Quote of the day: “I like being alone. I just prefer to do when there are other people around.” Alan Shore, Boston Legal
Song of the day: “Can’t Find My Way Home” by Steve Winwood
State of mind: calm and yet slightly annoyed by having to listen to the President’s State of the Union address, which is apparently on some kind of soul sucking loop on the TV in the customers waiting room.
I went to Wendy’s for lunch the other day. Got a Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger and fries for 2.14. Not too bad, but not what I wanted to talk about. When I pulled up the first window to pay, I noticed a sticker on the window that said: “G-Rated. This restaurant welcomes all guest… and blah blah blah… something about family… blah blah blah.”
So, of course I had to wonder, just who decides what fast food joint is suitable for children or which ones aren’t? (Not the American Pediatric Society, that’s for sure.)
Then I immediately wondered: what if I wanted to be in an R-rated restaurant; but the kind that is R-rated for extreme violence, but not adult sexual content? Where do I go for that? For sudden samurai sword fights or a bar brawl where 6 bubbas make the mistake of picking on the little Asian guy that proceeds to kick their asses in spectacular fashion? Now that would be a fantastic floorshow! I doubt I’m going to be seeing any of that at the Olive Garden, and it definitely didn’t happen at Chili’s the other night where I was there with my mother for a free meal.
Somehow the conversation turned to her having to sort chicken eggs when she was younger at her Uncle’s place and how mind numbing she remembered the process being. Sort of like the conversation I thought, but I wasn’t going to say out loud since she was paying for the eats. Things got livelier when the subject of my grandmother, who died a few years ago, came up. She was my father’s mother, just so you know and I shouldn’t say this out loud, but I never really liked her. I was named after her (accidentally) but that wasn’t what bothered me about her. I think it was that I could always tell that she didn’t like my mother. I don’t entirely understand how she couldn’t. I’ve known my mom my whole life and she’s pretty cool. (Except for the smoking. Boy does that annoy me.)
But my mother told a tale about something that had happened when she and my father had visited my grandmother during the last few weeks of her life at the home. It was a very nice home that had large covered porches that were surrounded by gorgeous oak trees, but my grandmother never really liked to go outside much while she was there, so the scenery was a bit wasted on her. She did like bingo and staying in her room devouring any candy we brought, which we did quite often. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest thing for her, but she was in her 80s and losing her mind. What was the point of keeping her blood sugar down? You get to 80, you get to eat whatever the hell you want, and she wanted candy.
She couldn’t remember anyone’s name anymore except for my Aunt. I sometimes wonder just who she thought we all were when we showed up, but as long as we had sweets, she didn’t much care. Anyhow, after a bunch of visits that made it clear all memory of who anyone was had gone my parents went for one last visit and in the silence that usually followed after the initial pleasantries and my grandmother being too busy with the candy to bother with conversation, she suddenly looked up at my dad and motioned towards my mother and angrily asked, “Is she still not Catholic?”
So, here is a haiku, sorta. A sorku?
Over the bridge and
through the woods, to Grandma’s house
we go…To be judged!
Angel quote of the day:
Illyira: You ask me to allow you to murder me.
Spike: It's not murder if you say yes.