Interruptions

Please remember, dear reader, this blog is entirely fictional.

We are taking the bus everywhere to save money. I just refuse to pay these ridiculous prices for gasoline. And the more I'm on my bike or the bus or hoofing it, I realize how much of the ugliness around us we can lay at the door of the cars--look at the asphalt where the fields used to be, breathe the clotted air--look at the traumas! Of course, a lot of people screwed themselves up on horses back then, too. Lilly's balking a bit, but, you know, I'm much more relaxed on the bus and we get to eavesdrop on some funny conversations, plus we have more time to talk to each other, which is nice. $2.50 gets you a pass to go anywhere you want in Paloma. Pretty good, huh? I've gone 10 days without filling up. Last time was 12 days between fill-ups. Plus, navigating the the bus routes in Paloma sharpens my brain--forces me to plan--it will stave off alzheimers. Of couse, last night she realized she'd left her history textbook at school and Nick drove her back in the Thunderbird which gets like, 2 mpg or something--so that pretty much obviated whatever we'd saved that day by taking the bus. Oh, well. And this morning, she left her saxophone at home. Nitwit.

Anyways, yesterday it rained, and I took the bus with Lilly into town, to her school and dropped her off. Then I went about my day. I've decided that I only need to plan 4 steps ahead. That's all you really have to do in chess, after all. I usually plan the entire day, but I think this is keeping me from living life. It's funny how you set out to accomplish things, but it is the interruptions that make life interesting. My goal yesterday was to 1)go to the library and print off the instructions for getting my drug test to begin clinicals. 2)Then I was going to go get tested. 3)Bank--to get cash to give to Judy for Wiz's 27th anniversary celebration at the hospital. 4)Hospital--to give her the cash. Then, whee! I could sit down and plan 4 more things.
So, at the library, I'm sitting there at the computer (for some reason, I can't get my printer to work with my computer) and Jay and Elena come in. "Chase me!" Elena says. She is on a Jungle Book kick lately. "Rowwrr!" I say, and get up and start chasing her through the stacks. Then she wants to play with puppets. On the way to the puppets she noticed the elevator, so we had to go up and down in the elevator a few times. We grabbed some coffee and juice and scones all together at the little cafe there and sat looking at the fish while we nibbled. I pointed out things of interest, "See--he's pooping!" Just like my kids at that age, Elena finds pooping fascinating because she's just now learning to do it in the right place at the right time. As we're watching the fish in the tank, I see the bus pull up in front of the library.
"Heck, missed the bus." I fret.
"We'll give you a ride into town." Jay offers, as well he should, since I regularly provide kissing and food, etc. I take him up on it. I land downtown in time for Shalimar's vigorous yoga class and decide my trip to the bank can be postponed for an hour, then, afterwards, I walk to the University. An old lady with a crewcut and a Hawaiian shirt waves at me frantically and crosses the street. Ellen Fetzel. My german teacher and my parents neighbor. Her son once stole my dog--but that's a story for another time. Being face blind can get a little dicey sometimes. I solve this by smiling at everyone. "I think your parent's car got towed!" She huffs. "I didn't know how to get ahold of you--you're not listed. They re-surfaced the street and towed your dad's truck."
"What are you doing on campus?" I ask.
"I'm working here full-time now--coo rdinating the german t.a.'s. Ach. Warum? Well, Haley Patton, let me tell you , I had too much fun and didn't set aside anything for retirement--so now look at me. 70 and working like a dog."
Some dog. She looks wonderful.
"Jay's in the same boat--"
She waves her hand dismissively. "I know all about that scene (she uses words like "scene") Hali's my massage therapist, remember?"
"Still?"
"Twice a week for the last 30 years." (hmmm....some insight into where all the retirement might have gone....) "I would die without her. She just loves you, thinks you're doing wonderful things with Jay."
"Well, isn't that nice."
"I think she was a little concerned about the age difference and the fact that, well, let's face it, you're not exactly known as 'nature girl', but she's happy now."
"Well, that's so nice!" I say again, brightly.
She launches into a long monologue on forgiveness and change and the meaning of life--you know all these things, so I won't bore you. We talk for 20 minutes. I really do like her. Then we part.
I decide to get my official form from Sinclair for the drug testing (apparently, I need this in addition to the other one from the net). I have to get it from Hester, the masters students secretary. Hester helped cook for Jerry, too, while he was dying. She has a good heart, but, God, she's grumpy.
"Look--" she snaps, the second I walk in the door. Before I open my mouth. "I know what you want and I'm busy right this second. Go sit down and I'll be with you in a few minutes."
I meekly retire to the front office.
Harrold, the big gay receptionist at the front desk--whom I've known for 30 years--he used to be the receptionist at my hair salon--shakes his head. "She's so goddam cranky" he hisses.
"I know. Like she's missing some essential organ of good humor or something." I hiss back.
He hands me some chocolate from his secret stash. He's been handing me chocolate since I've been nine years old. There's a picture of Harrold in a carriage in central park with a very young, mildly plump, but very handsome young man.
"New man?" I ask.
"Oh, yes. And, Haley Patton, this is the real thing."
Hester comes out, panting for some reason. She's wearing an immense polka-dot sleeveless dress. Which she can wear, even with her poofy arms. She's one of those fat but firm people. She looks like a little baked muffin. Kind of firm and sugar dusted--you know what I mean?
"Okay, come in."
"How has your summer been, Hester?" I ask.
"Oh, Haley Patton, (everyone used my first and last name yesterday, trend?) just awful. One thing after another. My precious Joey died, and then Norma had to have a few teeth out and started having back trouble." (Joey and Norma are her two dachsunds). I sit and listen sympathetically to her talk about her dogs. She has new pictures, which I look at and coo over. They've been professionally done.
"And then," she concludes, "if that weren't enough--my cousin's son, who's in Iraq came down with some life-threatening virus. He became septic from a gun-shot wound to his abdomen and had to be flown to Germany. He's recovering, but I think he might be a little brain-damaged. Keep him in your prayers!"
I assure her I will do so, pick up my drug test form and leave. She hands me some chocolate. "One for the road." She says.
I put it in my pocket.
Finally, I get to the hospital. I go to the bank and cash a check without incident, but as I am starting to open the door to the stairwell, Soupy, our coroner, walks by. Soupy's been acting strange lately, I think I mentioned, not greeting me, so I accost him.
"Soupy--what's up? Are you all right?"
He looks worse than usual. He's wearing a blood spattered beige guayabera, his fly is unzipped and his hair is standing up on end.
"Just get done with a case?" I ask.
"Oh, God, yes, a messy one. No, I'm fine. Except my son's somehow managed to piss off the Japanese mafia."
"How did he manage to come to the attention of the Yakuza? Or is it yazuka?" I think in Cowboy Bebop they say yakuza...but I'm not sure. "You need to wash your hands, "I point out.
"Oh, oops."
He walks over to the water fountain, rinses them off. I make a mental note not to take a drink from that water fountain, ever again.
"He broke a story about a liver transplant in LA for one of their big guys--and now they've threatened to kill him and everyone in his family--you know what that means, right? I mean--hello! I'm part of his family. I'm his father. That makes me a target."
He finishes rinsing his hands. Dries them on the guayabera.
"I bought a gun. I went to the gun store and said, 'give me a gun.' They said, 'Soupy, why do you want a gun?' I said, 'Because I'm going to probably have to kill someone with it.' So now I have a gun. What an idiot." Then he smiles. "But it is a wonderful article."
"I'll check it out." I tell him. "See you at Ernie's!"
I go upstairs, hand Judy the money. She shows me the presents. She bought Wiz a thermos. Had it engraved. I look at the Thermos. He loves his stanley, and this one isn't nearly as good a thermos. But I can't tell her that. Poor Wiz. Now he'll have to carry this thing around. It won't fit on his bike, either. Oh well, one of the things we all have to learn is to accept the gifts we don't look for. Can't choose gifts. It may be the only big lesson Wiz has left to learn.
I look at my watch. Somehow, it has turned into 4:30. Time to collect Lilly from tennis. Where did the day go?
That's my 1/2 hour.
btw--here's the article that this whole flight of fancy might be based on...
http://www.wnd.com/index.php?fa=PAGE.view&pageId=65759