Actually, the reason for this post is I wanna see the date September 1 when I re-read this a year or two from now. Ever notice how at the end of the day we all say, This is what I accomplished.
I accomplished nothing today.
I did finish listening to the interesting audio book Memoirs of a Geisha, which I'll share with Aunt Selma, who has macular degeneration, and listens to one audio book after another, as does her niece Ruthie.
Since I only listen to 5-7 minutes at a time, it's tuff to find a good audio, esp. when I drive.
I was so surprised that a scion of the Times would do dat.
Did I tell you I saw the wonderful film Alfred Nobbs at the Huntingdon Valley Library yesterday? Glenn Close and Janet McTeer gave wonderful performances as cosseted women playing men in an Irish society where women couldn't make any money.
Look, I don't know what cosseted means either but I think it's correct. My writing vocabulary is much better than my speaking one.
After the movie I drive to Mom's.
A huge white truck with equipment in the back is in the driveway. Workmen are jumping in and out.
Hi, I say. I'm Bernice's daughter. What's happening?
Weatherization, says a man with wild white hair, shorts and an equipment belt on his waist.
I go in the front door and find Mom, resting her tired legs in bed, while she's sewing some curtains.
Something terrible just happened, she said.
One of the men was up in the attic and he fell through.
OMG!
She told me to go look at the hole in the hall.
Did you warn him, I asked.
They know, she said. Mike also fell through.
Who's Mike? I thought. And then remembered I used to be married to him.
I'll be right back, I said. Meantime, I took my blood sugar since I sat for two hours at the movies. The sugar was fine, but I had brot my own fresh peach which I would eat when I got back from looking at the ceiling.
I didn't say it, but when my father lay dying for the nine months it took his brain tumor to kill him, in 1980, I sat in the same chair right next to the bed with the Monet poppy print over the bed.
Rob, I don't think you've ever been to her house, have you?
The first worker I saw was the one with the white curly hair.
"You're not the one...."
"Yes, I am," he said, and hiked up his shirt to show me the wound: an 18-inch thick red mark which really hurts, he said. He said he doesn't need medical attention. Yeah, a great way to spend the day...in the waiting room.
A couple hours ago I chose another cool place in the house - yes, I'm averse to turning on my A/C - I've got a $3,000 tax bill coming up - and am also tempted to buy a new Ford Focus, I believe it is, which I saw in the Giant parking lot and then looked up on the Internet, but I realized these new cars have not proven their durability.
They have surpassed the most popular US car - Toyota Camry, which my former psychiatrist Glijansky used to drive when he was first starting out.
So I'm upstairs with the fan going on high speed and I'm reading The Story of My Life,
about a young girl from the Afghan whose leg was destroyed when she stepped on a land mine. She ultimately ends up in the USA.
Doesn't everyone?
Not if the Republicans get in.
In the book, Farah was talking about her big Afghan family - they can take more than one wife - and I began thinking of mine own big family. I wondered when my Uncle Don had died.
I looked him up in the Mormon archives. He was only 65 when he died in 1995. You can look anyone up in here. Luckily his last name - Begis - is uncommon.
So then I started looking up all the dead ones including Great-Gramma Zali who I was named after.
And that, lords and ladies, is the conclusion of my blog.
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