Breathing Sleep Breaths
November 19, 1999
6:11 a.m.
Wzxing? Did I actually type Wzxing in yesterday's entry? That's pretty bad even for me. Don't tell me about any other typos. hey, I was tired. Anyway, I'm back. Spent the first part of the morning transferring files from my laptop to my desktop. Netscape mail files are a pain in the tush, you know? I'm sure there must be a way to do some straight import, but heaven forbid they make it easy to figure out. Enough geeky junk, though. I had planned to work on the novel pretty much exclusively on the trip back, but managed to get seated right next to an older lady who worked at Disney World. Both her and her husband were hired at the same time, but now she's scaled back since her husband got sick and desn't work. She had broken her wrist three months ago, though, and hadn't worked since then. She had a brace on for the first two months--with pins and everything. But her mobility is coming back. She was visiting her daughter, and had a grandson's thing to do at 5:00 and a granddaughter's thing to do at 7:30. Disney gives their employees a real discount on lots of stuff, 40% off on store things, and the opportunity to get reduced rates on the hotels. She managed to get her daughter's family in for a really good rate for a whole week once. She runs an entry into Magic Kingdom, and once she had a person who wouldn't give her ticket up because they didn't want to get germs--can you imagine that? Well, they stamped it. Another time a sub-contractor wanted in, but she couldn't let him in because sub-contractors aren't supposed to come in the main attraction gates, they're supposed to come in the back way. She had to get security to handle it... She was a really sweet lady. But I only got about three pages of material finished. I got into town in just enough time to make it to Brigid's school's Spell Bowl. I saw her as her team was walking in, snuck up and tapped her on the shoulder. Her face got a huge smile, and she immediately threw her arms around me. Needless to say, it was nice. Then I snuck through the auditorium until I found Lisa. Along the way, one of the team coaches saw me and, apparently mistaking me for someone who knew anything, asked if she could get some extra chairs. I was about to say I didn't know, when I noticed a big rack of chairs to one side. So, I just smiled and said sure, I would get right to it. A moment later, they had two extra chairs and were seated just fine. I finally found Lisa, and managed to come to sit down next to her before she noticed I was there. She seemed pleased to see me. :) Godiva does wonders, folks. Brigid's team did great, of course.   There's a feeling that comes with returning to the place you call home. It's a sense of rightness, for me, anyway. Yes, there's a big old world out there, and yes, it's got some really exciting things in it. I can even, occasionally wzx [grin] semi-eloquently on them. But coming home puts an invisible box around everything. I was reading Diana talk about getting ready for work, and strapping herseslf into all this equipment. It all seemed very ritualistic--and I suppose it is. Like an NFL player preparing for a game. But there's something equally comforting about the processess of getting back home, of getting back into the flow of your regular life. I was getting ready for bed last night, and realized something was wrong, though. Something seemed to be missing. I walked back into Brigid's darkened room (Lisa had just faded to sleep, so I didn't want t wake her). "Hey, I said. Where's Rika?" The cat and I, you see, have this relationship. I come in the door, and she meows and rubs my le until I feed. her. i was so busy coming home, that I didn't pay attention to the fact that I missed that. And in the quietness of brushing my teeth and all that, that vacuum had suddenly hit. Brigid sat up, "Hmmm...maybe she's in the garage." I looked at Brigid. "Well," she said. "When you were coming in, I left the door open a little so you could make it with your suitcases." She got out of bed and we walked downstairs. She opened the door. A flash of brown and black and white shot in through the door, meowing raggedly in that "feed me or I'll call the PETA people on you" voice. So I fed her. I didn't want to spend a night in the PETA slammer, you know? I mean, those people can be viscious! As I brushed my teeth, Rika walked around the bowl of the sink, like she always does. And she got a drink when I was done, like she always does. When I slipped into bed, she walked on my chest, like always. I crooked my arm out. Two circles, a heavy plop, her spine against my arm, her front paws sticking up, her whiskers brushing annoyingly against my cheek. Lisa was breathing sleep breaths to my left. For the first night in awhile, I slept soundly. Have a good one. Many Thanks to Shannon Wendt for her award   "Get back to work, Ron" Daily Persistence is © Ron Collins |
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"While many talk like philosophers and live like fools, the Taurus endures." Yesterday's horoscope calendar |
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