Tuesday, July 14, 2015

And then this happened

Just when I needed it most, great-niece Maddy had her 4th birthday bash. There is nothing like a bunch of 4- and 5-year old girls hyped up on sugar and My Little Pony to bring one out of an existential funk. These small people took the work of having fun so very seriously, too. There is a lesson there, and a reminder that we old fogies need to do all we can to make the world a better place for the generations that follow. 

And enough with the goddamn standardized testing already. 

Tuesday, July 7, 2015

Monday Meh - You didn't think I forgot, did you?

Woman with Umbrella, Robert Delaunay
Ok, I know it's Tuesday. It might still be Monday in Hawaii, I guess. At any rate, I am both pleased and alarmed to share the news that the summer institute I have managed for the past 8 years was cancelled this summer due to lack of interest. Yay!!! Yikes!!!  This turn of events somehow hasn't resulted in there being much less work for me to do -- just work of a different nature, work that the new colleague in the office is supposed to be doing but cannot be relied upon to do,  and other work that another colleague is too busy atteending to personal shit to do  . . .  So at least the void left in my hours, if not in my budget, is being filled. 

Other demands on my time and energy are occuring on the home front, too. For a while now my mother has been dealing with chronic nerve pain, and one by one we've been exhausting all options but surgery. We're still looking for that "magic pill" that will deliver relief and a means to a better quality of life. When you live in the middle of freaking nowhere, though, the journey to health is a literal one, driving more than an hour to the town where the brain and spine and orthopedic specialists are. It's been another kind of adventure, too, realizing that my mother doesn't or doesn't want to hear what the doctors have to say -- "If I don't hear what is wrong with me, I don't have to admit I'm unwell," she has basically said.  This caregiving has become an intricate dance that I am trying to learn. It is inevitable that I will step on some toes, miss some beats, never seem to perfect. I never was a good dancer, though . . . 

A while back I made the observation that there are 2 funeral homes within walking distance of my house, but I have to drive 25 miles to buy a bottle of wine -- or clothes, for that matter. So while Bubbaville may be a good place to die, it's a shitty place to live, even under the best of circumstances.  My plan to move away, though, is on hold until the thing that I can't articulate -- you know, THAT thing -- comes to pass. 

I'd better stock up on wine.