It's that--bam!--time of the year

How did it get to be Tuesday? Time and I are not on speaking terms, apparently. It appears I may be taking on a volunteer gig at church that entails being able to read the calendar and various scheduling duties. This may be a stretch for me, as I couldn't figure out which month was the next to have five Sundays.

Maybe it's a math thing, which I never understood. But perhaps I drag that ol' shortcoming out when it doesn't really apply. (A 50-year-old who can't read the calendar is likely challenged by more than math.)

Does grief reduce one's I.Q.? If so, I could be in serious trouble, folks, for as many of you know, I also have, to my discredit, a less-than-brilliant drinking career, which didn't do much for my memory banks.

Is it time to start labeling my furniture and appliances?

Okay, perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself here, but I do worry.

Let's talk about happier things, shall we? Yesterday was one of those freakishly "on" days I have about once every six years or so. (Or so it feels lately.) I was able to get to work early for a women's leadership event (i.e., we had a speaker and free breakfast--sign me up!), then proceeded to take care of several pieces of business in short order. Last night, to top it all off, I went to the local staging of the second phase of The Laramie Project (don't recall it's "official" name, sorry). It was wonderful, it was long, it was sad, it was important. And I knew some of the performers, which always makes things more fun and interesting.

Today, though, I had a productivity-related hangover of some sort. I could barely crawl out of bed and take care of the Bombshell in time to take my car in for its 1,000 mile checkup (well, 1,400 miles, thanks to this weekend's trip) at 8 a.m.

After that, I found it very hard to get anything really, completely done. Started, on its way, but done? Nope. Even tried doing a load of laundry, to try to get something accomplished, but then I killed the washer (or it committed suicide; it's really hard to say). It just died, while I was on the phone with my manager (of course), and it is only a little over three months old. Let's hear it for Consumer Reports!

A little while after that happened, a bird flew right into one of the panes of the large bay window in the living room. Ah, it's that time of year again, when all the birds congregate on our dogwood trees to eat the red berries that proliferate now. I don't know if some of the birds have too many berries to fly safely, or they get too excited by the bounty, or what's impairing my feathered friends, but every dogwood berry season (if there is such a thing), a bird or two flies into our living room window. No one has been seriously hurt, I'm happy to report, but it is quite jarring to hear the sound of bird meeting glass. Bam!

Well, one of today's good pieces of news is tomorrow I get to stay home to work again. The repair people at Sears (thankfully, my washer is under warranty) committed to be here sometime between 8 and 5--isn't that helpful? Almost COMCASTIC, say I.

Speaking of the cable company who belongs in the Red Tape Hall of Shame, today I finished changing all of the remaining bills that had Linda's name on them to mine, and not ONE of these providers required me to come in to an office, a la COMCAST. They didn't even ask for a copy of Linda's death certificate. They just DID it.

I braced myself for trouble when I called Verizon, for I had to cancel Linda's cell phone (completely forgot about that). Knowing how loathe cell phone companies are to lose customers, I thought I might have a struggle on my hands, but there was none. They asked if anyone might want her account and number, but that was about it. Sweet.

So, COMCAST is still leading the Puddin'head Parade as far as yours truly is concerned. They did make me appreciate my other service providers, I will give them that--as a result of their preposterous policies, I was moved to thank each rep I spoke to today who made the name change with ease for making my life that much easier.

One last thing before I'll stop and spare you for today. Late this afternoon, I had to stop in at our attorney's office to sign something and drop off a check. On the way there, I saw a cute couple of young gals walking down Market Street holding hands, and it gave me a pang. Even though Linda and I were never quite cute, nor were we young very long, we did hold hands. Sigh.

This has been a heck of a day, in other words, and after writing this all out, I'm just tuckered. Shwea, of course, is well on her way to Dreamland, and I will be there soon. Good night, friends. Love from me and the Bombshell