Wednesday, November 10, 2010


The day starts like a typical weekday for me. I awake, and slither my way into the shower stall, emerging semi-human. I make coffee, warm up the milk, shake a little cocoa in, and survey the kitchen for crumbs to be swept.

After checking my email, and downing my cafe mocha, I whirl my vacuum cleaner around, hang the laundry on the clean tech dryer (aka the laundry drying rack), and tackle more emails. This morning, I have a power walk with an acquaintance in town. Charlie knows something is up and gets ready too. We make it down together to the first cross street, where Charlie stalls. This forces me to take him home, hop into my batmobile and speed down to the meeting point. Gorgeous weather and intriguing conversation ensue.

In the afternoon, I head into San Francisco to meet a delightful person to discuss business. My phone rings, which I silence with apologies. Two hours later, I hear my youngest on voice mail asking for a ride home from school since he has his trombone and cannot manage that and his back pack on a bike. I summon help from my spouse, who swoops up the baby who has practically turned into an ice cream. The pain of thinking of the wait in front of school alone.... His siblings are right in their cool critique - why didn't he call papa in the first place? Why did he not think ahead? He spends hours at the library anyway, what's the difference spending it in front of school? HOWEVER, my heart aches and I feel bad as I zoom home to check his pulse. OBVIOUSLY, he lives and is NOT AT ALL traumatized.

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