The Whirligig Caper, and my Life as it is

A strange night in Sacramento, it rained nearly all last night, which almost never happens in June. In addition to the rain, some very tacky whirligigs miraculously fell on our lawn as. I suspect that means are neighbors described in a recent entry must’ve got into the sauce last night. I think within a few days, I’ll take them down (the whirligigs, not the neighbors), and save them for a good retaliation opportunity. Maybe I’ll run across a cheap glow-in-the-dark plastic Mary shrine or something like that.

Kathleen has had a backache this week and is staying home from work. I feel somewhat guilty about this (that’s a surprise, I know). But really, I feel like her sore back is partially driven by all the stress she’s carried for the last few years from all my health issues, and becoming the chief breadwinner. I am thankful that my life has at least prepared me to be good at and willing to do cleaning and cooking, or else who knows what.

Summer sessions start next week at work, and I already have four classes lined up. The students do not yet know that I will generate 2 hours per week homework for each student. Nor do they know that the parents have signed contracts promising to force, beg cajole, etc. the kids to do their homework. I can’t wait to spring this on them. The little taters will now only have time for about 90 hours of TV each week.

Next week we’ll get our act together for our trip to Wisconsin. More or less throwing clothes into bags and stockpiling drugs. Also making plans to see lots of people. The trip should be a blast. I really enjoyed the last time I visited, even though Kathleen was not able to join me. Both my sister and my parents have membership cards that allow us to buy beer at the Union. My underlying mission in this trio is to be careful what I eat (mostly how much) so I avoid any sleepless nights. I tend to follow those nights with grumpy old-fart days.

Speaking of sleepless nights, at Kathleen’s prompting, I have been reading Proust and enjoying it a lot. I think I previously avoided Proust out of fear of all the boring and pretentious literary criticism surrounding the work. I even liked the 20 or so pages about turning over in bed.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.