Hello, Honville

...it's a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in bacon...mmmmmmm....

She: Riding on a Lark style-scooter, steering one-handed, rounding the corner of an obscured street onto Ritchie Highway.

He: Perched on a shelf on the back of the scooter, hands braced on her shoulders, toes of his dirty sneakers tucked under a grey plastic shopping bag full of... something.

It: Sitting, held on her lap like a toddler in need of an allover haircut, tail draped trailing over one ample thigh.

Could've been kids. Should've been, probably.

But they were all over 40.

Well, I don't know about the dog.

Archaeological Unearthing

...learn to work the saxophone/ I play just what I feel/ drink Scotch whiskey all night long....

This from my Yes, It's True That I Never Get Rid Of Anything, Not Ever file, otherwise known as my email inbox. It's my third or fourth one so far. Third or fourth email inbox, not YITTINGROANE file, as that's simply theoretical, and if I'd thought about it longer, I'd've come up with a name for it that results in a better anagram. I haven't gotten rid of anything in the three previous email inboxes, either.

Probably. I think.

Cue low sultry saxophone music.

I was meditating on the veranda... I call it a veranda, but it was actually more of a fire escape. I call it meditating, but it was really more relaxing than meditating, though smoking a cigar can, I suppose, be said to be meditative. In fact, here goes: Smoking a cigar can be meditative. I said it. 

At any rate, I was on the fire escape, smoking a cigar, the New York Times crossword half-finished on the coffee table inside the window... I say half finished, though it was somewhat less than half finished; considerably less, in fact; the fact is, it was barely begun, which would have been fine had it been from today's New York Times, but it was last week's, which, if you care to know the actual facts of the matter, was by this time, in fact, last month. 

I was meditating on the veranda, the New York Times crossword unfinished on the table when She walked in. I say walked, but it was really more of a glide, if it can be said that a wiggle is glide-like. 

So there was nothing to be done but step in through the window to greet my unexpected guest- or perhaps client- and carefully stub my cigar in the ashtray- I call it an ashtray, though it was actually a china cup with no handle from my great-Aunt Florence's second-best china service. I looked at her. She looked at me. It was in that moment wherein something perhaps magical was about to begin, that I suddenly remembered I was not wearing pants.

Once I realized I wasn't wearing pants, it became imperative that I pretend I hadn't realized I wasn't wearing pants. I say 'imperative' when what I actually mean is 'preferable' or 'inconspicuous', though neither of these are synonymous with 'imperative', as any idiot who'd actually finished a crossword puzzle would know. 

Rather than shamefacedly admit to Her that I'd forgotten, omitted, left out or realized I had no clean laundry during an important step in dressing myself this morning, I behaved as though I were wearing pants, or as though no one went round anymore bothering with the silly, passe trousers of yore. And whether She was pretending to not notice that I was pretending to have not noticed that I was not wearing trousers, or whether she in fact did not notice that I was not wearing trousers is a mystery that puzzles me even today.

 

"You have to help me, Mr. Dresden," she said, in that high-pitched breathless baby Marilyn Monroe voice that gets all men like a sucker punch to the breadbasket. I say sucker punch to the breadbasket, when what I mean is aphrodisiac, or headrush, or mind erasure. I struggled for something clever to say. If only I'd finished the crossword, I might've been able to think of something.....

Fade mournful sax.

To Be Continued....


...or maybe better left alone.



Steely Dan; Deacon Blues

March Snapshot

...a ship out on the sea/ contradicting words/ that’s not how it’s supposed to be/ caught in a battle that’s not your own.... 

March 22, 2018-

I arrived a bit before 11 am, found evidence that Mother had let the dogs outside and fed them. There was no indication that she'd eaten any breakfast, and she was in the bed, but with clothes on. They may have been yesterday's.

I offered breakfast, and even though she said she had eaten breakfast, she came down while I prepared oatmeal with banana, 2 eggs fried in olive oil, buttered English muffin with fig jam, juice, coffee, meds, vitamins and a whole pear, sliced, with Swiss cheese. She ate and ate until about 12:15, and then we walked dogs around the block together. I bundled her up really well with boots and gloves and everything. Jackie tried to tuck a tissue into her bra strap and eventually laughed when she realized she was having trouble doing that because she wasn't wearing a bra. 

12:30 pm- When we returned, I got started shoveling and she I guess looked at the newspaper or rested on the sofa. When I came in, I encouraged her to shower so we could go out. She did, and I gave her a lunch of tuna salad, celery sticks and crackers, I went back to shoveling. She poked her head out and said, "Aren't you done yet? Leave that; it'll melt soon enough. I can make you some nice hot cocoa." I told her I wasn't done yet, and would be in after a little while longer.

No one seems to understand that being out while it's snowing, driving during snowfall and shoveling the snow, that's really the only bit of winter weather that I enjoy.

Once I'd finished, I shot a pic of her walk to send to EAS, and of Mario and Mother's cleared walks to put on Timmy's FB so he'd know I'm keeping an eye and headed indoors. Mother told me she'd made me some nice hot cocoa. I said that was sweet but I'd rather have water. Did she finish her tuna sandwich and celery?

"Yes, of course I did," she told me.

Of course you did.

"Oh. I guess I didn't make that cocoa for you after all."

I told her I'd rather have a glass of water, as I was warm from the exercise anyway. After that, we went out in search of cocoa packets, as she was down to only 2, including the one she 'made' for me. 

3pm- Costco was open and mostly empty and had no cocoa. I bought seaweed salad for her, though, and Pillsbury crescent rolls, and a jar of chocolate hazelnut spread, which I hid on the bottom pantry shelf, in the corner. Then we went to Aldi. Aldi ALSO had no cocoa packets, but I bought bananas for her. She said, "A Casa, Jaimie," but I was intent on those cocoa packets, so we went to Shop Rite, and she bought cocoa packets, Belvita biscuits, banana chips, yogurt pretzels and raisin bread with her card. 

By then it was 5:30, and the light was waning. Instead of removing our coats, we got dog leashes and walked around the block before it got all the way dark. I put some crescent rolls in the oven while I did a bit more shoveling, and then heated Jambalayah for her supper. She ate supper around 6:15 or so, two crescent rolls, a bowl of Jambalayah, and finally drank her juice. I fed the dogs about 6:30.

6:45- I asked if she wanted to play with My Singing Monsters. She did not. After a dessert of a lemon tea cake, she was ready for bed. We brushed teeth together and she swished with Crest rinse. She didn't want me to help her put on a nightshirt, so I went downstairs. By 7:10, I heard no more pouncing from upstairs.

I washed dishes, freshened her pillboxes, put out a fresh can of wet dogfood near the food bin where she could see it and removed a few sale circulars to the recycle bin.  I made snack packets with the snacky things from the grocery. 

8 pm I turned out lights, locked up and left. 

It was a good day. Little Jackie had very little looping, no snotty remarks and wasn't argumentative at all. She exercised some, ate plenty and did not grab for all the cookies at any of the grocery stores we visited. She was pleasant and good-humored, and we enjoyed the pretty snow. 

Sean McDonald; Flower In The Snow