Possumblog

That was one long night.

It actually started yesterday morning when I was driving the kids to school, and we passed by the library. I asked Oldest if she was through with all of those Shakespeare books she had checked out.

You know, so we could maybe return them early.

“Mm-yeah. I just need to copy the pages I used.”

“Do what?”

“I have to copy the pages from the books that I used. You know, the books on the works cited page?”

“YES, I understand that--but…” grr. GRRGRR. GRR. And then some.

Copies of the pages. And the books were still at home.

“I have to have it tomorrow.”

GRR! And she has to have it tomorrow. I.e., today. And there was no time to go back and get them so I could make copies myself on something like a high-speed digital copier. Since I didn’t know when Reba was going to get home last night, there was no way of knowing if I would be free enough from cooking and kid-tending to be able to take the books someplace with a copier, which meant that I was going to have to use my achingly slow scanner and then print them out.

I just sat there in silence for minute, wondering what next drop of informational water torture she would let fall onto my forehead. I finally calmed down enough to quietly ask her to please in the future allow us some time to make copies, if they are needed, so that we can take the books with us. “M’kay.” Grr.

So, last night, got the call from Miss Reba that the inspection team was finished and she was actually going to get to come home early! HOORAY! And could I put the steaks on to cook?

Well, yes, I suppose I could, but it would mean that I would have to wait longer before starting my scanning and... “Sure, thing sugar! Sounds good!” Well, it was time to start cooking outside again. I needed the break.

Got home, got the kids unloaded, I changed into my grilling clothes, and with sounds of dreamy harp-like music playing on the internal mental soundtrack, I swooshed off the grill cover, laid it aside, and raised the lid.

Yikes.

That’s gonna need some cleaning.

I suppose.

I got the grill brush and started scrubbing off the major rust from the rack and then, in order to REALLY knock the klinker off, I dropped the rack from about waist-high flat down onto the patio.

THAT got the rust off! Of course, it being as old as it is, there’s not much left to the rack except rust. There’s also a little sheetmetal cover that fits over the burners to keep hot grease from falling directly onto them. It’s looking a little eaten of the tinworm itself. Time for some upkeep, methinks.

Got the rest of the loose rust off, and grabbed the lighter. Gas on, gas flowing, wait a minute or two to let it get that garlicky smell build up all over the place, click, FOOOM! (Not really--just turned the knob and lit it. I’m not that foolish.) Then I got the can of PAM no-stick goo and sprayed it onto the rack so the meat wouldn’t stick. (Okay, I AM that foolish. But it was quicker than having to turn the flames back off, spray it, and relight it.)

Went back inside and prepped the meat, which was about the size of something Fred Flintstone would eat. Salt and pepper, then got the knife out and cut them into six so I could share with Wilma and Barney and Betty and Pebbles and Bam-Bam, back out, lid up, singe all my body hair off, and throw the cow on there and listen to it sizzle. Seared it, turned it, seared it, turned it and then cut the heat down low and closed the lid.

Ahhh. Time to finally sit down for a while and take in the atmosphere.

Nice and cool after the rain. I sat down on the stone bench and noticed the wisteria on the arbor has finally gotten started blooming, Rebecca’s sycamore and the big maple tree at the back are leafing out nicely, several birds were making use of the feeders. It sure was nice--summer evenings you have to listen to everyone’s air conditioning condenser running full blast, or screaming kids, or cicadas, or various combinations thereof. This was just about perfect--since it was wet, no kids; cool enough not to need the A/C; and there were no loud bugs.

Of course, it was too quiet and restful, so I decided to jump back into the flower bed behind where I was sitting and break off the old dried up canes from the hosta. I guess you’re supposed to cut these when they drop their blooms, but I just always leave them until the new growth starts coming in. That way, they just pull right up or break right off. They actually look pretty neat--I suppose you could probably make something out of them all artsy-craftsy. I squished out to the compost pile and dropped them on there.

I then decided it would be nice to get a few pictures of the tranquil surroundings to share with you. I took some of the bench, and the fountain, and the trees, and the steaks and the neighbors’ houses. I fully intended to transfer them last night and post them. But, surely you haven’t forgotten the Teenaged Undisclosed-Info Torture, have you?

Steaks done perfectly, inside, salad, beans, strawberry shortcake (only a little for me, thanks, I’m watching my figure. Expand.) Kids upstairs, clean up, get trash together, take can to curb, and FINALLY get ready to go upstairs and start scanning.

Computer on, sit down. “Dad?” Uh-oh.

“Here.”

“What’s this?”

“That’s the rest of the corrections to the draft by [Some Girl Whose Name I Can’t Remember Now]!”

::sigh::

This is the second person to “proof” her paper. And she apparently has all the verbal and grammar skills of the typical American 15-year-old. She had gone through and marked all kinds of stuff in big swirly teengirl purple-penned handwriting, including several snotty admonitions that dates such as 1492 needed to be spelled out; and that sentences, which had, no commas, needed, commas, where none were, needed. And then there were further twittering comments regarding various passages that needed further exposition. “WHO!?” “WHAT!?” “WHAT DOES THIS MEAN!?”

In fairness, they were probably fair questions, and the paper could have used a bit more thought--thought that I was incredibly unwilling to provide, seeing as how I am so stupid and old and out of touch.

“Ashley, what are you going to write where she has these marks? Are you going to write any more to go with this?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I DON’T KNOW WHAT SHE WANTS! I COULDN’T ASK HER WHAT SHE MEANT! I DON’T KNOW! NO? SHE NEVER SAID WHAT SHE MEANT!”

::sigh::

Fine.

I went back and fixed a couple of things that didn’t need fixing, and was about to print it off when Reba came up behind me and hugged me.

Awww! I love her! And since she was about to take her shower, she had stripped down to her slip. Rrowll!

“Did Ashley tell you she needed a manila envelope to put her paper and copies in?” ::sigh::

I laughed.

I laughed the laugh of various insane men in several Twilight Zone episodes who go stark raving mad about aliens or demons or waitresses or monsters, and they just fall down on their knees and laugh and laugh and laugh. (It’s to keep from screaming, you know.)

“Ah, no, Reba. She did not tell me she needed a manila envelope to place her paper in. And I suppose it HAS to be a manila-colored envelope, and any one of the several thousand white, or pink, or green 10 x 13 envelopes we have would be entirely unacceptable?”

“Probably. When you go to the store, would you get me a Coke? You can go in my car--it’s even got half a tank of gas!” And then she hugged me again.

“Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha,” I laughed. And LAUGHED AND LAUGHED! Good thing I still had my grilling clothes on. And likewise a good thing that she had just her underwear on.

Off to the foot of the hill, where I walked in to the Food World as the night floor-cleaning crew was going about jabbering and waxing, got a three pack of manila envelopes, then decided we probably needed milk, and frozen waffles, and a Road & Track. DANG IT! They were all out of crack.

Home, print final copy of Shakespeare paper, and then start the process of scanning and printing. Luckily, I had forced Oldest to go through and mark each page I was to copy. It made it approximately three minutes faster. Which means a lot when you don’t get through with things until around midnight:30.

So, I am very sleepy this afternoon.

And the weekend? Well, I have to leave early today to go pick up Boy and take him for his orthodontic checkup, so there’s that. He also wants a haircut, so we’ll have to go see Miss Alisha sometime in the next few days. There’s a stack of laundry, and church, and someone keeps mentioning all the pretty plants at Marvin’s. I just hope I remember to tell the kids before they go to bed tonight not to get up at dawn tomorrow and begin their science experiment in creating the world’s loudest noise.

ANYway, it’s been a long week, but I have a spiffy new blog home, that still doesn’t remember people who have left comments. I thought I might be able to find a fix, but it seems this is somewhere in a set of templates and instructions that I don’t have access to. Jim Smith found a kinda sorta work-around, noting that if I have an extended entry, when that popup box pops up, it somehow remembers you (if you click “yes” to “Remember my Information”) when the other popup screens won’t. I don’t know why. It is a Munuvian mystery. But anyway, in order to help out, I will add just a bit more below in the extended entry section, and let you see if it works.

All of you have a great weekend, and I’ll--

--see you Monday!

Posted by Terry Oglesby at April 8, 2005 03:04 PM