Alright, so i was in a dolorous mood last night, and decided to make a Sad Songs playlist, à la Guy Maddin. (Wow, i just totally learned how to type characters with a French accent. Coolio.)
Along the way, i realized that half the songs i was choosing could easily go on a Dreamy playlist, something i've been meaning to make for Nat as a study aid when he needs to put the old headphones on. So after putting lots of Cat Power, Low, Magnetic Fields, and PJ Harvey on the first one, i hoped the second one would be more diverse. Incorrect! After the thousandth Cocteau Twins song, and the hundredth by My Bloody Valentine and the third Mazzy Star selection, it was even more specialized. Ah well- praise be to the Shuffle option!
In any case. Have you listened to Low? i only have Things We Lost in the Fire, but what an album it is. To understand better what it sounds like, imagine an even slower, more wistful Sufjan Stevens. i know what you're thinking: is that even possible? Well, yes. Yes it is. They might even be a tad more lo-fi, but i'm not positive. Once i listened to Sufjan's "A Good Man Is Hard to Find" while smoking a cigarette outside a strip mall in Las Vegas, staring at a tree blowing in the wind, with huge cumulus clouds in the background, and i almost lost my mind.
(In a good way.)
That's all for now.
Saturday, January 10
Wednesday, January 7
Feelin' fine.
After being sick for a week, i think it is gone, gone, gone. My sister pointed out that my sudden stoppage of nicotine inhalation may be adding some uncomfortable elements to my current lung snafu... anyway, i've coughed up some pretty nasty stuff (don't you love reading this?) and been inside for about five days now, so yeah. Think i'm ready to hit the great wide world now, with my new, amazing (hopefully) lungs.
It also came to my attention that i haven't had any coffee since January first, which sincerely amazes me. It's just that when i'm sick, even the thought of a cup of joe sort of makes my skin crawl. So should i use this as an opportunity to wean myself off of the black stuff? Not that i drink it black, in fact i prefer milk and sugar- brown- sugar.. but still. Someone as high-strung as me probably doesn't need to be imbibing any caffeinated beverages on the whole. Hm. i think i'm gonna go with it. See if i can mellow out a little, which would indeed be nice. Walking down the street without feeling like i'm going to have a panic attack for absolutely no reason would be a welcome change, that's for sure.
Also, hooray: my chapped hands have finally healed up. For some reason, while we were up North, the skin on my knuckles got seriously fucking fucked. At the airport on the way home, i was fairly certain that people were avoiding me because they didn't want to catch whatever i had... what they didn't know was that i was merely lotion-deprived, and had probably washed too many dishes and made too many snowballs. Seriously: it was gnarly.
And i forgot to tell you all about one of the most fun things we did on our winter vacation: the Redneck Dog Run. (those are my sister's words, so it's okay.)
On the second night we were there, Hilary drove Nat and i and three dogs up to a remote road in the snowy wilds. i squeezed in the back of the tiny Nissan truck with Eris, Hilary's brown-sugar with bat-ears pit bull, and Nat got the shottie. Her bf's two black lab (with some Newfoundland? anyway, they had big paws) adorables rode in the bed, tongues lolling in the icy cold. We were trying to beat the light, but failed, and ended up running the dogs in the blue half-light that is my favorite time of day, and into the darkness.
Basically once you're at the beginning of the road, you let the dogs out, and start the car and drive. We probably topped out at fifteen or twenty, the dogs racing along in front of us almost the whole time. They are leaving lovely tracks in the (no longer) unspoiled snow on the side of the road, which reminds me of Winnie the Pooh for some reason. Eris actually manages to look small next to Zeke and Jack, and when they bound ahead of her she shifts gears and always regains her ground. Eventually, Eris and Zeke run off the road somewhere, where we lose track of them for about 15 minutes. We use this time to get out of the car and have a snowball fight, and throw some hunks of ice up in the air for Jack. Why do dogs love this game so much? No matter. We love it too.
Driving back down the road, whistling into the cold air for the last 2 dogs, hoping that all is well. Finally a black shape: Jack's brother is back. But where is Eris? Ah, here she is, looking humbled, indeed. We will never know where they were that evening. She hops back in the back of the cab with me, and we all head home. The dogs are tuckered out all night. And i sincerely hope that i get to do this again someday.
p.s.) if you have a lot of free time, and i'm sayin' a LOT, then get lost over at the Weblog Awards. i've found some funny stuff, like Sleeveface and Raymi and my new music blog. And if any of these aren't your cup of tea, there is plenty more where that came from. But honestly, you might lose an afternoon. And an evening, and the wee hours........
It also came to my attention that i haven't had any coffee since January first, which sincerely amazes me. It's just that when i'm sick, even the thought of a cup of joe sort of makes my skin crawl. So should i use this as an opportunity to wean myself off of the black stuff? Not that i drink it black, in fact i prefer milk and sugar- brown- sugar.. but still. Someone as high-strung as me probably doesn't need to be imbibing any caffeinated beverages on the whole. Hm. i think i'm gonna go with it. See if i can mellow out a little, which would indeed be nice. Walking down the street without feeling like i'm going to have a panic attack for absolutely no reason would be a welcome change, that's for sure.
Also, hooray: my chapped hands have finally healed up. For some reason, while we were up North, the skin on my knuckles got seriously fucking fucked. At the airport on the way home, i was fairly certain that people were avoiding me because they didn't want to catch whatever i had... what they didn't know was that i was merely lotion-deprived, and had probably washed too many dishes and made too many snowballs. Seriously: it was gnarly.
And i forgot to tell you all about one of the most fun things we did on our winter vacation: the Redneck Dog Run. (those are my sister's words, so it's okay.)
On the second night we were there, Hilary drove Nat and i and three dogs up to a remote road in the snowy wilds. i squeezed in the back of the tiny Nissan truck with Eris, Hilary's brown-sugar with bat-ears pit bull, and Nat got the shottie. Her bf's two black lab (with some Newfoundland? anyway, they had big paws) adorables rode in the bed, tongues lolling in the icy cold. We were trying to beat the light, but failed, and ended up running the dogs in the blue half-light that is my favorite time of day, and into the darkness.
Basically once you're at the beginning of the road, you let the dogs out, and start the car and drive. We probably topped out at fifteen or twenty, the dogs racing along in front of us almost the whole time. They are leaving lovely tracks in the (no longer) unspoiled snow on the side of the road, which reminds me of Winnie the Pooh for some reason. Eris actually manages to look small next to Zeke and Jack, and when they bound ahead of her she shifts gears and always regains her ground. Eventually, Eris and Zeke run off the road somewhere, where we lose track of them for about 15 minutes. We use this time to get out of the car and have a snowball fight, and throw some hunks of ice up in the air for Jack. Why do dogs love this game so much? No matter. We love it too.
Driving back down the road, whistling into the cold air for the last 2 dogs, hoping that all is well. Finally a black shape: Jack's brother is back. But where is Eris? Ah, here she is, looking humbled, indeed. We will never know where they were that evening. She hops back in the back of the cab with me, and we all head home. The dogs are tuckered out all night. And i sincerely hope that i get to do this again someday.
p.s.) if you have a lot of free time, and i'm sayin' a LOT, then get lost over at the Weblog Awards. i've found some funny stuff, like Sleeveface and Raymi and my new music blog. And if any of these aren't your cup of tea, there is plenty more where that came from. But honestly, you might lose an afternoon. And an evening, and the wee hours........
Monday, January 5
As someone who grew up with lots of wooden/handmade toys (as well as He-Man and She-Ra dolls, Garbage Pail Kids, and so on), i have a soft spot in my heart for all things crafty, but especially toys.
For instance, we had a small green rolling wooden platform with a space in the middle, where a bright red wooden egg would sit, bumping against the wheels and turning round and round and round, as long as you were moving. Instant happiness! Another favorite was a knitted doll, which was Little Red Riding Hood, The Wolf, and her Grandma all in one (i'm sure i've already described this one to you, no?). i swear sometimes, if i could just get this doll back (we sold it at a garage sale when i was still a kid)...
In any case, the reason i am bringing this all up is because of something distressing i stumbled upon while skipping around the blogworld. It is the CPSIA, and it concerns toy safety and consumer protection. Unfortunately, it is another badly-worded and hastily thought-through law which will undoubtedly hurt many small toy businesses and individuals, most notably craftspeople.
While i understand the need for safety in this area, a quick, panicky blanket will not help things in the right way. i certainly hold out hope that with enough people pointing out the need for an amendment to this public mollification, they may in fact add some provisions. We'll see? Thanks for listening. If you want to read more, click on the bear button on the right-hand side of this page. 35 days left to!
(To be honest, i have absolutely not read the full text of the Act. And maybe it is because i am sick, or have not had coffee or cigarettes in 4 days, but i felt like i should "get involved", by which i mean passively posting a limited amount of information on my tiny blog.)
For instance, we had a small green rolling wooden platform with a space in the middle, where a bright red wooden egg would sit, bumping against the wheels and turning round and round and round, as long as you were moving. Instant happiness! Another favorite was a knitted doll, which was Little Red Riding Hood, The Wolf, and her Grandma all in one (i'm sure i've already described this one to you, no?). i swear sometimes, if i could just get this doll back (we sold it at a garage sale when i was still a kid)...
In any case, the reason i am bringing this all up is because of something distressing i stumbled upon while skipping around the blogworld. It is the CPSIA, and it concerns toy safety and consumer protection. Unfortunately, it is another badly-worded and hastily thought-through law which will undoubtedly hurt many small toy businesses and individuals, most notably craftspeople.
While i understand the need for safety in this area, a quick, panicky blanket will not help things in the right way. i certainly hold out hope that with enough people pointing out the need for an amendment to this public mollification, they may in fact add some provisions. We'll see? Thanks for listening. If you want to read more, click on the bear button on the right-hand side of this page. 35 days left to!
(To be honest, i have absolutely not read the full text of the Act. And maybe it is because i am sick, or have not had coffee or cigarettes in 4 days, but i felt like i should "get involved", by which i mean passively posting a limited amount of information on my tiny blog.)
Sunday, January 4
End of the year gripes.
Well, i've finally flown enough to experience a canceled flight. That's not to say, of course, that such an occurrence couldn't happen to a first-time flier. But it was the manner in which it came to pass that was so... interesting.
We left for our 9:45 p.m. flight a bit late from my mom's house: 8:30. We probably arrived at the airport around 8:50, and we still had to wait in line and check a bag. Problem. Our bag (we were sharing, so we brought our huge one), which i had of course so carefully and precisely packed, weighed a whopping 68 pounds. That's 18 over the limit. Now, the maximum 50-lb. checked bag costs only $15 to fly. The overage we were at was going to cost an extra fifty. So $65 altogether! No thanks. The lady kindly informed us that we could spend $10 and just buy an extra carry-on bag somewhere, and put 18 pounds of stuff into it. We thought about it, then ended up opening the damn bag and removing a bunch of stuff, redistributing it into the carry-ons we already had. Not very fun, but it ended up working out okay.
Ran through security, found a bar, ordered a double vodka-and-ginger ale, and we realized they were beginning to board our flight. Ran to the gate, and- what was this? Every single chair around the gate was empty... there was no activity whatsoever! Had we missed the plane? Impossible! i'd been watching the clock carefully the whole time... suddenly a businessman hurried around us to the guy at the counter of Gate A10. "..canceled..." was the muffled word we heard. The man in front of us looked cranky, and ran off. Turns out there was "poor visibility" (read: fog) at Lindbergh Field in San Diego, so the flight had been canceled a mere ten minutes ago. Which helped to assuage my rage at the fine folks at the ticket counter who had somehow seen fit not to inform us of this fact. Turns out they hadn't known yet.
Well, i found a payphone to call my mom, and Nat went to play a dollar on the nickel slots (yes, in Vegas there are slots by each and every gate). We re-booked for the next day, and went to get our checked bag bag, where we were told that as long as we didn't absolutely need it that night, it was being re-tagged somewhere for our flight the next day. But if we wanted we could wait up to 2 hours for it and then check it in the next day all over again. Nope! We decided to trust them.
Big mistake.
The next day, same rigmarole, only without having to check a bag. Forgot i had a tiny swiss army knife with my carry-on (they hadn't caught it the day before, wtf?!), so i had to "surrender" it. We made it to the gate with plenty of time to spare. Then our plane was an hour late, then it was a tiny Canada Air plane, which freaked me out, and then- AND THEN! We arrived in San Diego. Waited at the carousel. Watched nervously as all of our fellow passengers retrieved their bags and flounced happily away. After a few empty turns, we realized our bag was a no-show.
Horrible, horrible feeling, that is.
Visited the "customer service" desk, where we were "helped" by someone who had no idea where our bag was our when they would find it. i really wish i could say i was nicer to this woman than i was. Basically, they tag the bag when you give it to them, but they can only check on it if it is at an actual airport somewhere. If it anywhere in between, in transit, on a ramp, whatever, they have no clue. So that's not fun.
We left the airport in a grouchy mood, and spent New Year's Eve feeling anxious and annoyed. Miraculously, at five minutes to midnight, we received a call. They had found our bag, wonder of wonders! It was a wonderful feeling, and it felt like a much better way to end the year.
They drove it to our place the next day, and everything was fine. Nat and i postponed our quitting smoking resolution for a day, and went for a long evening walk up by the beach in La Jolla. i felt like i was coming down with something, which could not have been more true. It is now the fourth, and i have been sick for 3 days. Tissues, Ricolas, body aches, sleeping 'til noon. I'm finally hacking up some stuff, which may or may not be related to quitting smoking, which is definitely making me cranky. i remembered it taking a few days for that to kick in, but not this time. i want one, and i want it bad.
Now i'm busy chasing the last of this illness away, drinking lemon juice, honey, cayenne, and ginger infusions. Good times! Anyway, at least now i'm not going to die of lung cancer (apologies to anyone who has lost someone to a smoking-related illness). Hopefully it will stick this time. Right? Right.
We left for our 9:45 p.m. flight a bit late from my mom's house: 8:30. We probably arrived at the airport around 8:50, and we still had to wait in line and check a bag. Problem. Our bag (we were sharing, so we brought our huge one), which i had of course so carefully and precisely packed, weighed a whopping 68 pounds. That's 18 over the limit. Now, the maximum 50-lb. checked bag costs only $15 to fly. The overage we were at was going to cost an extra fifty. So $65 altogether! No thanks. The lady kindly informed us that we could spend $10 and just buy an extra carry-on bag somewhere, and put 18 pounds of stuff into it. We thought about it, then ended up opening the damn bag and removing a bunch of stuff, redistributing it into the carry-ons we already had. Not very fun, but it ended up working out okay.
Ran through security, found a bar, ordered a double vodka-and-ginger ale, and we realized they were beginning to board our flight. Ran to the gate, and- what was this? Every single chair around the gate was empty... there was no activity whatsoever! Had we missed the plane? Impossible! i'd been watching the clock carefully the whole time... suddenly a businessman hurried around us to the guy at the counter of Gate A10. "..canceled..." was the muffled word we heard. The man in front of us looked cranky, and ran off. Turns out there was "poor visibility" (read: fog) at Lindbergh Field in San Diego, so the flight had been canceled a mere ten minutes ago. Which helped to assuage my rage at the fine folks at the ticket counter who had somehow seen fit not to inform us of this fact. Turns out they hadn't known yet.
Well, i found a payphone to call my mom, and Nat went to play a dollar on the nickel slots (yes, in Vegas there are slots by each and every gate). We re-booked for the next day, and went to get our checked bag bag, where we were told that as long as we didn't absolutely need it that night, it was being re-tagged somewhere for our flight the next day. But if we wanted we could wait up to 2 hours for it and then check it in the next day all over again. Nope! We decided to trust them.
Big mistake.
The next day, same rigmarole, only without having to check a bag. Forgot i had a tiny swiss army knife with my carry-on (they hadn't caught it the day before, wtf?!), so i had to "surrender" it. We made it to the gate with plenty of time to spare. Then our plane was an hour late, then it was a tiny Canada Air plane, which freaked me out, and then- AND THEN! We arrived in San Diego. Waited at the carousel. Watched nervously as all of our fellow passengers retrieved their bags and flounced happily away. After a few empty turns, we realized our bag was a no-show.
Horrible, horrible feeling, that is.
Visited the "customer service" desk, where we were "helped" by someone who had no idea where our bag was our when they would find it. i really wish i could say i was nicer to this woman than i was. Basically, they tag the bag when you give it to them, but they can only check on it if it is at an actual airport somewhere. If it anywhere in between, in transit, on a ramp, whatever, they have no clue. So that's not fun.
We left the airport in a grouchy mood, and spent New Year's Eve feeling anxious and annoyed. Miraculously, at five minutes to midnight, we received a call. They had found our bag, wonder of wonders! It was a wonderful feeling, and it felt like a much better way to end the year.
They drove it to our place the next day, and everything was fine. Nat and i postponed our quitting smoking resolution for a day, and went for a long evening walk up by the beach in La Jolla. i felt like i was coming down with something, which could not have been more true. It is now the fourth, and i have been sick for 3 days. Tissues, Ricolas, body aches, sleeping 'til noon. I'm finally hacking up some stuff, which may or may not be related to quitting smoking, which is definitely making me cranky. i remembered it taking a few days for that to kick in, but not this time. i want one, and i want it bad.
Now i'm busy chasing the last of this illness away, drinking lemon juice, honey, cayenne, and ginger infusions. Good times! Anyway, at least now i'm not going to die of lung cancer (apologies to anyone who has lost someone to a smoking-related illness). Hopefully it will stick this time. Right? Right.
Friday, January 2
Montana Adventures!
So i got way too many wonderful gifts on christmas. Stained glass tools, my dad's old camera and its related equipment, books, cds, just wonderful stuff. My mom over-tinseled her side of the tree, which probably drove my sister crazy because she hates tinsel in the first place.
It snowed all day long, truly a "white christmas". i took Nat cross-country skiing at the little place just down the road from our house, which is a golf course during the summer. We fell on the first little downhill, and Nat broke (bent, i should say) his ski pole trying to stop. i myself face-planted into a snowbank, but laughed the whole time. We tried to bend the pole back, but to no avail. He skied the rest of the course with it bent, and we paid the $10 replacement fee after about 3 hours of schussing around, taking turns on and off the pre-made ski tracks.
We tracked deer through the cemetery, following their cloven hoof-prints and finding fresh droppings (so exciting!), in spite of the falling snow. i looked left, and right, but it (or they) was long gone. The Stillwater River, which runs through town, froze, melted, and then re-froze, confusing the lingering flocks of ducks who were living there.
We drove Nat up to Big Mountain to check out snowboarding info, and he ended up dragging my sister along. They were up there for a good 6 hours, falling on their butts every step of the way, but having a gay old time. Nat is quite hooked now, i fear, and living in San Diego with no car does not exactly help matters. Big Bear is a mere 2 hours away, but we have to get there first. We've definitely created a monster.
We watched icicles slowly form off the eaves above the back porch, where we smoked many many last cigarettes. i made a so-so apple pie, and my mom made her famous fruitcake. (No really, it gets eaten.) Met the sister's boyfriend, who welcomed us the first morning we were there with eggs and huckleberry pancakes. It was heaven. He even made us breakfast on our last day there, which was a nice bookend to the trip.
We drank lots of coffee, slept in almost every day, and romped in the snow. Nat and i made snow angels our second day there, which were promptly filled in by the falling flakes. He was mesmerized on our walk to the cemetery by the tiny six-sided delicate wonders that were landing on his gloves. Actual snowflakes! We mused on how many, many flakes had to fall to create such a thick, powdery blanket. Snowmen were basically impossible due to the fluffy nature of the snow... in Vegas it was a cinch because it just stuck right to itself when you rolled it. Nat did, however, hit me with such a rock-hard snowball that it left a bruise on my thigh.
He also tried to make a snow-trapezoid, and broke a large icicle off the roof, which i dubbed a unicorn horn, and stuck it sticking straight up on the snow-covered boulder in the front yard. He learned how to chop wood, and i re-learned. Mostly i focused on the kindling, which was always more fun for me anyway. My brother split the logs with seemingly no effort, and my mother let out a war whoop to assist in splitting hers. Crackling fires inside the house, upstairs and down.
On Christmas day, my sister had to go to her old work location and clean for two hours, which i thought was just ridiculous, so i offered to help. We arrived around 5 p.m., just as it was getting dark outside. Once inside the coffee shop, i swept floor mats, rolled them up and hoisted them up on top of upended chairs. She swept the expansive floor with a giant push-broom, and i followed behind with a mop and a giant tub of hot vinegar-water, which was black by the time i was through. We were exhausted at 7:00, and decided to take the trash bags in the back of her truck to the dump, which turned out to be a bad idea. Around 7:30 or so, on our way home from tossing the trash, we ran out of gas on the dark and snowy highway. On an incline. The weird thing was, i could have sworn i predicted it, that her truck was low on gas. And so we slid slowly backwards, five, ten, twenty feet. It was nightmarish, but luckily no one passed us on the road because she didn't have her license and we were worried about highway patrol. Thankfully the truck started again, and we put-putted our way up the hill, with the truck basically dying again, but this time as we pulled into someone's well-placed driveway. She ran inside to ask them if they had any gas, but ended up calling home instead, since they were all waiting on us with dinner. What a night! My mom had to put everything on hold and take the gas can down the road, fill it up, and then find us on the side of the road in the other direction. Needless to say, we were extremely happy to get home safely.
It was hard to say goodbye to my dad and my sister, leaving them up there in the snowy North. It is tricky not to feel guilt when one family member sacrifices so much to take care of the parent who has suffered a debilitating health problem... i know it is hard for her up there, and for him. They aren't necessarily the best of friends, and she hates her job. He is sort of stuck all day in the sunken, basement-like living room downstairs, but at least he has the dog, who loves him. i am so glad i got to see everybody in one house, under one roof just like the old days. i think we are a bit more grown up, now, which led to less fighting overall. But the hackles still get raised, the buttons are there, waiting to be pushed. At the end of the day, though, i'd like to think that we all truly love one another. And actually, that i know. Here's to that love remaining until the next time.
It snowed all day long, truly a "white christmas". i took Nat cross-country skiing at the little place just down the road from our house, which is a golf course during the summer. We fell on the first little downhill, and Nat broke (bent, i should say) his ski pole trying to stop. i myself face-planted into a snowbank, but laughed the whole time. We tried to bend the pole back, but to no avail. He skied the rest of the course with it bent, and we paid the $10 replacement fee after about 3 hours of schussing around, taking turns on and off the pre-made ski tracks.
We tracked deer through the cemetery, following their cloven hoof-prints and finding fresh droppings (so exciting!), in spite of the falling snow. i looked left, and right, but it (or they) was long gone. The Stillwater River, which runs through town, froze, melted, and then re-froze, confusing the lingering flocks of ducks who were living there.
We drove Nat up to Big Mountain to check out snowboarding info, and he ended up dragging my sister along. They were up there for a good 6 hours, falling on their butts every step of the way, but having a gay old time. Nat is quite hooked now, i fear, and living in San Diego with no car does not exactly help matters. Big Bear is a mere 2 hours away, but we have to get there first. We've definitely created a monster.
We watched icicles slowly form off the eaves above the back porch, where we smoked many many last cigarettes. i made a so-so apple pie, and my mom made her famous fruitcake. (No really, it gets eaten.) Met the sister's boyfriend, who welcomed us the first morning we were there with eggs and huckleberry pancakes. It was heaven. He even made us breakfast on our last day there, which was a nice bookend to the trip.
We drank lots of coffee, slept in almost every day, and romped in the snow. Nat and i made snow angels our second day there, which were promptly filled in by the falling flakes. He was mesmerized on our walk to the cemetery by the tiny six-sided delicate wonders that were landing on his gloves. Actual snowflakes! We mused on how many, many flakes had to fall to create such a thick, powdery blanket. Snowmen were basically impossible due to the fluffy nature of the snow... in Vegas it was a cinch because it just stuck right to itself when you rolled it. Nat did, however, hit me with such a rock-hard snowball that it left a bruise on my thigh.
He also tried to make a snow-trapezoid, and broke a large icicle off the roof, which i dubbed a unicorn horn, and stuck it sticking straight up on the snow-covered boulder in the front yard. He learned how to chop wood, and i re-learned. Mostly i focused on the kindling, which was always more fun for me anyway. My brother split the logs with seemingly no effort, and my mother let out a war whoop to assist in splitting hers. Crackling fires inside the house, upstairs and down.
On Christmas day, my sister had to go to her old work location and clean for two hours, which i thought was just ridiculous, so i offered to help. We arrived around 5 p.m., just as it was getting dark outside. Once inside the coffee shop, i swept floor mats, rolled them up and hoisted them up on top of upended chairs. She swept the expansive floor with a giant push-broom, and i followed behind with a mop and a giant tub of hot vinegar-water, which was black by the time i was through. We were exhausted at 7:00, and decided to take the trash bags in the back of her truck to the dump, which turned out to be a bad idea. Around 7:30 or so, on our way home from tossing the trash, we ran out of gas on the dark and snowy highway. On an incline. The weird thing was, i could have sworn i predicted it, that her truck was low on gas. And so we slid slowly backwards, five, ten, twenty feet. It was nightmarish, but luckily no one passed us on the road because she didn't have her license and we were worried about highway patrol. Thankfully the truck started again, and we put-putted our way up the hill, with the truck basically dying again, but this time as we pulled into someone's well-placed driveway. She ran inside to ask them if they had any gas, but ended up calling home instead, since they were all waiting on us with dinner. What a night! My mom had to put everything on hold and take the gas can down the road, fill it up, and then find us on the side of the road in the other direction. Needless to say, we were extremely happy to get home safely.
It was hard to say goodbye to my dad and my sister, leaving them up there in the snowy North. It is tricky not to feel guilt when one family member sacrifices so much to take care of the parent who has suffered a debilitating health problem... i know it is hard for her up there, and for him. They aren't necessarily the best of friends, and she hates her job. He is sort of stuck all day in the sunken, basement-like living room downstairs, but at least he has the dog, who loves him. i am so glad i got to see everybody in one house, under one roof just like the old days. i think we are a bit more grown up, now, which led to less fighting overall. But the hackles still get raised, the buttons are there, waiting to be pushed. At the end of the day, though, i'd like to think that we all truly love one another. And actually, that i know. Here's to that love remaining until the next time.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
