifying. And naturally I don’t know what on earth I can do about it – which for a control freak like me makes it all the more terrifying.
And Coyote (who is oh my god actually 18!) has evidently obtained a job at Kohl’s. Part time of course, as he continues his College Prep.
My first thought at this spectacular piece of news was, naturally, How much of a discount do Kohl’s employees and their mothers receive and does it apply to clearance items? His first thoughts were paying for college and buying a sports car.
Aren’t teenagers silly?
Little Bit’s team lost their baseball game on Monday (by ONE POINT) though he pitched (which is evidently massively important), and made a coupla great saves, a great hit, and slid into home (his favorite thing). There’s another game tonight which they HAFTA WIN.
I shudder to think what may happen if they don’t.
It’s possible this may be the last Thursday ever.
And I just (within the last minute) learned we are responsible for snacks.
Crap. (Why such an important task wasn’t on my calendar I’ll never know).
Girly Girl whacked her foot on something (presumably during a particularly strenuous self choreographed dance number while in Her Lair) and, though all we can see is a scratch and it seems ok she has been limping (when she remembers), and has been found lying upon her bed, foot propped on a pillow, cold cloth on her head, demanding an “Extra coke”.
Son #2 (who has been experiencing some challenges at college lately, too complex and exhausting to relate) finally mowed the lawn.
A thrilling moment indeed.
And the oregano in my front porch flower pot croaked which I suspected it would though I did too water it no matter what Scott says.
A glorious flock of quail have moved into our back yard. They spend their days swarming around the chicken pen, eating what grain they can find.
Naturally we’ve also begun to feed them as well. They’re just so cute – particularly the one standing upon the sandbox keeping lookout. I love those little bobbley things upon their heads.
(Yes I do believe that’s the correct term).
I talked to my mother today, then cried for half an hour afterwards. Usually I can talk her round some – leading her back to the year 2014. Leaving behind the 1950’s when she was young and helping care for her younger brothers and sisters. Usually I’m able to remind her No I’m not taking care of your “little girls” for you. You have no little girls – just one: Me. And one son and we’re both all grown up now.
Afterward I called my brother who was at work and will call me back, and my aunt who doesn’t know what on earth to do any more than I.
Though I can’t call my uncle (the only one left of four brothers), because for some reason he and my mother are now estranged. (A reason my aunt knows and stubbornly insists she will take to her grave).
This is irritating so I’ve decided not to think about it.
Though tomorrow I will call my mother’s doctor and the Alzheimer’s Association and whoever else I can think of to try and make things better, but most of all simply to Do Something.
Which all too often the trying of feels like an accomplishment in itself.
On the writing/blogging front I’ve been delving into the murky depths of Marketing and Publicity – horrible areas indeed. Fraught with crocodiles and large hissing bugs and yucky snakes and all sorts of such nasty critters.
I’m (to say the least) not savvy in these areas. I don’t know if I will ever be.
Though I would like to see at least someone (any number greater than four would be nice) purchase and comment upon (good or bad – honey I’m past caring), the little books I’ve published.
In case you didn’t know I call ‘em bookettes.
And I would love to see the longer works I’ve worked on make it into book form one fine day.
When my ship comes in.
Isn’t that an lovely, old fashioned expression: When my ship comes in.
Yes – that one there, upon the horizon floundering near the reef as a giant squid and several dozen sharp toothed merpeople claw and scratch at it; stretching tentacles and nails round it. Sucking it down.
And of course (if you glance north a bit), there’s also that hurricane barreling near. And the UFO (no doubt the same which tribenapped my tribe), lurking overhead.
Sometimes I imagine my ship shoulda been a submarine. Gliding silent through cold depths; parting schools of fish, coming eye to eye with a great white and moving on.
But honestly submarines have always made me feel claustrophobic, yeal even the one at Disneyland.
So I suppose I’d better just stay up here. Watching my sails flutter and whip.
Standing upright in a whirling tempest of idiot umps, this job sucks, that professor is an idiot, my foot is broken, I don’t have a clean shirt, and Not chicken and rice again!
Making lists, reminding my mother who she is and who I am, wondering what the plan is To Make Things Work Out Just Fine. Knowing I’m the one who must write it.
Listening as the winds holler about me; hollering right back.
I hope your hollering this week is totally triumphant.