Friday Bag o’ News

ur,backpack_front,wide_portrait,750x1000I thought I’d given up on Jack Reacher novels. Lee Child quit writing them four installments back, passing the torch to his younger brother Andrew. Andrew is not Lee, and some of the oomph went out of the stories, which began to feel like an artificial intelligence was cranking them out. But I couldn’t resist picking up the most recent one, The Secret, at the local library, and whaddya know, the oomph is creeping back. Maybe Lee’s doing more than looking over Andrew’s shoulder, or maybe Andrew’s just getting better … either way, I’m glad Jack’s back.

Polly’s cat Grills has passed. Besides old age, it suffered from intestinal blockage, and Polly agonized over having it euthanized. In the end she couldn’t bring herself to do it, and the poor thing had to crawl to the finish line on its own. I’m perversely happy to report that during it’s final tormented night on earth, it bit Polly’s finger, which is now infected and swollen. So swollen Polly had to drive to the fire station, where they cut the ring off that finger for her, apparently one of the many services fire departments provide to taxpayers. But don’t quote me on that. Maybe she just sweet-talked them into doing it.

I suggested she bury it in the back yard, alongside our late cat Chewie and Polly’s parrot Skipper, but Donna took it to the pet cemetery instead and had it cremated. I had plans for that hundred bucks, which are now on a back burner. If I sound callous, well, I kind of am. Donna and I never wanted the cat in our house in the first place, and Polly kept it confined in the guest bedroom she’s squatting in. We rarely saw it. The dogs knew it was there and sensed how sick it was. Last couple of days, they parked themselves in front of the closed door to Polly’s room. They knew what was up.

I’m making a pot of chili today, and cornbread. When I got up at dawn to let the dogs out and prepare their breakfast, I assembled the ingredients on one corner of the kitchen island. When Donna emerged for her coffee fix she gave me side-eye. Like, look at this OCD husband of mine. If I was really OCD, I responded, I’d take out the ingredients for the cornbread, too, and arrange them alphabetically on another corner. Along with the mixing bowl, measuring cup, whisk, and baking dish. And then proceeded to do exactly that. Obsessive. Hmph.

It’s now 10 a.m. I probably won’t start on the chili until 2 p.m. Mix and bake the cornbread? About a half-hour before dinner, so it’s still warm. But hey, it never hurts to be prepared.

One thought on “Friday Bag o’ News

  • Cat bites and scratches tend toward infection. I had to get a swollen finger an antibiotic shot from a cat bite from my semi-feral pal Yellowboy. This was early in his re-socialization and my fault for moving too fast while taking burrs and foxtails from his long yellow fur. Which never matts despite him living in creekside wild suburbia. He’s never done it again and now I often pet him (nobody else can!) and pull burrs off him with no attacks. In fact he likes it, tolerating some sharp pulls to dislodge them.
    Your over fastidiousness and attention to detail- remember Phil Hartman’s Anal Retentive Carpenter on SNL back when it was occasionally funny- is probably a result of fighter pilot training where every decision and action must be close to perfect lest ye smite the earth and perish. And your natural tendencies leading to your flying success. Extreme attention to detail is what allowed you to become a USAF pilot and survive and thrive in a (literally) killer job. So be proud of your low level OCD tendencies, probably why you’re still on the green side of the sod at your advanced age while many of your training tranche are asleep in the deep or ‘burned beyond recognition’- a horribly chilling phrase but still an anodyne euphemism.
    Tod recently posted…Headless CB Guitar Build: Day II, Attaching ‘Tailpiece’My Profile

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