miles to go: 123.80 [YTD:
For starters: it would be nice
if there were no police reports filed this weekend. OK?
No stolen bicycles. No lost
wallets. No automobile break-ins or car stereo thefts or old family
friends being hauled off on felony drug charges. I don't even want an
airport security guard looking at me funny. As a matter of fact, the
less interaction we have with law enforcement personnel of ANY kind,
for any reason, for at least the next 48 hours, the happier I'm
likely to be.
Vomiting, also, is something I
would like to do without. Could we all please avoid vomiting for the
next three days, if at all possible? That goes for sprained ankles,
abscessed molars, infected ingrown toenails, yeast infections,
hayfever, yellow fever, cat scratch fever, cabin fever, Saturday Night
fever or any fever over 98.7º, basically.
I'm not interested in rushing anybody (or anything) to the emergency
room between now and Monday morning. This applies to cats, computers
and elderly Subarus as well as to people.
It should go without saying
that airplane malfunctions will not be tolerated. Neither will ant
infestations, flat tires, exploding Mexican restaurants or burning
Don't even get me started
on cranky Berkeley street vendors.
we're at it I wouldn't
mind if the world could quit blowing itself up, at least until Monday,
but I realize that some things are simply out of my hands. Maybe
I'll just have to settle for asking everybody in Oakland to put their
guns away for the weekend.)
Daughter #1 arrived last night
for her annual holiday shopping pilgrimage to the Bay Area. The past
few times that she and I have been together, including the infamous stolen bicycle visit
last spring, and then my weirdly traumatic trip to TicTac in August
-- have turned out to be filled with far more drama and excitement and
emotional upheaval than either one of us bargained for. This time
around I would just like a nice, simple, uneventful visit with my
almost-21-year-old daughter. A little shopping. A little Vietnamese
food. A little sightseeing. A little maternal wisdom, dispensed over
the half-zip fleece counter at Old Navy. ("Never drink a
martini on an empty stomach, never get into a car with someone who has
been drinking, never sit on a barstool wearing leather pants."") Considering how long
Jaymi and I usually have to wait between our visits ... considering how
hard we have to work during the between-time just to make the visits
happen, and how much it means to us both ... this doesn't seem like an
I'm not going to get picky
about small details. Weather isn't an issue, for instance. It can rain
cats and dogs and Fanta Pineapple Soda all weekend long for all we
care: we're going to be inside a variety of climate-controlled
department stores and shopping malls for most of the weekend, anyway.
(Except for Sunday morning, when we strap her to a bicycle and force
her to ride to the Navy Base with us.) Money isn't an
issue, either. I have very carefully outlined and developed a special
Spending Plan, just for this visit. (Mom's Spending Plan: dump it all
onto the one viable credit card, and then win the lottery in
January.) The only *issue,* really, is spending quality time together
... and not having to fill out a police report or a
promissory note or a hospital admission form in the process.
Is that too much to ask?
I'm not asking for a perfect
weekend. Perfection is too much work. (Plus perfection sets too high a
standard for future visits. And it makes for a lousy journal entry,
after she goes home.) I would simply appreciate it if we could all just
sort of declare a 48-hour moratorium on bad news and unpleasant
surprises and people treating each other like crap, just for the next
couple of days ... just until Monday morning, when her visit is over
and she's gone home to TicTac and I'm back in the Dirt Company office,
weeping over my anticipated soil movement calculations report. Then the
world can resume its regularly-scheduled dysfunction.
Until then, I expect us all
in memory of marcella degrasse