I forget who sang that song. “Pain makes you beautiful. I am no good for you, but then you’re no good for yourself. I give you pain, pain makes you beautiful…” Tortured artists and their tortured significant others, go team.
Baby Mikey is in the hospital and I have only heard second hand from my very reliable source (daddy/grampa) that he is/was to be transferred via whirly lighted ambulance to Oakland Children’s Hospital so he can get good pediatric care, him being of the pediatric persuasion. Be good, Baby Mikey. Get better. Have to. Have to. I’m very worried, but I know there’s nothing I can do, so tomorrow (rather, today, after I’ve been to bed and back up though no guarantee of sleep in the mix) Court and I (unless I make Court stay home and not subject him to hospitals again – didn’t we just get home?!) will go see Ewa and Sweet Pea Mikey. *sad face* Be good Baby Mikey! Get better. Have to.
Christmas Eve, Danish style was Christmas Eve…only 2 nights ago, can you believe it? John and Anne and Terry and Arne (I don’t actually know how to spell his name but he’s a terrific guy) had already started eating by the time Court and I entered the scene. Really, I have GOT to do something about this chronic lateness disease. I was SO ready too…and then I rememberd (as I always remember SOMETHING at the last minute) that Anne had asked (her only wish for Christmas) for a DVD of last Christmas’ family fun/torture (depends on who you ask). So I iDVD’d it but then waited in very tortured woe-is-me-and-my-lateness for a very long time while the program read and re-read and filtered and did whatever it needed to do before it spat out a real live DVD with stuff I had put on it. I felt so proud…and would have felt even better if it weren’t for the fact that this baby was well past it’s due date, and Court and I were way past our Christmas Dinner Date. I’m pretty sure John and Anne forgave us. Arne won the marzipan pig, so he’s happy, and Terry fled from the papparazi (which was me) which I thought was too bad because she is quite dynamic on film. I also don’t want to think that things I am doing are driving people away (unless that is the actual intent) but Anne and I have so much fun looking at our collective past media. We like memories.
Anne stole our raincoats. She’s a sneaky one. They disappeared the moment we stepped into her house in Port Costa…so I had to meet her in a neutral area by myself to make the trade. Solano Ave. Book Store. I was to park in front of Andronicos at a meter. I was then to go inside the store and wait in the Express line (as all the non-express lines flew like doves from a wedding)to buy money from the cashier in the form of a roll of quarters. I was to walk to my car and place a quarter in the meter standing at the passenger side bumper of my car, and I was then to notice that, in fact, I had just fed someone elses’s meter and mine was located at top left of the driver’s side. That’s how she knew it was me. Or would have, if she had been on the street. Instead, she was in the bookstore with her back to the door so I could lasso her with my cashmere scarf and scare the whole store when she screamed, though no one offered assistance. I explained my meter story to her to which she freaked out and said “I didn’t even remember to pay my meter!!!”. So we rushed across the street to feed her meter and the deal was set in motion. The deal was: Meet. Eat. Talk. Laugh a lot. Jacket Pass-off. Hug. Depart. We only strayed from this plan after eating at Zachary’s pizza, and trying to walk off a smidge of the food coma with Peets by straying into a few shops open the day after Christmas. I bought a beautiful cover for the futon I work on…question is: How do I muster the energy (both mental and physical) to clear off said futon and bundle it in it’s new duds? I got 2 episodes into Smallville Season 4 and 1 red coral and swarovski crystal necklace into my mental preparation, then got hungry and had to eat more Zachary’s pizza. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow I get to see Baby Mikey. Maybe tomorrow he gets to go home. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get my priorities straight. I don’t want Ewa to hurt anymore. Get better Baby Mikey. Be Good. Love, Auntie Shelby
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