Kicking a crummy week to the curb

Laura and I had a lunch date with good friends, including Laura’s “boss”. I call call Deb “boss” so I can tease Laura. Deb is her friend and mentor and helping her learn the art of porcelain clay. I love typing that word: p-o-r--c-e--l-a-i-n. But, a bad day got in the way of one of them, and we will reschedule.

I am a gasoline coward. Occasionally I let it slide under a quarter tank, but not often. Except this week; I put the car in the drive last night, needle hovering between 1/16 and Empty. I got Laura from the library yesterday, which I’ve used as my unacknowledged babysitter for the last six years. They get some of my tax dollars, nowhere near their value as mentors and teachers. And, I kept driving and the needle kept going down.

“We love Laura,” Randy, the library’s director, says, as I thank him again. “She’s never bounced a ball off the glass window wall in the reading room. And if she had, and I sent her outside to bounce the ball in the courtyard, you wouldn’t yell at me. She does trade shoes with Annie, but mostly sits and reads.”

Today’s very first job was gas. I have a pumper again. First there was Hamilton, then Emily. They are only two years apart. I pumped gas again this year, because Laura was not legally able. Now she has a temporary driver’s license, she’s still legally too young, but legally allowed. Go figure, Ohio.

Laura had her last paycheck to deposit. We worked our way into Hudson by a route that is a miracle; it feels like driving into The Twilight Zone.  

“We’ll pass the bread store,” Laura volunteered. I pulled into Great Lakes Bakery. Laura got a loaf of bread and a bag of cookies. I got two or three kinds of scones. “I put in an extra oatmeal/cranberry,” said the clerk, “for a midnight snack.” It won’t last that long.

Back on the trail of the bank, we saw a great license plate. Does it refer to the fish, or the fisherman? 

Back to business, I mentioned The Great American Eclipse is nearing. We need glasses, which I have not located. On-line is too late and the couple of opticians I’ve called had no idea. “Clip on sunglasses? No, we don’t have any.”

However, we did reach the bank. “I have over four thousand dollars!” announced my discreet granddaughter, as she came back to the car. 

“There’s another optician on the way home, by Denny’s,”  I said. “Let’s ask.” “You mean Perkins.” I pulled into the opticians and we asked the receptionist. “I was asked already this morning,” she said, “and I had no idea except I stopped at Acme on the way and there is a display, just to the left when you go in the door.”

We drove to the other end of the parking lot, to Acme, and bought four pair. You never know.

A neighbor’s hibiscus, on the way home. I came in and checked the little MP3 player I left charging. I must leave in a few minutes and I’ll tell Kathleen about “Portrait of a Lady,” and she’ll tell me what I already told myself. I found out this week, the big red bus driver has my library. This week I did not know Henry James. When told he’s a great American author my brain fumbled and fumbled for a book, and came up with nothing. 

The next morning I woke up and knew six years of college literature, an undergraduate and a graduate degree were gone. I couldn't think of any authors. All day I could not look, through tears, on the computer for references. So, Randy looked for me, and hugged me before I left.

Today I told Kathleen, counselor nonpareil, about “Portrait.” I sobbed through half a box of Kleenex and we laughed about using disinfectant on the sofa when I left.  Her best solution was mine: sue the effing big red bus for millions and millions. And go home and download “Portrait” and begin listening. So, that’s the week this week. One week and one band practice until school starts.