GOOD, BECAUSE I MISS HIM.

I can't believe that so much time has passed since my last blog entry.
We got Xan off to Tucson alright. She had the good fortune of sharing a whole row by herself with another young (homeschooler to boot!) girl who was travelling alone as well. The plane arrived an hour early. Dig that...an hour early. The Continental folks whisked her off to some office where she waited for an hour and a half for Keith to finally catch up with her and all the miscommunication with the airline. I've got a great picture of her on the airplane with the captain. Will have to download it later as I am using my friend's computer.
Which brings me to the present. I went to my Mom's for 5 days and hung out with her while she had cataract surgery. Then I came here to Andy's to cat sit. Two days by myself with no phone or car. Downright unamerican. Downright decadent, if you ask me. Yesterday I watched Hitch (cute), The Public Eye (very good flic), and The Weatherman (depressing and quite real). Here I am ALONE. Just me and the kitties. And, of course, a good book. I am reading "Thud" by Terry Pratchett. I just got turned onto Terry Pratchett and am enjoying him.
Mom's: I think my max 'Mom limit' is about 4 days. Sad to say, sad to admit. She really does drive me bonkers. Even that was too humorous for the actual emotions. She is a frustrating woman very self centered and is pretty negative these days. I have been thinking about aging. I believe that as we grow older we can choose to just settle into a part of ourselves. That part is of your choosing. Me? I want to be old and funny and cute. Loose my mind with an air of the absent minded professor. Hum dee doe-doe and loveable. My Mom who is witty and intelligent is choosing the unattractive parts of herself to hunker down into in her elder years. She wants to complain about others and play emotional mind games with her (maybe boyfriend) bridge partner. I have been bold with her and told her to stop complaining about him and their relationship if she is not willing to TALK to him about how she feels. She keeps telling me it's how her generation operates.
A weird thing happened on this trip. I never am comfortable in my parents' house. I never sleep well. This time on the second night that I was there something sat on the bed next to me. At first I thought that my cat, Ethel, had jumped on the bed then I realized that was not possible and woke up out of a sound sleep flailing my body across the bed to get rid of my unseen entruder. I always have this feeling when I am at parents' house that there is something that wants my attention. So, when I am there without my family and I am sleeping alone upstairs I always tell this non-seen thing that I am not interested in it getting my attention. I do this before I go to sleep. Not this time, I was doing it in the wee hours of the morning that I was not interested in having my attention 'got' at this or any other time. Oh yeah, I went back to sleep. Sometime I will tell you about my mother-in-law trying to get my attention be driving behind me in her car (after she had passed over, of course) and I knew damn well that she wanted me to pull over and talk to me. Michael has asked on several ocassions "Why didn't you stop?". Let me tell you I was not and am not interested in my mother-in-law wanting me to fix her daughter. Not my job. Don't want to go there. And I knew damn well that's what she wanted to talk about way back in April of 2006.
Life is weird.
Michael and Stuart, his brother, got to go over to their mom's house and pick up items of personal property. The horrid sister gave them one day only to complete a daunting task. As with all stories of this estate it is long and involved and I am not going to go into it. Suffice to say that we now have a storage unit and this is far from over. She continues to be dishonest and dishonorable. I choice these words diplomatically.
I am off to reconcile my bank statements to my check books. This way I won't feel like a total slouch.
Michael will arrive tonight. Good, because I miss him.