Nobody is Promised Tomorrow. . .
Or a Republican, hoping to ride to election victory on the coattails of the standard bearer.
Just realized that I have two weeks to get myself ready to go to Hawai’i. But, how hard can it be? Been doing it for 25+ years. And the train part too.
Yesterday, I took a picture of my neighborhood taco truck. It is our one and only food truck.
Today, I went back to the old neighborhood to visit the dentist. We had LOTS of shinny foodie trucks. They are not better. Just prettier.
No problems at the dentist. I didn’t even get scolded about flossing. Either I did really good or the hygienist has just given up on me. I’d bet on the later.
I had a Peg mini-meltdown at dinner tonight. I went into the dining venue with four friends. I waited in line. And ordered a nice dinner. There were no tables. We did find four seats at one of the “group” tables. And, I just said screw this. I don’t want to eat with who ever shows up at the table. I almost walked away, abandoning my ordered and paid for dinner. I stayed. But, it wasn’t pretty for about 5 minutes. My friends will be able to talk about my meltdown for the next couple of weeks. They patted me on the head and told me to “take it easy”. Group living isn’t easy for me. I stayed. In the end, the black cod was pretty good. And, some people that I know and like took the extra chairs at our group table.
Think it was a tired Peg at the end of a very long week. Or maybe it was the real me.
Note to Carlton: The Nats are just about to lose game one of the Division Series.
This is our friendly neighborhood taco truck. It is rather good. It hangs out at the bottom of “our” hill. It doesn’t court the upscale millennial market like the sleeker food trucks in my old neighborhood. Pa’ Tacos El Papi’s market are the working men and women who live in our surrounding “affordable” apartments.
We had a little “floor” party this evening – welcoming our newest resident. About 25 people live on our floor. And, we are a rather jolly bunch. For a bunch of old farts, that is. The funniest thing I heard was that some years ago the residents formed a committee to test toilet paper and make recommendations. Now, who wouldn’t kill to be on the toilet paper committee?
Note to Carlton: According to my FitBit, I have logged 4,132 miles since I got the thing back in April 2014. The Surgeon General wants everyone to walk more. I am not sure that I can walk much more than I already do.
OK Carlton, message received hot and clear…
Those of you who knew Carlton will remember that he was famously penurious. Coffee was one of the many things that he would not spend money on. When we were a road trip he would grudgingly stop at a Mickey D’s and get me a styrofoam cup of “senior coffee”. I drank it black and when I was about 1/2 finished he would take it and add faux-cream and artificial sweetener – rendering it undrinkable by me. He would then finish it off all the while telling himself that he was a great guy for buying me coffee.
So, you don’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure how he would react to me buying a Starbucks coffee. I did do Starbucks – but not while he was watching. What happened in Starbucks, stayed in Starbucks.
Well, today – I was waiting for the bus. A nice warmish/coolish fall day. Wouldn’t a nice tall coffee taste great? Well, there was 15 minutes ’til bus time. I got my coffee. Settle in on a bench with the sun on my back. And, then I feel warm – warm in a place that hadn’t been warm in two years and four days (but who’s counting?). My coffee has suffered a massive cup failure. My lap is filling up with hot coffee. My jacket is wet. My leggings are wet. My dress is wet. My underdrawers are wet.
Fortunately one doesn’t have to look so very good to ride the bus. But, when I got home the lobby of the asylum was stuffed with prospective tenants. And, I fine sight I was – a bedraggled old woman with a massive wet spot down the front of a beige dress. If that wouldn’t be enough to cause one to rethink the advisability of moving to the Asylum, I don’t know what would.
So, it think this was just Carlton. Expressing his disapproval of my frivolous expenditures. OK, Carlton. I got the message. You are watching and you can cause massive and sudden paper cup failure.
So what? Get over it. I will continue to Starbuck. All of the clothes have been washed and they will be out of the dryer soon.
Well now, for two years I was Carlton’s own personal combat medic. I took out stitches. Brewed up quarts of Dakins Solution. Had an Amazon subscription for extra strength Ensure. Kept JP drains draining. Tegadermed him up. And worried. Did I ever worry. World class worrier.
And, for the last two years I have been an old widow woman. I only have one Widow Woman task – I need to get Carlton back to Kona. “Legally” he is supposed to go via Express Mail – labeled as “Cremated Remains”. Methinks he will go in a nice flat rate box. Safely wrapped up in my wetsuit. Unlabeled. I don’t seem to have any “feelings” about that heavy plastic box that is all that is left of Carlton. But, I don’t want to creep anyone out. I don’t want a box showing up at my dear little hotel in Kona on Halloween labeled “Cremated Remains”.
And that will be that.
Will tonight’s VP debate have a line as great as “Senator, I served with Jack Kennedy. I knew Jack Kennedy. Jack Kennedy was a friend of mine. Senator, you’re no Jack Kennedy.” I doubt it. That is a very high bar to clear.
Wish I had my real camera – you shoot with the camera you have. And I had Shamu the Phone.
Yes, I went to work today. This is our busiest “planned” week of the year at work. Sunday through next Saturday. I say “planned”, because we could always have a really busy “unplanned” week.
And, work was good. Because two years ago – today – was Carlton’s last – full today. I didn’t want to have too much time alone with myself.
Well, Carlton, I guess you would like a report of how things are going. Things are going “just like they are supposed to”. Your money is OK. I presume that AA is OK. I am OK. (That was your order of importance. I knew my place.) The world in not OK. But, neither the living nor the dead can fix the planet. I am not sure that the world has ever been OK since the humans took over. We are not the very finest species. If we are created in god’s image – she really must be a bitch!
Basically, Carlton, you got outta Dodge just in time. Things were getting a little weird around the edges when you left. But now – it is full blown Looney Tunes. Or, since you were more given to eloquence – queue up some Yeats:
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
That worked in 1919 – and it works 98 years later. The center is not holding.
Now, can anyone explain why I can not keep leftover pizza in my refrigerator more than 6 hours? Why do I have to eat any and all pizza that is within reach as soon as possible if not sooner?
Anyhow, I had wonderful hot pizza and excellent cold beer for lunch and equally wonderful leftover cold pizza and hot coffee for dinner.
Life in the Asylum:
Oh and it is still raining.
I guess I should happy that I have as many pictures of Carlton as I do. Even if, like this one, the photo is totally undistinguished.
There was a column in the Washington Post earlier this month – I don’t know if you can get past the Post’s paywall – I was my husband’s caregiver as he was dying of cancer. It was the best seven months of my life. And, I have to agree with that. The last couple of years of our lives together were the best. Especially the last 6 months – after he got his diagnosis of the deadly Merkel Cell Carcinoma on top of everything else.
We always liked each other. Most of the time we loved each other. We were never unhappy. But, it wasn’t until the last two years that we needed each other. We both put too much stock in being “self supporting through our own contributions”. Or “I got along just fine before you showed up”.
Illness, even when the illness was ignored and/or denied changed all that. Carlton no longer kept me around for rainy afternoons and cold nights. I no longer kept him around to ward off boredom. We needed each other. He needed me for life support and medical care and to navigate treatment options. I needed him to gently guide me towards my new life. We needed each other to ward off fear.
Life was very dear then. Everyday a gift.
Nothing new today. It rained. All day.
Went to work – in the rain. Worked. Come home from work – in the rain. Made lunch. (A great lunch – some of those really fresh eggs and a home grown tomato) Napped. Tidied up the Old Bat Cave, tomorrow being maid-day. Went down to dinner. Exciting, huh? That is what you have to look forward to, boys and girls. And the job is a good thing. Hey, I spend most of my time just listening to The Dead with the Bose Earmuffs. And running the scanner. I could get a job doing piecework in an Asian scanning sweatshop any day!
I got my bill from the CPA for the taxes today. The bill worked out to $50 an ounce for my hefty tax returns. I guess that is deductible off next year’s taxes. This is an upmarket problem. Not complaining.
Two years ago today, I had just scored a pair of “cheap” first class tickets to Kona. Carlton was looking forward to the trip. Well, Carlton, if I actually take you back to Kona this winter, I think you will go in a nice “Flat Rate Box”. That is how Cal made his last trip. With dominoes to keep him company. You might have to settle for my wetsuit.
Wait – who knew? How to Package and Ship Cremated Remains Publication 139 October 2014 Guess I should at least read this. I am not taking this very seriously. The dear man is very dead. That black plastic box is just something to be dealt with. It isn’t Carlton.
There is more: TSA gets in the act too. TSA partners with funeral homes to safely transport cremated remains.
I could just keep Carlton on the book case. And, when I get converted to a black plastic box – Betsy can just blast both of us off into space.
But, Carlton wanted to go back to Kona. Not to the Moon.
For years, Carlton wanted to be buried in the ground. With a tombstone that said “He was good while he lasted”. This was when his parents were still alive so I made him address a letter to them saying that that was what he wanted. Because anyone one who knew his Momma would know that she would not have been amused. Not. Even. A. Little.
The rain started. It might be over by Saturday. Or not. I’ll just deploy the umbrella and slog off to work as usual. Expect that I’ll be complaining by this time tomorrow.
The first picture on the page is from the this spring’s trip home. And, once again, Shamu the Phone recorded where it was when I snapped the image out of the window. I wonder if the real camera knows where it is? Nope, it doesn’t seem to record GPS data. And, a quick check indicates that it doesn’t do GPS. I can live with that.
Four weeks from today – I’ll be training my way to Chicago. Time to get a hotel room in Seattle.
Oh, the second picture – this is what is left of the eggs that I got yesterday. Wonderfully non-uniform. They are all different colors and sizes. Just wonderful.
No new images tonight. Didn’t get back up to the Old Bat Cave until 3PM and I just didn’t get out to sneak up on insects.
But, I did cook my own dinner. No pictures, but it was wonderful. I had been gifted with lettuce, tomatoes, and eggs – fresh from the chicken. I had an avocado and some nice fall brussel sprouts, that were just waiting to be eaten. All of that made a really good dinner. All fresh, all tasty, and all real. Eating Clean – that is what the foodies would call it.
I just remembered that the picture was taken by Shamu the Phone. And, Shamu knows where Shamu is. Turns out the picture is from Berkeley Springs/Martinsburg area.
“They” say it is going to rain – big time – starting sometime tomorrow about coming home time. And, it will last until Saturday. We need the rain. But, maybe not that much.