Coming home was jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire AGAIN. It's 107 degrees, give or take, outside. It's 88 degrees inside the condo. Guess I'm getting acclimated, as 88 is the new comfortable. Last night it was harder to take, what with waking up to worry about getting off work and scheduling air conditioner repairs, and money, money, money I don't have. This evening after a Danger Will Robinson day at work, 88 makes me stoic. It's a rattlesnake, daggumit, just shoot it. Figure out how to pay the bill later. Plus.... it's a dry heat.
It's generally not a good thing to burn down one's place of employment, especially when small children are involved. We've been studying bees, so it was time for the annual snack of toast with honey. The snack-maker allotted 1/9 of a piece of toast per child. I received permission from the bee teacher to toast more bread in the ratzofratz ancient toaster oven. A piece of bread fell on the heating element and burst into flame. I couldn't drag the burning bread out of the toaster-oven. The fire alarm went off, automatically dispatching the firefighters. I unplugged the toaster-oven and got the burning toast out, then helped get the kids out of the building. I would sure love to shoot that sonmuvva toaster-oven.
Met with Dad's hospice nurse. The old guy continues to lose weight, but is still able to do a few things for himself. Although he rarely projects an audible voice when I'm around, he apparently makes his needs know when he's motivated. His agitation is under control. We are at five-plus months on hospice, so a doctor will verify if Dad still qualifies. The nurse offered understanding for me that it's psychologically difficult to reach acceptance of a loved one's inevitable death, but then to go on and on and on...
The condo temp is holding steady. So far I'm good, except when I poured bleach down the condensate drain I somehow punctured the bottle and sprayed bleach on my best black capris and favorite turquoise shirt. If I can't sleep, I can always go sit in the armchair in Dad's cool room.
Time to read more of Floor of Heaven, and carry my imaginary prospector's pack over Chilkoot Pass into the Yukon. The book is cinematic, so I'm not surprised Fox 2000 has acquired the screen rights. Should Brad Pitt play George Carmack, Charlie Siringo, or Soapy Smith?
By the way, I've snowshoed myself into a new project combining photos with papercutting as meditation/observation. You can see it at my 365 Project.
© 2011 Nancy L. Ruder