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♫Baby, it's 4 a.m. an hour later♫
That's how long I've been up today. A night of weird dreams morphed into an hour of stressing about work in the wee hours, then an hour of playing possum so the animals wouldn't get into total feeding frenzy, maybe half an hour of wind-down after Emily fed them, and finally a surrender around 7 a.m. when Tasha got all barky-barky to go out after breakfast and continued yapping at Dog Knows What once she got outside.
I cleared my desk, balanced my work checkbooks, made a bunch of bank runs, bought some extra clothes for the trip, and got in some cardio- all by 3 p.m., the rough equivalent of 7 p.m. to my currently jet-lagged ass.
I shall now attempt nappage. I'm setting the over-under on the first phone call at 3:42 (for sure the kid will call around 4, which would be about right for some quick mind-clearing REM sleep). Feel free to place your own bets.
ETA.No more telephone calls, please, we have a winner! The first work call forwarded to my cell came in at 3:49, giving me perhaps one minute of actual sleep. And the kid called right on the button of 4.
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We passed the hours before and during Super Orgy XLIV yesterday about as far removed from Teh Football as you can probably legally get in this country. Despite this year's contest somehow out-Nielsening the final MASH episode (which I never really understood the allure of anyway, since it wasn't the last that the cast filmed, was never shown in reruns, and didn't have the power of any of the individual eps), we passed our time on Sunday with the following pursuits:
* playing our first three-way Scrabble game of probably this century:
That's my stand-in player while I took the photo. (And that painting to your right of the chandelier is another Emily original.)
By the time I resumed my place at table, Zoey had decided the alphabet was a little too hard for her, and retreated to her usual role as Chief Cuddlee in the house.
----
* grilling a steak and not even having a beer during the Big Game™. On the whole, we were positively Puritan in our eating choices for the evening. (OK, the drinking choices of the grups were a little more Hedonist.)
----
* ignoring the entire televised spectacle in favor of watching a good chunk of The Sound of Music on the ABC Family Channel- first time Eleanor and I had seen it since going to the Singalonga version of it at London's Prince Charles Cinema close to a decade ago. We remembered a few of the lines, and generally knew to boo the Nazis, hiss the Baroness and raise our arms whenever the Hillllllls came to life. Ultimately, we both ran out of gas somewhere past 9, so I set the DVR to record for 90 minutes- thinking that'd be more than enough. Ha. I'd forgotten that this movie came with a genuine intermission reel, and as we watched the end of it tonight, and the display on the DVD player got closer to 1:30, I seriously doubted if we'd gotten the whole second half of the film onto the recording.
No such no luck: my random start point brought us to the 1:30 mark with the Von Trapps family Climbing Every Almost Swiss Mountain....
till
you
find
yourrrrrrrr.....
::click!::
As Eleanor just noted, I couldn't have gotten closer to the final nanosecond of the picture if I'd tried.
----
I've made some more derangements for my trip this week. Looks like I won't get out of Buffalo until late Wednesday afternoon, and I won't know until tomorrow if I can stay over on Lawn Guyland on Thursday night or not. Jan's husband made an online reference today to her newspaper obit, which isn't posted yet, but in checking for it, I found the one that Newsday posted for Congressman John Murtha. As you might expect, there is great rejoicing in Wingnutistan tonight over HIS passing:
"May he rot in Hell," offered Bare Naked Islam. "Justice Delayed, But Not Denied," said Jay Tea of Wizbang. "John Murtha, professional crook, is dead," said South Bend Seven. "Ding, dong and all that." "John Murtha's legacy should be that he broke two of the Ten Commandments," said Yid with Lid, "do not bear false witness (Haditha) and don't steal (earmarks and corruption)... For me, John Murtha represented everything bad about politicians..." Autographed Letter Signed ran some of his favorite Photoshop satires of Murtha and observed, "When I heard the news of the death of John Murtha (D-PA) after complications from gall bladder surgery, I did not have one moment of concern." "But unlike the left when conservatives fall ill and pass on, I'll wait until he's buried to celebrate the loss," wrote Chicago Ray. "And celebrate I will, as today America just became a better place. Rest in misery traitor, never leave your men on the beach you fat fu**."
Feel free to dance on my grave when I'm gone, you insensitive idiots. I'll still be smarter than the likes of you even after I've become a healthy week's grocery run of maggot stew.
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With everything else going on yesterday, I didn't mention that Emily was again recognized at Daemen College's All High art show yesterday afternoon. It didn't win any of the juried awards, but at least these two judges were plenty impressed by hers (as well as all of the chosen pieces):  Also, after we got home from that, I saw the closest-to-home picture of this weekend's east coast snowstorm, the one that completely missed us. Once again, Emily's car (the one I sent to Maryland for the winter so it wouldn't get snowed on that much /ironic) bore more than its share of brunt:  It's been an all-indoor day today. Eleanor deboned some chicken she cooked last week, with the able assistance of Zoey, who came as close to jumping into the carcass as health laws allowed her. Eleanor then gave her a bath, which wound up leaving them both pretty soaked. For my part, I've run a bunch of bills to send out before I leave, washed the kitchen floor before it rose from the ground and attacked us, and made no plans whatsoever concerning some sporting event supposedly occurring later today. What, didn't the AFC win the NFL title with its best players last week?
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Thank you all for so many kind words in this day of reeling from expected-but-not-now news. They have helped me, as I'm sure so many friends' words have helped the family and those even closer to Janice than the longago and faraway friend that I became.
These are the words I posted to Doug and the boys in the first moments of realization of this loss:
Janice is the closest thing I will ever have to a longlost twin sister. We grew up and were confirmed in the same church, shared those many amazing years in East Meadow that so many friends here will remember, took different paths but walked much the same walk on them for oh so many years. The richest blessing of my recent life was getting to spend a little time with her this past fall. She loved my wife who she never met, and the feeling will always be mutual. I will move heaven, earth and possibly snowbanks (yours, not mine for a change) to join you in celebrating her life and those in who it will always live on.
On that last point: Doug has posted the arrangements for this coming week. Everything will be at the Bartholomew & Son funeral home in Bellmore, Long Island, with calling hours 2-4 and 7-9:30 Wednesday and 2-4 Thursday. The "send off for her final journey" will be on Thursday night from 7-9:30. My plan is to be there for those latter two, heading back as far north/west as I can get late Thursday night and getting to at least Rochester by Friday afternoon.
Yes, that's her next to me in the userpic, from when I was blessed with that final random chance to see her, looking as we will all love and remember her. There are far more beautiful, and better quality, and spirit-capturing shots on her Facebook wall, which you can scroll through by clicking this.
Eleanor and I went to the early show this afternoon at Emily's high school, which her boyfriend stars in and for which Em has been doing makeup. It's called Leader of the Pack- the link to a local piece about the musical won't be freely accessible for another week or two, but from reading the newsprint copy of the local weekly, I knew it was the story of Ellie Greenwich, who you probably haven't heard of but whose late '50s to early '70s pop music you certainly have. What I didn't know was that Ellie grew up in Levittown, Long Island: Janice's home town and one over from where I was raised.
I'm thinking she enjoyed the songs today as much as I did, even if she was a little further up in the balcony than a day ago.
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That's my version (based closely on the original) of the six-word memoir meme that's been going round. At least today it is, because I've been graced with a week's worth of angelry in just a few hours. This is one of those Busy Busy But Not Really Doing Anything days. I had to deliver a ton of documents to a downtown Rochester office by 10, file an order in a second office, meet a client on the other side of town at 10:30, and get back downtown by, oh roughly, now. [ETA: "Now" was roughly 1 p.m. when I wrote this section, not whenever it posts.] Because the document tonnage was pretty bad, I took a chance illegally parking right outside the complex of office buildings I worked in for a decade. Right behind two cop cars. Because of that, I left my flashers on, and high-tailed it to the 9th floor of Two State Street without confirming the office address on the lobby board. Bad move. My second guess- the 8th, where I am again now- was the right one, and I shot back down the lift literally 10 seconds before the third cop car, the one with PARKING ENFORCEMENT on the side, started ticketing all the cars in the row I had parked in. And this, after passing through the very occasional speed trap on the road to Main Street from our subdivision, while actually driving the speed limit and with my mobile on headset. Moments after my second moment of temporary criminal innocence of the day, I experienced my first moment of temporary insanity: I pulled up to a not-yet-expired meter and did my filing, and even a quick bank run, within the 12 minutes left for me by the last guy. Yet that was not the target of my final granting of grace. As I walked briskly back to the car, I reached for my keys, and found none. Not in the inside pockets. Not in the computer bag. Noplace. The car doors were open (something I NEVER do downtown), so I tossed the bag into the back seat and went to see if I'd dropped them around the outside of the car. And THAT was what brought that graceful sight to my eyes: exhaust coming out of my tailpipe. Yup. I'd left the car running, keys in it and unlocked, for close to a quarter of an hour, across the street from the courthouse processing hundreds of evicted tenants and petty criminals at that very hour. On my actual entry into that court building an hour or so ago, within a few minutes, two different members of that latter group asked me if I was an attorney, and if so a notary, so I could notarize their bail receipts. They were amazed I didn't give them attitude or a bill for it. Yet that's how this stuff works: you get it, and you pass it on. ---- This morning's entry from the What Were They Thinking department: an actual vanity plate seen in Easta-Rach:  Sure gives new meaning to the phrase "oil, lube and filter," dunnit? ---- Finally home, after five more stops after that last section of the entry and a long, but snow-free, drive home. Best of luck to all of you on the I-95 trajectory.
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I don't do much fixing around the house, the car, the yard. It's a lack of experience, a lack of confidence, a complete lack of spatial reasoning. Once in awhile, though, I pull something off to everyone's surprise- most of all, my own. We have (or, rather, had) your standard Cheap Chinese Labor drying rack in our cellar. You know the type; it folds down into a small space but expands out like Judge Doom's punch glove mallet in Roger Rabbit. Well, some combination of cat and clumsy ::points at self:: broke ours a few months back, as one of the diagonal pieces of the side frames broke not-so-neatly in two. It was at just a junction that defied gluing back together, so I resigned myself to yet another cheap replacement when we got round to it. Earlier today, though (trash day in these parts), I saw a near-identical rack, all folded up, waiting curbside around the corner from here. It looked newer than ours, and for all I knew had just been abandoned in favor of some As Seen On TV gimmick, so I scored it and brought it to our cellar. As soon as it folded out, though, it didn't fold out, and I saw its former owners' problem. One of its wooden dowels had broken in two, just as one of the side pieces on ours had. Replacement dowels? I gots a dozen of 'em:) A little untwisting and retwisting later, we once again have a functioning drying rack down there. Cost: zero. Boost to the green economy and feelings of resourcefulness? Priceless. ---- Now that Eleanor's back to work, she's really enjoying her interactions with many beloved co-workers. One of them is LeeAnn, who'd fostered Zoey (and the rest of her brothers and sisters) until we came along to claim her. She and Eleanor got talking about wildlife the other day, and Eleanor mentioned our experience with the red hawk from a couple weekends back. LeeAnn hadn't seen the picture, so after dinner tonight, I asked Eleanor if she'd shown her friend "the picture of the hawk." As soon as I uttered that last word, Tasha's ears went straight up in the air, and I swear she smiled in anticiPATION of some unexpected (certainly by me) walkies. Henceforth, any red-winged predator in our back yard shall be referred to as "Big Bird," just so the dogs don't get their hopes up. ---- No new news on Jan. I am still looking at this weekend, or the early part of next week, if decisions have been made by then, since I have my second lay speaking class that following weekend and at least three court hearings and a closing the week after that. Thanks again for all your kind words, prayers, hugs and hopes.
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Janice's husband wrote this late this afternoon:
I can no longer continue this so let me sum up. It appears unlikely that the therapy will prolong her life for any significant period of time. We seem to be facing end of life issues. Hospice care has been discussed but no decision has been made. I am hoping that she can come home soon. I am still hopeful that she will respond to the therapy. But we both agreed that we were not interested in life extension if it compromises quality of life. The boys and I are in agreement with this and Donna also agrees. This does not mean that we are giving up. WE all want her to live as long as possible, just not at the expense of her comfort. So that is the long and short of it. There are still many decisions to be made and will will try to make them out of love and compassion for our Beloved Wife, Mother and Friend. So my companions. The journey is not yet over, but unless a miracle happens, our course may have changed but never our love for its principle character. I may not write for a while. There are many family matters and preparations which need to be made, but I will continue to update you all as I have the heart and courage to do so. God bless you all, Doug
God bless you, as well, for reading and joining me in the prayer-or-whatever vigil for a very dear friend. I will likely make it to Manhattan or Merrick, wherever she is, in the next week or so. I pray that it is not to say goodbye, but I prepare for it being that.
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The assorted pay-later bills from Eleanor's accident have begun to trickle in. Here's the ER bill from ECMC, which just arrived today. I need to get a referral to Hematology, because my blood is boiling:  It's not the co-pay amount; that's reasonable for the good work they did. It isn't even the basic charge for the service; that's about 10 hours at the rate I bill out my time, and in terms of quality and quantity of professionals on hand, they certainly exceeded that number. No, it's that ADJ CB TRAD B line that gets me. That's Medical Recordese for "how much we discount your bill because you HAVE insurance, leaving your insurer (and, ultimately, you) with a much smaller bill to pay." I can appreciate the concept of discounting rates for a major customer like Blue Cross, but discounting it more than 80 percent?!? And we were one missed payment, or one furniture store Chapter 11, removed from being uninsured as of December 1st, in which case that entire $2,600 tab (plus numerous full tabs at clinics, pharmacies and medical supply providers) would have been expected to be paid at rack rates. For all the shit Obama takes for not leading on health care, he sure as shooting saved our asses this year. The subsidy in the original stimulus bill, extended and expanded in December (in a defense appropriations bill, of all things) made it possible for us to stay covered for a year longer than we would've been able to. I have yet to hear a single reporter, pundit or candidate give the Administration credit for this major benefit- leading me to believe that many potentially covered people didn't take advantage of it, on account of not knowing about it. No wonder they're mad. When conservatives talk about bringing down the cost of insurance through "competition," they envision a world where providers will behave rationally in setting their rates, their discounts, and their payment expectations. This bill is clear proof that we do not yet live in that world.
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Thank you. THANK YOU:) to whoever just gifted me back my extra userpics. (I have my suspicions, but they're by no means accurate, given my record at predicting anything from the weather to point spreads.) It was an incredibly sweet thing to do. Not so sweet was almost driving to my death an hour or so ago while returning from the First National Bank of Bowtie. It was my second-to-last stop, and I picked a branch that has been deadly for driving in the past; years back when we had the Taurus, some idjit in an urban assault vehicle decided to back up out of the drive-thru while I was behind him, barely grazing his bumper but taking out most of my hood. Today, it wasn't the bank proper but the road out of it.  The bank is in the square marked with that dotty thing. You pull in from Cayuga, and must turn left on to Ro (Rock Street), because it is one-way northbound away from Main. No problem, though; you simply slip round the rectangle, turning right onto that little street that makes a right-angle turn right below the words (and the actual) Glen Falls and goes back to Main a block to the east. Which I did. Much to the displeasure, first, of a pair of imbecile drivers who honked wildly at me as I headed back to Main. For a second, I thought I'd blacked out and made the wrong-way turn onto Rock, but I was not on Rock; I was on Spring Street where I damn belonged. I pulled into a parking space, regained my bearings, realized I was quite bloody well right, and headed back out to make my turn.... whereupon a THIRD idiot, also thinking that this was the one-way street, proceeded to make an old-lady wide turn into the southbound lane of Spring Street heading north, basically forcing me to the curb. If I'd been turning left onto Main (as I far more often do when leaving that bank), he'd have smashed right into my grille. Then he gave me the Look of Death because he was the one who had to back up- into deadly lunch-hour Route 5 traffic that wouldn't slow down for a baby riding on Bambi's back if it would make them a second late for their nail-set appointment. As my friend Donna so eloquently put it when we went through a spate of these stupid-ass accidents a few years back, "Maybe you should just take the bus."
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I haven't spoken in a few days on my friend Janice, who had a kidney removed earlier this month as part of killing off a renal carcinoma in her. A week or so later, she was, and remains, back in hospital after a bout of ilietis turned out to be a presage of an aggressive expansion of the cancer into her intestinal tract. Jan's close-to-90-year-old father arrived at her bedside yesterday, and prayer vigils of different intensities began all over the northeast today, leading to the most beloved news possible this afternoon: Jan had farted. We'll take that, both as a sign of the passing of the blockage necessary to an additional removal operation, but also as a sign of the presence of God in her life now that she needs Him most. ---- We just finished yet another of the Random Clearfield Library Gems™ that I picked up last week, without benefit of any review or other clue of how good it was. This one, translated as What To Do In Case of Fire, was a sweet and touching German film about some 80's anarchists thrust into an 00's criminal investigation of their past misdeeds. Funny, suspenseful, serious stuff. ---- It can't be the end of Sunday. Or the end of the month. Not yet. Not now. Oh, okay, it is. They are. Gnight. G'yeartodate.
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I think I can now reveal my Super Sekrit all-day mission in the wilds of Clarence today: I took the first step toward renewing my church credentials, attained at the ripe old age of 16, that will once again allow me to preach sermons in a United Methodist Church. Lest you worry that I'm going to turn into some kind of crusading holy roller (or any other kind of crusader- yes, I'm looking at you, Achmed), don't. It's just another way of sharing my mixed bag of beliefs and talents with some people who might occasionally use them. I took on these credentials in the first place, while still in high school, to help out the church I was in at the time when its only minister had a mild but semi-disabling heart attack and couldn't keep up his schedule anymore. Two groups of congregation members- each ranging from 16 to 60- took the training, which was then a semester-long series of Saturdays at a church in the next county. I was in the second of them; I got my license, led one service back in East Meadow, then went off to college simultaneously with that pastor going out to pasture, so the need expired. A few years later, so did my credentials. Despite doing any number of things, official and un, in my two churches in the 30-plus years since then, I'd never thought much about returning to this particular calling. Certainly, none of the dozen-plus ministers we've had in the past 25 years thought of suggesting it to me. Yet there's that pesky minor god known as Coincidence, who stared me down around the first of the year with two facts. One, that one of our church's only two licensed lay speakers (an improvement over their original official name- "exhorters"- which around here sounds like something my wife's trying to hock up these days) was being transferred out of state and would leave us with one very overworked lady remaining in the post. Two, that the local district chose this exact time for its only annual course for training speakers for the job. (I did check, to see if they could transfer in my old license from Long Island East and just make me pass an eye test or perform an exorcism or something. No such luck.) One registration and a book order later, I was in the basic class, which met for two two-hour sessions today and will finish with a six-hour session in two Saturdays in beautiful downtown Middleport, New York. Where, sometime noonish on that day, I will give my first message from a pulpit since Gerald Ford was president. The group was packed, some coming in from the western edges of the Rochester district, and two from our own church, both about the same age I was when I did this the last time. It was led by a seminary student who's been temporarily assigned to a Niagara/Orleans Baptist congregation because it's so hard to fill any rural Protestant pulpits in Western New York these days. Good teacher, down to earth, and didn't mind when I told her I'd done this before. ("So you'll have all the answers, then," she joked. "Not anymore; I forgot them all," I replied.) The sessions were broken up by lunch (we're Methodists, after all, and food is the third sacrament) and a worship service in the host church's very large, very contemporary sanctuary-in-the-round. (In contrast, our building dates to 1821 and is the oldest church of any denomination in Erie County still in use.) Two things stood out from that hour. First, the sad attempt to liven up the place by bringing in the awesome and soulful praise choir from Metropolitan UMC, whose collective hearts must have been broken by the mostly tepid reaction to their music by the room full of mostly repressed suburban white people. Closer to my pew, though, was focusing for their first two songs on a spider, who chose the row in front of me to make what must've been a 200-foot descent from the wooden cathedral ceiling far above us. To go that far, on a dreadfully cold day, in the middle of a brutal winter, said more about the possibilities and power of God than anything us neophytes will ever come up with. Come to think of it, I may use that. ---- We've given up on trying to get Eleanor's printer fixed without outside assistance, since HP was nice enough to send the replacement part without any instructions on how to replace it. For all the beaucoup bucks it cost several years back, the damn thing is ridiculously flimsy; is framed mostly in black plastic, defeating flashlights or anything short of a sonic screwdriver; and has proprietary screws that will be virtually impossible to replace if one falls into the guts. So as I end my day of immersion in Methodism, we plan to put this printer in the hands of a guru next week. Hairy llama.
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Little by little, we're getting things under control here. The garage door fix was amazingly quick. It was indeed just a slipped cable, and the guy had the door running like a very cold Swiss watch within about 15 minutes. First, though, I scared the shit out of him; as I walked through the garage to point out the pulley which seemed slipped, he noted that I was walking directly under a spring which, at that second, was all that was holding up 500 pounds of about-my-age wood on that side and which had no guarantee of defying gravity if the door decided to go down straight rather than in a parabola. Yet, much like Gloria Gaynor, I survived. Puter is also behaving more betterly. I reinstalled the latest version of Firefox, somehow managed to carry over my profile from the previous version, and so far my Lexulous and photo functions are back working. (I much prefer leaving IE in the state in which it works the best: off. ) I then got both printer cartridges to run out almost simultaneously; that is awesome, because it means one fewer "alignment" procedure which seems designed, like most of this printer's functions, primarily to make you buy more ink more often. My desk is relatively clear going into a Saturday, which is a good thing because I will be away tomorrow from 8 until at least 3:30. It's an all-day church workshop which I will say more about after getting out of it tomorrow, but suffice that it's something I've planned on doing for quite some time now. About the only downer is that my add-on of userpics expired yesterday. I'm not sure, but I think I lost some of the "loyalty" ones I'd acquired back before the add-on, since it's only giving me six above the paid-account minimum at the moment. It's only 5 or 10 bucks for the add-on, but it's way more than I'll ever use, so I may go through my list and ex-perr-eee-ment with which ones I can truly live without. Eleanor left the house this morning with a cuuuute mitten. I presume you'll be seeing it, and possibly its identical twin, sometime soon. Oh, and listen! The dog's going bonkers, so she must be home:)
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Despite planning for being away for two whole days, with a packed bag in the trunk and everything, I was home by early this afternoon and have the entire day tomorrow with no fixed plans. All I endured was a snowy, but safe, quick trip to Rachacha to pick up necessities for what would've been today's hearing (and is now next Friday's), and to speak with the Magic Trustee Counsel who agreed to either settle or postpone all of tomorrow's (depending on what mood the judge is in round noon tomorrow).
We have an appointment tomorrow with Hamburg Overhead Door for a fixing of our now Half-Overhead Door. I think it's pretty clear that it's a pulley in the machinery that's had its metal wire go off treadle. Not something I'm going to attempt to fix myself.
Likewise, the part to Eleanor's printer- at least not yet. It arrived today, but without a hint of instruction on how one removes and replaces the broken part. She will probably tackle this task over the weekend, since she has far more Mad Vizul Skillz than I do with this sort of thing.
Because I had to be up Ass Early today, I didn't stay up for SOTU, but heard plenty about it in my travels. MY candidate talking about expanding tax cuts, eliminating capital gain taxes on small businesses, pimping offshore drilling and nuclear power? No wonder the Repugs weren't applauding; it's hard to do while creaming your pants. Yet all of the other-side spin I heard today was about his arrogance because he wasn't going to cave to them, and how unpresidential and petty he was. Mr. President? I'm happy for you, and Ima gonna let you finish, but eventually you have to replace your olive branch with the arm's-length accessory preferred by progressive Republican Teddy Roosevelt: the Big Stick.
Speaking of things that are hard to do while TMIing: a resident of our town was killed on the 90 last month when her car, disabled in a deer strike, was mowed down by a semi on a clear sunny day. It now appears that the fucking trucker (or trucking fucker- they're pretty interchangeable) was busy watching porn on the laptop in his cab at the moment of impact. Talk about misheard lyrics: I never realized the real ones were "The Interstate is for porn."
High school English teachers will no doubt spend all of tomorrow mourning the death of J.D. Salinger and forcing yet another "relevant" reading of Catcher on their charges. As for the mythical massive stash of manuscripts in his safe? If I were J.D. (and, I assure you, I am not), my will would contain the following provision:
I direct my Executor to produce fresh copies of each of my unpublished works in an apparently new manuscript form, and to send each one, under a non-obvious pseudonym, to a random yet representative selection of literary agents, publishing houses and internet sites. Should any of those works be accepted for publication, I direct that my authorship be revealed and that prescient party be the beneficiary of all of the publicity and revenue coming from their "discovery" of my work. Any work not so accepted upon three separate attempts shall, in my Executor's sole discretion, be either published without copyright on jdsalinger.com or destroyed.
So check those slush piles, You Who Must Not Be Named.
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Yup, definitely: my washing the car did us in. Our brief respite from winter ended yesterday morning with a coating of snow and a wicked wind. Today, lots more of the former and still plenty of the latter. At one point, driving to the office, I passed the south end of an out-of-state Saab pointing south; its north end was firmly implanted in not one but two other cars he managed to take out while passing ECC North in a snow-driven windstorm. Care to guess which state HE was from? (a)  (b)  (c)  Answer? Fuggedabutit. ---- No accidents, but still plenty of greminlry here. The garage door is now sticking in both the upward and downward directions. The office copier broke just in time for a major copying job to get deferred until tomorrow, when hopefully it will be fixed. And just now? Before we could put the leftover turkey kielbasa into the fridge after Eleanor cooked it on the stovetop and we then left it there to cool? Dog or dogs unknown proceeded to jump up to the stove, shove the lid off the pan, and claim the remaining meat products- and THEN bang on the water dish as if to say, hey, now I'm thirsty!
Much of my day in Rochester tomorrow has been postponed (at least I think it has), but the rest of my travels from there have not been. Yet. Give them an hour or so tomorrow morning and we'll see what can be arranged. ---- Emily went into school today, despite having no midterms or Regents exams, mainly to frame one of her pieces that's going to be at the Daemen art show in a couple of weeks. Her art teacher, who's been a mentor to her (at least in her own mind) "talked at" Em at length during the framing, mainly expressing displeasure with the kid now having a boyfriend. Her concern, apparently, is that she won't be as focused on her work. Oh pish. I told Emily that any relationship, especially one at her age, is destined to lower the IQ of both participants by at least 20 points, no matter WHO the other party to it happens to be, but that, in time, good relationships result in the intelligence level stabilizing, or maybe even going back above where it was to begin with. This guy has the potential to be that for her, and I really don't think it's any of a disgruntled academic's business, thankuvermush. There's a nice piece in the local town paper this week about the musical her BF is starring in (though it doesn't mention him by name). I'll see if I can find a linky to it. And that's all he wrote.
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From cuteoverload via ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) digitalemur: a bunny named Gallifrey:
Is Your Computer Safe? It is, if you’re using the Disapprov-O-Tron™ Computer Security System! Just one withering glare sends hackers away whimpering about their pathetic life choices!
Cute and disapproving as it is, I'd still be surprised if it would have less gravitational effect on this entire planet if it, say, just materialised in your back yard....
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Good thing I was tipped off over the weekend about the online Jeopardy! test actually being TOMORROW night. With the late start we got to dinner tonight, I'd have certainly missed it, if not forgotten it outright.
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Dammit. My friend Janice is back in the hospital, after her surgery, by all accounts, went well last week. No word yet on why, how long, or how bad. This word, though, on how much she needs your prayers and mine: much.
Oops. As if on cue, the report from her CaringBridge site comes: not great, but not a recurrence of the cancer. Icky stuff, but not life threatening. She's at Weill Cornell this time (out of respect for the ill, I'll pass on cracks about a med-school hospital being renamed for the Citigroup asshat who helped wreck our entire financial system earlier this century), and she's doing better. I'll still stick with the prayer prognosis, though: much. Much much much.
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We got home from church moments ago (Eleanor stayed home on account of the cuppa coughies she's still nursing), and although the dogs could go out (and did) anytime they wanted to before that, our arrival sparked a renewed need for them to commune with nature out back. More so than usual, in this case, for I saw something inspecting the ground in the back corner of our yard. A very large something. Before I let the dogs out, I waited for it to confirm my suspicion, and I was right: A red-tailed hawk. Don't you dare think you can have that for lunch, I exhorted as the dogs headed out the door. No, I was not talking to the dogs. Hawkeye headed up to the top of the nearest telephone pole and perched. Moments later, it was joined by a second, equally beautiful one. This is why I never complain about the amount we spend on bird seed. You can go to church all you want and not see the presence of God that close to you. ETA. Emily got a picture. The hawk was here through the whole time I was writing that:  ---- I got a second-hand remark, conveyed through Eleanor, that my revised page layout is harder to read than the previous one had been. I didn't realize that, but I'm not quite ready to switch it back (although I'll check some of the other variants on the current layout to see if there's a contrastier one). In the meantime, the quickest fix would be to start reading her blog if you're not already- plantmom- and then click on her friends link. Yeah, this one. You'll see all of my entries there that you could see anyway, in a nice dark-gray-on-white font, along with plenty of other interesting voices from other interesting rooms. Now to go tell Sally that because she probably STILL can't read this:)
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