but that is what describes today, so Hump Day it is. Yesterday another trip to the gym, wonderful to do but wearing on this driver in the summer heat and glare. While KidThree was working out, I went to the hometown (five miles or so down the road) to buy ice cream from our favorite ice cream parlor: pistachio for KidThree, chocolate mint for KidOne, blueberry cheesecake for me, and mocha fudge for the freezer. I was all prepared with the ice chest and a bag of ice, and the ice cream made it home okay. A little too soft to eat right when we got here, but fine after a bit in the freezer. We do that several times a year--bring back our ice cream with us. In the winter, all I have to do is wrap the containers in several towels but in the summer it does need the ice chest.
On the way home, we stopped at Straw Hat Pizza and got a large pepperoni, extra toasted, to go. I do so love Straw Hat Pizza, and there isn't one within an easy traveling distance of home. When I was a kid, I worked at a gift shop in the hometown. Three shops down from us in the little strip mall, right on the end, was a Straw Hat Pizza. I used to call and order a mini-pizza for lunch, then walk around the back of the shop to the take-out window to get it. I do so love Straw Hat Pizza. Yes, it is greasy, but such tasty grease! And I love the floury, almost cracker-like crispness of the crust. There is no longer a Straw Hat in the hometown--it closed years ago--but there is still the one in the next town, which coincidentally is where the special gym is. It is the old kind of Straw Hat, with the take-out window on the side. KidThree is very tolerant of my weakness for Straw Hat pizza, and so we have gotten them three of our four visits so far. When we get home, I package up the leftovers, two pieces together, in ziplocs, then reheat them when needed. It reheats beautifully and I get to indulge and indulge my childhood love. I'm just sorry to say that I don't think I'll be able to swing the cost of another one on Friday, our last visit to the gym. Drat this blasted poverty. That will be it for my Straw Hat fix until we next go down to see the folks.
**a little aside: if anyone ever reads this and has the chance to vote for universal health care, please do. This situation we find ourselves in could happen to anyone. One moment in time robs a family member of the health so many of us take for granted and there goes savings, job, home, everything like that, and you too could end up counting out pennies to see if you've found enough to get the gas necessary to take your child to her specialist. KidThree will be independent one day, it will just take a little longer than with the usual able-bodied teen.
Okay, I will stop preaching. Just felt a little compelled there. One moment of being in the wrong place at the wrong time and there went the lives we knew, gone forever.
Today will be a busy day. KidThree has an appt with her psychologist, then two hours later an appt with a specialist--this appt we've been waiting for for three months and desperately need. Then right after that, we have the support group meeting. This is definitely a KidThree-centered week.
Yesterday we got in the mail Disc One and Disc Two of Season Four of The Wire. We watched all three episodes on the first disc. I had to watch the first episode twice to catch all the nuances, as the show is so full of details and so much is established for the season in the first episode. Today after all our appts we will come home to watch the second disc. My mother told me that she and Dad tried to watch The Wire but were unable to make sense of it. I think what they will need is an interpreter to get them through the first couple of episodes, as they don't speak ghetto. Fortunately for them, I have learned fluent ghetto from KidThree. KidOne and KidTwo came with lessons in Spanish, in which I'm now pretty good, and KidThree taught me ghetto. Being a parent is always such an educational experience; we learn as we teach.
Yesterday I started a book called "Artemisia," about the Italian artist Artemisia Gentileschi, which I found browsing the fiction section at the library and am enjoying it immensely. I'd never heard of this artist or of her father Orazio but am captivated by their story. Not to mention blown away by the beauty of Artemisia's paintings. After I finish the book, I'll look for more information on her art--maybe the library will have a book on her paintings or can find such a book for me. The book was in the fiction section because Artemisia's story called to the author for fictionalization. When I stumble on something like this, I frequently get annoyed at the world for keeping from me something as major as the existence of this brilliant artist. It makes me wonder how much else is out there that I would find this fascinating but am totally unaware of.
Terry Pratchett's DiscWorld novels were like that for me. I've always enjoyed a certain amount of science fiction and fantasy but never had much patience for the sort that involved fairies or heaving bosoms or swords of power and so eventually gave up on the genres because I didn't know how to sort through to find my kind of book. Thus I missed DiscWorld. Fortunately for me, SisterD didn't give up and does the wading through for me. Also fortunately for me, she doesn't re-read as much as I do. When she moved last year, she packed up her entire set of DiscWorld novels and shipped them to me. I was enchanted. Made my way through the entire series and enjoyed it so very much. Each time I read another book I would think, "surely he can't top this," and then the next book he would. This is a set of books my father would love. Unfortunately, because of our two moves last year and then the unexpected arrivals of KidFour and KidOne and then KidFour's departure, my books are in such disarray I could never hope to dig out the first couple of DiscWorld novels, at least not right now. KidOne's furniture and belongings depart in another three or four weeks; I'll look for the DiscWorld books then and take the first couple down to Dad to see how he likes them. Mom won't read them, she hates science fiction. Mom is a funny reader. She loves to read and reads many of the same authors I do, but she refuses to re-read anything, ever, and won't read anything if she thinks it couldn't actually happen. She and I have had some conversations about the not re-reading, as I re-read incessantly and with the good books enjoy them more and more and more, but she just won't do it. When I think of all the nuances and references she misses that way, it makes me shake my head. My mother can be a funny person. She is such a wonderful woman, but does have her idiosyncrasies, as do we all.
This morning I got an email alert from the library: Khaled Hosseini's "A Thousand Splendid Suns" is waiting for me. I should have time to stop to get it on the way out of town for KidThree's appointments, then I'll have it to read while she is with her therapist. What a treat!
Time to go do other things now. Tomorrow will be a more peaceful day. At least there is pizza for breakfast.
A
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