Not 100% on board with the daily baby aspirin. What would be the harm (except for a longer bleed time, which BFD) of taking a daily regular aspirin? I’d rather bleed out than clot out. Discuss.
Scene 1: Sami is gone to California.
Scene 2: Sami is back home.
Today the happy couple is motoring to Philadelphia with a car full of dry goods and power tools. Destination: O. Henry House.
Sami’s been in California since June 26th. He’s flying home on a red eye that lands at 5:30 am. I guess I must miss him because I was showered and dressed and prepared with a go cup of hot coffee when I got to the airport at 5:15am today. Except he’s coming home tomorrow. I guess I miss him.
Stedman found a baby rat to toy with. I keep telling myself that it might have been a mouse, which seems more acceptable to me, but in fact it was probably an adolescent rat if size is the indicator. An old adolescent.
Anyway, I was out on the deck for the customary morning inspection and he was doing his usual rolling in the grass and barking at the dog walkin’ lookyloos on the next street. When I called him to come in the house with me, for dog food nonetheless, he did not immediately appear as is his usual practice. He finally did show up and it was backing out of some bushes. When he turned himself around, he has this lovely rodent dangling limp in his mouth. I say lovely because the contrast between the medium gray fur and the pink ears, hands and tail was really quite lovely.
He flipped the rat up into the air a few times then let it thunk down onto the grass. The thing was like a reverse cat toy. When he had the rodent in his mouth, he wasn’t exactly biting it as much as squeezing it between his teeth. When he let it fall, the thing would inhale with a loud EEEEEEE and the go silent again as it was picked up again to be squeezed.
I called the dog very sternly to come into the house and strongly emphasized the words “treat”, “Scooby Snack” and “dog food” but it had no effect. He stood there 20 feet away from me with an adolescent rodent clamped between his jaws and stared straight at me as if to say ” Woman, why would you call me NOW? Do you NOT SEE what I’m doing here?”
I left him and went inside alone because I did not want to see what happened next. Alls I know is that those chops he was licking when he finally did come in are the same ones he uses to lick my exposed arm while I sleep.
So I guess after all his years of gooniness and acting stupid, he’s a real dog after all.
In other news, my daughter is moving from her commune-like group house in Clark Park to her own solo apartment in a private house in Cedar Park. (This is Philadelphia Speak.) The building is an O Henry era single family residence that has been chopped into West Philly hipster apartments. It is friendly to all God’s creatures including feral cats, things that crawl and things that fly. It has enormously tall ceilings, woodwork to die for and more cracks than a whorehouse. Shelves it and even a worried mother can appreciate its charms. I guess it’s going to be okay.
So ive been gathering cleaning supplies, hand-sewing cafe curtains and sitting on top of Craigslist. Craigslist is my new hobby. Not to replace e Bay in my heart but certainly to give it a run for the money.
For my money. Har!
Anyway, you all know about the Made In Romania compact folding table and chairs saga … But did I mention the butcher block top kitchen cart with drop leaf that I got for nothing more than $35 and a half rank of gas?
Or the unbelievably perfect Stanley rolling bar cart with expandable waterproof surface that I snagged for $40? I didn’t, I know. The butcher block top cart is common and beat up and exactly right for turning an O Henry era closet space into a contemporary hipster kitchen item, but the Stanley thing is beauty and quality and classic.
She wants me to paint it orange but I cannot. I might paint it muted silver but I guess time will tell.
So I guess I’ve been managing to keep busy while counting down the empty hours.
Washing things that don’t normally get washed but need a good washing nevertheless.
Junk food and quiches.
1. When I had my crappy dinner in the outer reaches of Baltimore this week, the waitress referred to me as “My Lady” every time she came near me. It was a slightly shabby, not-fancy-in-the-first-place restaurant, not King Arthur’s court. But she was consistent about this formal term of address and by the time I finished my crappy dinner, being referred to as My Lady didn’t sound odd at all.
2. I was in a central NJ Walmart before 8am today buying a bathmat. When I was almost at the checkout counter, a much older man with an enormous hearing aid RAN in front of me to check out his single onion and a box of some kind of processed food. I am starting to really resent people with good knees. Anyway when it was finally my turn, the woman behind the register said to me “hello lady” in a very flat tone. At the end of the transaction, I said thank you and she said “thank you lady” in the same flat tone.
Both of these women had Russian accents.
What is going on?