We will be returning the keys to Mom's apartment on Friday once the St. Vincent de Paul people come and cart away the post-sale leavings. Today I went over to start packing up the things we're consigning to the auction house and chanced a phone call to see if I could wheedle a pickup today since I was there. Turns out I could. Damien and his sidekick, Ryan, arrived just after eleven, loaded up all the goodies and zoomed off. I'll go over either tonight or tomorrow night to finish packing up the remaining items (not too much left, just a bunch of kitchen stuff) while AJ arrives to get his table and drive Mom's car away. DS will come Friday morning to pick up the tables from Titletown Brewing and the dive shop, so I can then sweep through making sure nothing's left or broken. Once I've done that I'll hand over the keys and garage door opener--and we'll be done. Done. Done. Done. That isn't to say that my living room and basement will be passable yet but that I can do at my leisure after work or on the weekend. This is good. On the not-so-good side, I feel like I'm getting a cold. Dammit. (gonna go get some Zycam, that stuff really works) Oh, and the cable from one of the garage door springs snapped when I put Durwood's van away this morning. We've got a call into a handyman friend, but if it doesn't get fixed today he can take me to work so he'll have wheels so he can go let Porter out in the afternoon. It would be bad if he couldn't go play with the granddog. Why does stuff like that happen when you can barely manage to make it through days? The last 5 weeks of funeral and estate arrangements and all the organization and execution have consumed all my psychic and physical energy. Now that it's nearly finished I get a cold and the house starts to fall apart? I don't think so. Time for some remedial meditation and redirecting of energies.
November 28--Edgar Degas, Young Woman with Ibis. It had to be the fever. Etienne lay looking out the window, the covers pulled to his chin even though it was midsummer and hot. He frowned and blinked to clear his vision. Lisa wasn't out on his balcony, was she? No, he hears her humming in the kitchen as she made some chicken soup for him. He could hear her clearly as she chopped and stirred and sang. He rubbed a shaking hand over his eyes but still he thought he saw her there with a blue mantle over her hair and a pair of scarlet ibis with their needle-sharp beaks standing sentry, one on either side of her.
There's nothing like a good fever hallucination.
--Barbara
1 comment:
Somehow getting a cold seems to be the final act when you're going through a trauma. Same thing happened to me when we got back from LA. But this too shall pass! Congrats on getting so much done in a really short time. Again -- I'm anointing you Wonder Woman!
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