Some Trips

Having completed both lists there is no further obstacle to the Florida Death Trip. Unlikely I'll see them both alive again, and I need a break. Cooking for my folks is always fun, Mom watches and we laugh a lot. End of life issues to talk about made easier by the odd fact that for mysterious reasons they've become almost zen at the end. I look forward to it, as a footprint I might follow. Wonderful people, and as I've often said, such a functional family that I was long away from home before I knew there was so much dysfunction in the world. The last couple of days is a haze, do something, consult the list, do the next thing. Final touches on "Wind In The Willows" which opens as I write, clean and stock the bathrooms, get one-night liquor permits for the film opening and whatever the next event, I didn't read the fine print, install an on/off switch on the water cooler (noisy bastard), arrange the rental of a car, go to the library for a couple of books on tape, get a traveler fifth of whiskey so I can have a drink wherever I stop tomorrow night, get some cash at the bank, pay my land taxes. Home, I clean out the fridge and wash containers, pack my laundry basket and ditty bag; I'm ready, I've crossed the t's and dotted the i's. I tell Mom to do nothing, but I know she'll have pot roast waiting, and Texas Toast, and cold slaw. She can't not, even blind and unable to move. When I get back the weeds will be six feet tall and rising. This is, I think, the real world, where things actually happen, shows opening, people dying, wars and such. And I'm amazed we don't just shoot ourselves, as a matter of course. What did Beckett say, "This is the world, but these are my trousers."