Another day on planet earth

Hopefully ...

I want to write about the mouse I saved from behind my refrigerator yesterday, but maybe not today.

Today I am feeling lonely and vulnerable. My eyes keep leaking unexplained tears.

I drove past Callahan Park a little while ago. There had to have been 100 families there with kids all dressed in their correct sporting gear. Each field was playing a different sport. The sun was out. The temperature was 55°. Balmy. Gorgeous day.

The families are little connected units. They have kids to watch and protect through adolescence. They hover over their brood. ‘Watch out Jimmy, a car is coming’, wondering if Jimmy will ever learn to look both ways.

Time passes. Without realizing it, time has gone by. This is my brood when I thought time went on forever.

We were so young but I didn’t know or appreciate it. Now I do.

A death notice is a tsunami the first second it suddenly arrives unannounced. You just can’t believe it. What? Takes your breath away. It really does. It’s the most personal thing that will ever happen to you.

My husband is dying and there are families out enjoying the day, laughing having a great time. My husband will be leaving me very soon. My children are grown now with families of their own.

I drive by and I am alone.

I just looked at that photo and wonder why I ever bought that jacket. Not attractive at all. My children are better looking now but my husband is worn now, quite thread bare.

I don’t know how to address these moments when my floor falls away and I slip into despair. Of course, if this were a one time moment, I could call a friend but I suspect to keep myself emotionally afloat, I’m going to have to do a brain remodeling job. Get a dumpster. Throw out the worn out thoughts and bring in some new furniture.

Since last night Gary’s insulin is too high and it won’t go down. This is not normal. This is a problem. He called the on-call doctor. I suspect she is busy managing her own life. She has little interest or empathy and instead told him to go to the hospital. Geez, we just got home from there. He’s lying down now hoping for a miracle that likely won’t come.

My wonderful, sweet daughter has assured me that I can live with her and her family should i decide to sell my house. That seems like a fantasy thought. At first I envisioned building a tiny house in her back yard. Reality check: she has a tiny back yard. I would share the space with her chickens and multiple vegetable rows that take up most of the walking space.

I could live underground in her basically windowless finished basement along with her brother-in-law and in-laws when they come to visit. We could all share the 4’ wide shower. Ok, maybe it’s 5’ wide, but it’s tight. And where would I work? I need sun and privacy. I suppose I could rent an office. Where would I plug in my beloved sex mobile? I don’t know. It’s complicated.

There is a mature gentleman that works at City Market. He used to bag the groceries but now due to financial stress on the Co-op, management has reassigned baggers to restocking the shelves. This person is not in great shape. He’s old. His back hurts a great deal of the time. He’s working not for the exciting thrill of it but because he needs the money and health insurance. Yesterday he wheeled a cart full of boxes to the refrigeration section. I watched him struggle trying to lift one of the cases. He can’t last long in this department. What will happen to him?

At one of the restaurants I go to, people leave tiny notes tucked into splits in the wooden beams. I could add a note about him. I’ve always liked him. I look around my very small world with fantasy eyes. I wonder if he would like to come live with me when Gary is gone. Oh, boy …

Reaching for safety.

We just drove around doing tiny errands. We had so much fun coming up with new acronyms like WYD. I say ‘when you die’ quite a bit. Now I’ll say WYD. So much shorter. We laugh. We still both prefer What The Fuck to WTF. That’s in so many of my sentences. It just rattles off my tongue without though. We were driving and I reminded Gary to hook up the garden hoses. For that we came up with BYD. You got it! ‘Before you die’. Now we’re laughing a lot. We’re on a roll. Then he said, ‘Well that will be the last time I ever hook up the hoses. So, we came up with … drum roll … TLT. The last time. Clever, don’t you think?

Ok, a small story about the mouse. Not the big one I had originally planned which involved world peace. Yes, given enough space I could have gotten there, but not today.

Here he is again.

One of the cats picked him up and brought him in - against his will. Usually while they have him outside they soften up his resistance by tossing him playfully in the air a couple of dozen times. There is a name for this. It’s called torture. It’s against the law, but when they think he will submit to a little more play time inside they grab ahold of him with their sweet little teeth and drag him through the cat door.

This time they made the mistake of releasing him once he was inside. They do love the chase and retrieval. He made a bee line for the refrigerator. I didn’t know he was under there but I could see them all hovering around it, waiting for him to try and escape. Later I heard him clearly chewing through the back of my kitchen cabinet trying to find a way out. Frankly, I would have done the same thing if I were him.

I loaded my have-a-heart trap with yummy peanut butter on my favorite cracker and then pulled the refrigerator out. I put the trap down, spoke to him reassuringly that I would find top notch accommodations for him outside. All he had to do was go in the trap. I pushed the refrigerator back in.

I waited a half hour, pulled the refrigerator out and Voilà. He had complied. I took him in the little cage outside. Together we walked around the property until I heard him squeak,’Right here. Mom and dad are under those leaves.’

The end.

Well, almost. I have intended to write about Iran for the past week. No, don’t go, ‘I don’t want to read about Iran’. What if it’s a fun article? Would you read it then?

I am going to guess that you probably know as much about Iran as I do … which is basically zero. There are eight generals - bet you didn’t know that - that are running the country. I thought it would be fun to see if we could identify them and/or pronounce their names. I can’t and I’m looking at them on my desk top.

That’s maybe for next time. Trust me, I’ll make it fun.