ismo

I was feeling pretty good about the day until the last two hours . . . which will be explained in a minute. Got up too early, staggered around the place looking for the various bits of my planned outfit, which I'd been too tired to assemble last night. I'd been tempted not to dress up after all, because it was freezing COLD again, and things like silk and rayon are not warm. Not to mention a better quality of shoes and the thin socks that go with them. However, there was a little bit of sunshine, and I decided to bite the bullet and make myself presentable. The Sparrowhawk and I were both cleaned up and dressed up and out the door with various additional bits and pieces before 9:30, and at Mother's door by 11:30.

I'd estimated half an hour to get from her place over to the building where the buffet was, a distance that takes five minutes or less in the car. I hadn't allowed enough time for her to greet friends in the hall. I brought the car around and waited for a long time, wondering what happened! Finally the Sparrowhawk appeared, gently ushering her onward, and we got her into the car, and then out of the car again to meet Deb and the Prussian for our festive dinner. The corsage of purple orchids looked really great with her outfit, and she really enjoyed it, and felt special, which was my objective, so yay.

And now I'm going to put the rest of this travelogue behind a cut so as not to take up too much space. If you read on, you will be rewarded with one of my father's sayings that I hadn't heard before. I couldn't laugh as much as I wanted to at the time, but I'm laughing now . . . .

The dinner conversation was animated. I was so happy that Deb and the Prussian could join us. We talked about Deb's latest sewing projects, travel adventures, poetry, and amusing stories about my late father. Mother really enjoyed talking about things that are different from the day to day life of her fellow residents. I imagine it's also fun to talk to people who aren't deaf!

Finally, we had to part with our friends and take her back to her room. I got online and helped her select a wedding gift for Dr. Nurse, paid a bill for her, and finished packing up all the records that Mr. Science needs to file her income tax return--or all the random bits of paper she thinks he might need! It gave me a headache just to look at all this stuff. I definitely pity Mr. Science. And then it was time to say goodbye and see her off to supper before driving home.

The plan when we got home was to put on our pjs immediately, enjoy a bite to eat and some chocolate, call Mother BRIEFLY to let her know we were home, and then relax. it did not work out that way. Instead, my phone dropped the call repeatedly, would not connect to the AirRave (a device that connects the phone to the Sprint network via the internet), and then would not connect to anything at all. Nor would the Sparrowhawk's phone. He used the land line to spend the next TWO HOURS with customer service, trying to get our phones working again. As of now, his sort of works. My expensive iPhone is essentially a brick. I might be able to leave the house and go somewhere else and maybe get reception, but in my own house, my phone is completely useless. Hence my frustrated state of mind.

But, onward to the Grandfather story. Once upon a time in Ann Arbor, Michigan, there were two rambling Victorian houses that were taken over by the White Panther Party, founded by Pun Plamondon and John Sinclair. Later, they were owned by the Rainbow People's Party, and later still, they became harmless housing cooperatives. Also once upon a time, my younger siblings ran away from home multiple times. On one of these occasions, probably the time the Duchess ran away, though it might have been one of Queenie's attempted escapes, my father experienced one of his notorious rages. He ascribed all kinds of evil to those two houses, which he had to pass every day on his walk to work, and he became certain the inhabitants were somehow to blame for the misbehavior of his errant children. Gnashing his teeth, he exclaimed to my mother, "I am going to put a bomb in that house--and YOU are going to light the fuse!" My sisters eventually returned home unharmed, and Daddy never blew up the White Panthers. I guess they never knew what a narrow escape they had. You would really have to know my mother--frail, soft-spoken, painfully shy and completely incapable of such a feat--to know just how darkly funny the thought of her as unindicted co-conspirator would be.