25 November 2003, 3:56 peeyem
Bad things happen in threes, or so it seems.
Warren Spahn died yesterday. He was the winningest left-handed pitcher in baseball history, and he was, I understand, quite a card. I spoke with him on the phone once when I was at a housesitting gig. He called and asked for the gentleman of the house and I told him that he wasn't there, but I'd be happy to pass along a message. He responded, "This is Warren Spahn." I had the presence of mind to respond Spahn and Sain! Pray for rain! He cackled, and in my mind's eye, at least, slapped his thigh.
Another bad, though minor in the scheme of things, thing that happened is I got sideswiped by another motorist this morning. I'm fine, not hurt or anything, and the body of the car is not damaged, it will just need some finish work, perhaps a repainting, and the alignment seems fine. What's really peeving me is that the officer asked what happened and I told him that I had been in the curb lane and the other guy was coming over, and I imagine that he didn't see me until it was too late. I leaned on the horn, but of course by then I was scrubbing the curb. The officer wrote him a ticket for weaving and he swears he was maintaining his lane, not trying to change lanes. The officer told remarked that if he'd been maintaining his lane he wouldn't have hit me, and anyway the judge will sort it out.
But the worst thing of all is that last night my friend Carol's mama died. She had been a bit poorly of late, but there was no indication of the cancer she had in her stomach. She got sick yesterday, they operated, Carol and her brother came to be with her. I am told that she died peacefully and with dignity, and for that I am grateful, both for Miss Marilyn and for the ones she leaves behind. I know she was a good and great woman because I see it in her daughter.
21 November 2003, 3:29 peeyem
I seem to have arranged a lot of alone time for myself. Alone is not my natural mode. I mean, I like to be left alone while I do my thing, but I like to know that someone's there. If that makes any sense at all.
I worry that I will grow old alone. Not that I will die alone, that I will grow old alone. And no, I'm not depressed about the holidays. I'm just worried about growing old alone. This is not how I thought it would be.
I looked down at my hands the other day and my God, they look old. I used not to be able to see the cords and tendons and blood vessels in them and now I can. And they're dry, so dry. Some days they just burn because they're so dry, and no matter what I put on them, they remain dry.
What a drag it is getting old. It beats the alternative, of course, but it's still a drag.
17 November 2003, 2:43 peeyem
Go David!
Zell
Miller: He is hurting his own cause
Zell Miller's vitriol is consuming the man. Now he is disparaging his
modern party of the old Democratic South's crime of "lynching"
blacks ("Miller's talk of 'lynching' is criticized," News, Nov.
14).
Thursday, in a letter to the editor, his crude and offensive language
described The Atlanta Journal-Constitution's staff as "vultures picking
apart roadkill." His strained metaphors and analogies, such as "a
hog on Sunday," do nothing to erase the image of his fellow mountain
folk as hillbillies.
Miller is skillfully and deliberately playing hillbilly U.S. senator for
his own profit, perpetuating the bigotry he says he is trying to destroy.
DAVID FRANKLIN, Young Harris
In other news items, I was listening to NPR yesterday and heard a report about a young woman who was killed in Afghanistan. She was on a UN Mission in a clearly marked UN vehicle, and she was the first American killed in Afghanistan in something like two years. One of her colleagues was speaking and she said that she didn't understand it, because this young woman was good and bright and had a lot of potential. I don't know what was to understand, because it's not like it was personal. It was, if you will, business. They don't care about the person behind the American face, really, they don't. And I don't understand what having a lot of potential has to do with it, because it's not like only the lazy or slow get killed, dying being part of the plan for all of us.
At the end of the week before last, I had a horrifying headache. I think, at least in part, that it was so scary and painful because it was the first headache I'd had in 21 days, and that's longer than I've ever been without a headache. I felt so bad, in fact, that I thought I was going to have to call my mother to come stay with me. Instead, I called the neurophthalmologist, who had me lie upon the floor and call her back. From whatever I told her, she deduced that I needed either more or less Diamox, but she had no way of telling, so she voted for more "and I'm the doctor, so I win." It seems to have done the trick, but it's been a hard adjustment week and a half. Initially, it makes me very tired, all the time, and it's appetite killing, so it also tends to make me feel week and logey. But at least my head finally doesn't hurt.
The maid came last week. The mop was wet, but I can't figure out why, because I could very nearly grow potatoes on my kitchen floor and my bathroom floor. All I can really see that she did was use an entire roll of paper towels and move all my things about the house, willy-nilly, from room to room. I can't find a damn thing. I called Friday to ask her about the floors and she informed me that she had mopped with water. I mentioned the moving of my things and she asked "you don't like the way I rearrange things" No, dammit, I don't like my things rearranged. I know where it all is and I'll thank you very kindly not to get me out of whack. She also asked did I want her to scrub on her hands and knees. While that's not my preference, you understand, I also don't really care how she accomplishes what she's paid to do. Anyway, she called Friday evening and very snippily informed me that she would come today to SCRUB YOUR FLOORS.
The house has been on the market all this time and no one has looked at it. I baked a lot this weekend, till I was worn slap out, in fact, and slept in yesterday, leaving myself enough time to get to Peachtree Corners for Sloane's dedication, but not enough time to finish cleaning up the kitchen. Normally I clean up before I leave because if somebody breaks in, I can't have them thinking I live like a pig, but yesterday, the one day out of the whole year that I didn't clean the kitchen, the house got shown. I am mortified, and the only thing that could make me any more mortified would be if I had been there with my pots and pans.
4 November 2003, 12:46 peeyem
The house, my house, is still on the market. It's a pain in the rear end, I'm here to tell you, living in a house that you're trying to sell. A bunch of my stuff is packed up. I shouldn't be there if anyone comes to look at it (which, as far as I know, they have not). Can't leave a glass in the sink. I really ought to plant some stuff in front of the foundation, but what to plant, and I suck at growing things anyway. This is why when I get another house, it needs to be the one I'm going to live in for the rest of my life. It's crazy-making, I tell you.
Have you been reading the news? The good Judge Roy of Alabama has writ a "poem" about the decline of America. As far as I'm concerned, His Honor is free to sit around bastardizing songs and anthems all day every day. Except this one hit my inbox. I tried to keep my big mouth shut, and I did for as long as I can stand. Don't go look at the page if you think it's going to make you send me emails telling me I'm going to hell or that I deserve for a plane to crash into my house, because, really, I'm not in the mood for it and I'm on a roll with the rebuttals right now, and I won't keep it private...I'll post it right here for all and sundry to see, and I won't correct grammar and spelling errors either.
Also, while I'm at it, Judge Roy's. Nevermind. I just need to stop. Believe what you want to believe. But God doesn't turn his back on his chirren. Everybody knows that.
But while you're believing what you want to believe, maybe you want to skip over to Z93.com and help out with their efforts to send Christmas gifts to troops still in Iraq? It's a good cause, and they're making it really easy to do.
That's all. No more soapbox today. Check back tomorrow and see if I'm still steamed about paying for nice sidewalks that walkers eschew for the street.
Living
in the
Past?
2003
2002
