Lately (again) I am in the mood to write. Since I have a blog, and since I always have with me my phone, this here is a test to see if they’ll work together.
Currently in Portand, Oregon, on the verge of a week here for work. Sunday brunch at a restaurant called Old Wives’ Tales (Burnside and Sandy.) Just sent a text to Dorothea about the women in the booth behind me. One was saying to the other that she’d gone somewhere to get a turkey for Thanksgiving. Wherever it was, apparently the turkey was initially still alive. Some of the other turkeys had names. She asked what was this turkey’s name? But apparently it was nameless. Reminded me of the skit in Portlandia where they ended up leaving the restaurant and going out to the cult run farm to investigate the origins of their meal. (That chicken had not only a name, but a bio.)
While riding the bus to downtown Minneapolis this morning, I texted Dorothea “can you pick up the car from tires plus?” Nov 16, 2012, 8:37 PM. I’d dropped the Sonata off there yesterday. Walked home. They called, saying alignment needed. Go ahead. Later, they’d called my cell again, left a voicemail. I never did check that voicemail. Assumed they’d left message saying the car was ready. Dorothea texted back “we just got a ticket. Our car was not moved.” Today is the day that the city crews are cleaning our street. I saw the signs yesterday as I walked back from the auto shop, “No Parking Friday 8:00 AM – 6:00 PM” and was thinking at that time of moving the cars. This morning, I forgot, and left the house without a single car thought in my head. The good news: the car didn’t get towed, just ticketed. Also, it was only one ticket, not two, because the other car was in the shop.
Day Two of my little October vacation. Liam asked to be picked up from school so he can bring home a sousaphone to practice for auditions next week. But my hope is to be far away by two o’clock. Thinking Nerstrand or Frontenac.
Last night I wandered over to Kopplin’s and had a cup of green tea. This picture, taken from booth through plate glass window, is of their front door with the address in reverse “2038 Marshall.”
From the blog: We drove to Little Falls yesterday. Dorothea’s aunt celebrated her eightieh birthday at the Senior Center. I was reminded of both my mom’s eightieth and her ninetieth, of who was and wan’t there for each, what they looked like, and how their appearance changed over the decade. 80: my mom was driving and just moved to a townhouse-sort of place. Did things like drive to the farm and Little Falls. 90: stopped driving, and moved into an assisted living facility attached to a nursing home. 80: there were in attendance some still lively cousins of hers and other weird relations; 90: not.
One (at least one) cool thing about Dorothea’s side is that they’ve maintained contact with the side of the family that stayed in Germany. There was a brother who stayed, and a brother who left.
Also, Dorothea fell in love with and spent most of the time sitting next to this guy who looked like and sounded like her father.
(Later in the day, hours after I had posted this, I realized I’d erred using the word “eighth” instead of “eightieth.” First comment: They are both odd words, using usual rules. Second, here’s the beauty of having a blog post rather than just a Facebook entry: I was able to go back and edit. Google+, for instance, also allows for editing.)
Driving west yesterday 6:43 PM, what first looks like dust blowing off the roof of the car ahead of me in traffic, in winter you’ll see that with snow being blown off, but then realized: windshield wiper fluid. Sparkle in level direct straight ahead sun. Just before I’d noted my own windshield was not perfect. Then I saw another plume from another car. Spouting. A pod.
Checking the newspaper this morning, it said sun is now riding/setting directly east-west, causing problems for drivers.
And remembered the magical morning light the day before walking Selby after breakfast.
Then and only then did it come to mind: Equinox.
Spouse and I went this morning to the State Fair. Bicycled there. According to Michael Osterholm, epidemiologist extraordinaire, all county and state fairs should be cancelled because of the H3N2v swine flu. Oh well. (We didn’t see the livestock this year.)
DFL booth. Barak and me. Forgot to go to the Republicans and get my picture with Ronnie.
Literally just hailed them and asked if I could take their picture. Dorothea and I chatted with them. Of course, they both took off their glasses. Didn’t notice til later. They’re in town from Missouri for a wedding.
Ford’s new all-electric Focus. $40,000. Love the way it’s plugged in via a power strip. Which is plugged into a nuclear reactor. Or a coal-fired power plant.
If you ride your bike to the fair, you can park it for free. They must’ve run out of rack space, ’cause there were bikes hanging in the trees.
When my maternal grandparents got married in 1900, they got a gingerbread “kitchen” clock as a wedding gift from the bride’s mother. My parents had it from the time that I was born, fifty-nine years later. I think that it originally sat on the top of the old pump organ in the dining room of the house where I grew up. My memory is that it didn’t run until sometime later when my dad took it into get fixed, sometime in the mid-sixties. It was about that same time that he also bought a grandfather clock, one with the full sixteen-count, on the quarter-hour, Westminster chimes. So, there was a stretch of time while I lived with my parents that there were two chiming clocks running. A fond memory.
In 2007, I put on the back of the “grandmother” clock a yellow post-it note stating that I wanted the clock. My mom was very keen that her children label those things that they wanted. So, with Dorothea’s encouragement, I did. In 2010, as we were moving my mother from assisted living in Sartell to assisted living in White Bear Lake, one of my brothers said that he’d always wanted that clock, and took it. (With the post-it still attached to the back.)
Don’t know why, but after about a month or so, my brother brought the clock back to my mom’s apartment. At this point, fall, 2010, my mom was quite confused about the disappearance and re-appearance of the clock. So, I took it. The photograph of us sitting with the clock was taken with my iPhone on November 7. We’re sitting on a couch in the Cerenity Assisted Living lobby, in front of the dining room. It is a little before noon, and people are hanging out, waiting for the doors to open for lunch.
The clock is now in the spare bedroom/home office/sewing room. And, when I got it there, it didn’t work. Hard to wind and wouldn’t run for more than a few minutes. Then, one day, I moved it, pushed it over a foot or so, to make room so that I could put my laptop next to it, and lo! it started to tick. And it chimed and it kept going.
So, that is a little background on the clock, written on today, Monday. I am home from work, taking a sick day, recovering from the colonoscopy I had this morning. Oh, also: I have a suspicion that it is a haunted clock. Or that it could be a haunted clock. Might make a good Stephen King-like story. The main point that’d add some juice to the haunted angle is the 1923 suicide of my maternal grandfather. He shot himself at the age of fifty. My mom was nine. Complete Tombstone of Wheat sort of thing. (Actually: A gravestone made of wheat : stories / by Will Weaver, Greywolf Press/Simon and Schuster, 1989. So I log on to the library webpage, find the book listed, order it, but get denied. There is a problem with my library card. Oh, I will have to leave the virtual world and actually walk over to the library.)
But, with the clock, even though it is running, there’s a problem. It just struck one, but the hour hand is at four. (Wrote that bit, and what follows, this past weekend.) And here my mind wanders. Me thinks that me writing about my reality is no that different than the guy in Synecdoche, New York creating a play to encompass all of reality. (I just watched the Netflix DVD.) And, a further digression: This also is my colonoscopy prep weekend. Last night (Friday) Dorothea and I went to Rainbow.
Light it was when we went in, dark when we came out. I was moving slowly. Much slower than Dorothea’s usual grocery shopping pace. Bought food for my after-colonoscopy life per recommendations from MNCOME nutritionist. (Both Dorothea and I went to appointment with her on Wednesday morning.)
In the movie, Synecdoche, New York, he’s dying of who knows what. (The main character, Caden Cotard, played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, gets nailed in the forehead while shaving with a sink faucet that goes—literally—ballistic.) To a lesser degree, I find myself somewhat mired in medical stuff. (Typical, typical middle-age stuff—cholesterol, threat of diabetes, screenings for this, for that—for colon cancer.) Parenthetically.
Need to digress and look up winding the clock chime. Was thinking that the last time I regularly heard this clock and the grandfather clock in unison was circa 1977, maybe the early 1980s.
Well, not having much success. I tried winding the right side, but won’t budge. I am thinking that is the chime. The left, I was able to make a few turns with the key. But while I am happy the clock is running and chiming, it is chiming the hour on the half-hour and once at the top of the hour. Also, I am concerned about the right chime, not being able to wind it at all. I was on the verge of paying someone $15 on www.justanswer.com but what I did was I moved the minute hand counter-clockwise just a little bit until I heard a click. The next time, the clock chimed the hour at the top of the hour. I am now working my way through the hours—just passed twelve and need to get to six. So, I am off with Dorothea to see the movie Cedar Rapids at the Riverview. (Saturday night.)
Upon return from the movie, the clock stops ticking as I watch, and I can’t get it started again.
And this ramble ends as I head off to walk to the library.