February 19, 2008

With Pauses

Duck showing us how Plaid feels. 2008.

Duck: Still doesn’t understand, and we understand that this is now the norm.

Me: As fuzzy as usual, but I understand. I was asleep when G got home.

G: Four on, eight off, and four on again.

Work: Padres 2008 Schedule
  • He woke me up yesterday morning when he left so I could see what he looks like. That’s a very important thing. We only have weeks left now before I vanish. Important for me, anyway. Selfishly, everything I do now is based on the fact that we will be working opposite hours starting in just a few weeks. Then again, I have sent two email to the scheduling person requesting my old hours not the new hours. Pleading inability to drive at night and no public transportation, my requests hang in the void unanswered though she noted my post arrived.

  • Taxation: I’m in trouble again. They will deduct the money I make at baseball from my SS income because I took retirement four months early. I discovered this as I poked into last years first days of baseball. G’s been saying all along that I’ve retired right on time, but now we know my working baseball will effect my “SS” pittance.

  • G’s home just about lunch time, and we make our first stop Duck’s nursing home. He’s in the lunch room sans alarm. Obviously that didn’t work well. G whips out his giant marker and scratch pad.

    “HI,” says the opening page. Duck nods sagely, smiles, and looks G in the eyes. I’m busy waving at all the other people I know like Bee whose brain is still sharp as a tack or Ellis who is dozing into year 93. Hands reach out to me, and I touch them all smiling, as I walk through to Duck.

    “You have a cold and it went to your ears,” the second page already says. He flips it open. We all nod and smile as G flips the pad pages to the next group of words. I grab the pad and pen away from G and scribble, “We love you.” I don’t think we’ve never said those words, and they need saying.

    “I appreciate all you do,” he says taking my hands in his.

  • As we leave the nursing home, G’s cell rings. The head nurse is calling to say the doctor approved upping the meds for Duck’s shaking. We are very appreciative. Finally, someone must have observed him shaking the food all over the dining room last night. We weren’t there to feed him. G said all the right things into the telephone. Me? I’m on guard now and know the best nurse to approach for immediate action.

  • Another quick trip through Amvets. He gets the very first parking place, and I feel certain we are destined to find a turtleneck or two to warm me as the house lowers itself to a 40 degrees temp during the night. Delightfully, I find two to cover my long skinny neck and feel triumphant. I find promises of love too, but they fade as he folds onto the bed in a nap. I’d told him about my nightmares, dreams of never making love again, divorce, ugly thinking at three in the morning. He still napped. My brain needed a restart, instead I eat pecans and they sit a weight at the core of me as he leaves for work. Obviously all of me needs a restart.

  • I delete OD writers who don’t write. Long empty diaries, long abandoned opinions, long faded pages leave and go out into the ether. I keep a few special friends even if they don’t write, (even if you and you don’t write, I cherish your life and words). I’ve lost the name of one woman college teacher from Wales, was it Wales? A magic writer near retirement and a friend of Vee’s, she is long gone. I miss her much but have no way to find her. Other’s are just gone as I will soon be myself.

    I’ll tell you again before I vanish into baseball, I’m here, I’ll make time to write an entry, I sure appreciate you, I read you, but many days I don’t have time to note. I’ll be back though.

  • Of Interest from Newsweek: The Library of Congress has joined with Flickr to post over 3,000 images. They hope viewers will add information. Newsweek also offers a review of a book on blogs. After reading the review, I find the book appears so limited, I shan’t link to it. And too….when my eyes traveled down the page, I note that 97% of the Salons tested didn’t decontaminated their footbaths or other beauty tools properly. Ah, you really wanted to know that too, didn’t you.

  • Then again, style still exists tho no longer in my home town newspaper. Style remains thinly represented on the internet too.

    The Sartorialist, whose images I kind of like, persists in showing me skinny young girls mixed with shots of men of any age sans ponch. There’s style.com, the online portal of Vogue and W with thin, thin, thin. Fashionista offers one of the best shots of Marilyn I have ever seen….but little else. Or maybe I am thick.

    Addictive is a word I would use to rate Project Runway. Even G is fascinated by the contestants and the struggle to produce a smash and grab piece of fashion. Wednesday is this year’s finale.

  • Last evening and this morning, G’s off to work, baseball….tho I’m not yet employed, is in the calendar, my pile of journals to be scanned is massively reduced, so maybe by the end of this week I’ll be able to return to quilting. Most days things go too slowly for me now. I want to wave my magic wand and have the scanning finished, the quilt finished, and head on into a doodle or two. Projects pile up, and often both of us find ourselves Ducking then watch garbage TV instead of creating.

    No, I haven’t solved this problem. There is probably not a solution to it either.

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