Just When You Thought It Couldn't Get Worse.....It Gets Better

I told Anna I didn't think things could get any worse.  God took this as a challenge to teach me a lesson in the depth and possibilities in the word "worse".  Tired already from a long day out of town the night before, I was driving to Anna's college orientation, trying to save the cost of a night in a hotel by getting up before the roosters crow.  It had begun to rain and it was very dark, almost like night despite being 8 a.m. in the morning nearing the campus.

We'd left an hour extra to get to the campus, but we were behind schedule due to the weather combined with the roads we knew to take closed for construction, and our GPS "Mildred" telling us in her proper British voice that she'd lost satellite reception. Trusting Mildred, I'd brought no map. About this time, Ernest T's (our Ford F150) windshield wipers locked together in a solid X in the middle of the windshield as the torrent continued.  I pulled over, got out with the umbrella, and found the passenger wiper completely bent and resembling a T-Rex claw.  I pushed it back to starting position, and repositioned the driver's wiper.  Back inside, I tried turning them on.  The passenger wiper thankfully stayed put, but the driver wiper now wiped from mid-point to off the windshield all together!  I could still see if I sat up and looked over it.

We drove the streets back and forth, finally locating a bad map Anna had brought.  Intersections and roadways had standing water, a foot or two in places, making me wonder if I should drive through it.  I plowed on.  Then, Anna began laughing.  Driving through one rather large puddle, I had caused a wall of water to engulf a young man (with an umbrella) standing near the road.  So intent was I to look out of the little clear patch on the windshield, I had not seen him.  Anna and I began laughing hard enough that I had to pull over - and of course check the map again.

Finally locating the parking lot and building, it began to rain harder if that was possible.  Knowing she had to be there by 9 a.m. when placement tests began, we decided to brave it.  Our umbrella turned inside out and the spokes broke.  By the time we got inside, we were soaked, shivering and dripping.   Anna hurriedly changed, having brought clothes for an overnight visit.  I, on the other hand, sat soggily through a full day of lectures meant to reassure parents that we'd made the right choice by sending our child to this university that was going to take every cent we have and will make in the future.

Every time I saw Anna that day, she would begin to smile, not only to be at this place that calls to her and feels like home, but also remembering the Hawaii-5-O wave I sent cascading on the unsuspecting pedestrian.  I didn't mean it, honestly.  The weather finally cleared, she enjoyed her overnight visit, and the next day dawned beautiful and sunny.  I managed to sit on a veranda under the trees with a coffee and pretend I was in Europe.

I am once again faced with the anxieties of sending off a daughter to college, but that's another blog post entirely

Dust in the Wind

It has been awhile, I've been reminded.  Many changes have been swirling around in my life, and it just seemed time to let a whole lot go.  This blog was one of those things.  Then, a daughter mentioned something (I had forgotten) that was documented in the blog, and a friend mentioned that I hadn't written in awhile, and someone else, who I didn't even know cared, said it was too bad I wasn't writing because he thought I wrote well.  Mainly, my mind thinks of things to share with you and then they disappear into the air, lost like dust in the wind.   Someday, I'll be gone and with me, all that I was to all but a few.  I should continue.

Enough maudlin.  I have a story to tell you.  We have a cat, a barn cat that decided he lives with us.  He is mean and nasty, but I feed him in exchange for a dead mouse now and again.  My children evidently pay more attention to him than I do, for I was told that said cat had multiple ticks on his rear orifice.  Somehow, this is my problem.  I suppose the region is as far from the expensive Frontline treatment on the shoulders as the ticks can get.

Later, I was asked if I'd removed them.  Of course.  How?  I just headlocked him, grabbed ahold of the ticks and pulled.  Then washed my hands for about an hour.  They were "poly-ticks" I told them.  Multiple or poly-tics, sometimes spelled "politics".  People that remove them are called "poly-ticians" (alternate spelling politicians).    You can draw your own conclusions about the meaning of the location of the poly-ticks.

Speaking of politicians, I hear Anthony Weiner's wife's pregnant.  If this is true, I have a boy name suggestion:  Oscar.  You can guess the middle name, but everyone would be in love with him.  And I'd pronounce my name with a long "I" sound if this were my unfortunate last name.

Okay, enough off color jokes - but it is good to be back.