You would think, with Lightbreaker turned in and HARRY wrapped up, that things would be a bit quieter around here. But, eh, not so much. Melissa’s step-grandmother has just opted to not continue dialysis and so she’s in her final days. Getting Melissa down south for a last visit has been complicated by the fact that she had a final exam today for a class that has been devouring her for the last six months (which she could have postponed, but, yeah, I think we all knew that not a lot more studying was going to happen, especially with everything else that is going on), and gee! lookit! I-5 is CLOSED. First time in over forty years. The Apocalyptic Deluge of ’07 sent water over the road in Lewis County and there ain’t no real way to get from Seattle to Portland kids, unless you want to drive 440 FREAKIN’ MILES out of your way (a seven hour detour–on a good day, in decent weather, without every insane truck driver in the PacNoWest trying to get a load from there to here). Amtrak isn’t running either. So, after her final today, she packed and I just put her on a plane tonight. Hopefully Grandma is still coherent by the time she gets there.
Grandma, to her credit, is one of those tough old birds. When I talked to her on Monday to ask/beg/weep for her to do one more dialysis treatment (the doctors say that it’s about five days post that your kidneys start shutting down, which leads to, you know, the end), she gave me the voice. That TONE that says, “Listen to me good, young man, because I’m only saying this ONCE. EVER.” The voice said, “No.” And the voice also said. “I”ll be here on Thursday.” As if she has no place else to be.
I hear the game shows are pretty entertaining during the afternoon. Thank goodness for that levity.
We had just had a talk about me being ready to watch the kids on my own for more than one day, and I had told her I was game. I looked my wife in the eye and said, “Yes, ma’am. I know where the binkies are. I know which end needs cream and which end needs chow, and I know that sometimes things come out of one of those ends. That stuff, yeah, I’m not supposed to touch that. And I know that if they cry, I don’t need to cry too. That doesn’t help much.” And look, here I am. Me and the kids for four days. Wheee!
So, yeah, if responses are cryptic, nonsensical or simply not there, blame Solomon. He’s probably trying to find pbskids.org or boobah.com and is just whanging every key and button he can find.