Dregs of the summer that was not

The kid is armpit deep in a movie marathon. Her only desired trips are to the library to swap an old stack for a new stack of DVD’s. Today is too beautiful. I threw open the door and told the cat Laura really should mow the grass. The grass we defended from the four wheeled churning machine. And she went. I don’t hear the sound of a reel mower down the side yard yet, so she must be over doing Cathy’s and our shared yard. I love the sound of a reel mower. 

We are invited to a cookout at the old house, at six. Kay invites us to “do’s” at her house often, and they are a delight, if for no other reason than watching a new person use the old house and the old kitchen. Kay is left handed and right brained, too, and seeing her process food literally opposite, and put a fine meal on the table is worth the wait. Her brothers are visiting from Texas; it’s a celebration.

I opened my email to find the pictures I’d just sent. It’s the way I process pictures; I limit my learning to things that really interest me. I found not one, but two emails with band directives. Relentless. I began to write “ruthless” and reconsidered. Ruthless just flowed from my finger tips. I know when these kids are parents, driving twice a week, they will be as committed as the kids. Dear god, parents swarm past a grandmother delivering the band, to get to the tail gate party.  I’ve begun delivering Laura and whoever I’m driving to the auditorium door. They can walk. I’m committed to getting the job done.

Being comatose for April, and essentially incommunicado for May took a direct hit on my crapped out thyroid. The DC neuro’s would have none of those Ohio meds; they stuffed me with anti-seizure and skipped the synthroid. But the real damage was back here, where the rehab doctors were satisfied with generic synthroid, nevermind the real stuff my daughter brought and they locked up in the nurses station. Damn the T3, T4 and TSH results, full generic ahead. My endocrinologist has not regained control in the last two months, and my nice new hair is sprinkled on the pillow, in the sink. Like I told Procrastinating Donkey, be careful what you wish for; the nice haircut will only last two months.

Two weeks, two days, three band practices, one band show and a backpack of movies until school starts.