I write these words just before 10pm Monday night. I return to work, to reality, and to the dentist, on Tuesday.
The dentist visit this time will be with the hygienist. They're always female. Always. I have a theory about that. Women's fingers are smaller than men's, nearly all of the time. They can get in your mouth without your even knowing it. A man's fingers are huge by comparison. Impossible for him to get in your pie hole without your noticing it.
Mom was glad that I could stay with her for another day, but sad when I left today. I didn't want to leave either. While it's getting a little cold to hang out in the unheated garage on the property, I nonetheless did that this morning. I puttered around in there, listening to the radio that I keep in there (did you think I wouldn't have one out there? Well, did you?), and reflecting on the times I spent in there as a kid.
Over the course of the last several months, I have been cleaning off the work area in that garage. Dad had it run nearly the entire width of the garage, probably 12 feet. He installed a few things such as a vise grip and one of those electronic wetstone things you sharpen blades with. Those things are still there. The vise grip was seized up through many years of disuse, so I drenched it in wd-40. 10 minutes later, it was as good as new.
The work area is largely cleaned off. The crap I found on the area was thrown into 4 different large clear bags that went out last month as part of the Fall clean up in the Valley. Also got rid of an ancient light fixture that was replaced with a nice new one. You may dimly recall that I struggled with seeding florescent lights in that fixture last year. I thought I was the one messing up, when in fact the fixture only allowed one tube to work out of four, and then not reliably. The fixture over the work area has three lights out of four working just fine. The fourth one can be cajoled and encouraged and coaxed into working, but not consistently.
I feel much close to my father out in the garage than I do when I'm downstairs in the house in his workshop. I think it's because the workshop did not exist when I was living in the house; it was constructed some time after I moved out. I was just visiting once, and there it was. But it's the garage where I still feel his presence. Sue me.
The drive back to the city was uneventful. Newbie mewled a bit, but not as much as he has in the past. I think he wanted to stay down there a bit longer.
Patricia has a cold and took a sick day today. She has been coughing and gobbing since I got home, and still is this evening. You realize, of course, that I will fall victim to whatever she has. It is the circle of life.
Newbie is meowing sweet nothings in my ear. I cannot resist these entreaties any longer. I bid you adieu for this evening.