Never Rains But It Pours

That's such a strange cliche - almost poetic, really: inscrutable at first glance, like a zen koan, but then slowly it trickles throught the part of the cerebral cortex that deciphers poetry and riddles (this is one of the only two parts of the brain that need alcohol to fully function; the other one is the pool playing part, but it turns on at about 2 drinks and fully disengages at 4, so it's trickier) and bit by bit you think, "Why, that's absolutely right! It never does rain but it does pour!" and pour yourself another tall one. I, personally, have not had any alcohol (unless you count generic Nyquil) or tobacco or caffeine since Sunday. A glow of holy goodness surrounds my aura, or it would if anything was discernible through my aura except bronchitis and general malaise and the horrible fact that I've been lying around in these same pajamas since Sunday, coughing.

However I feel a little better this morning, almost as if I might live. That's a good thing, because unfortunately my mother has to have semi-emergency surgery tomorrow afternoon and I will naturally be accompanying her. She had some cancerous cells on her nose for the second time; there turned out to be more than the doctors thought there were; they took off quite a bit of her nose; it must be reconstructed, which process is delicate & time consuming & quite horrifying & will take two full surgical procedures with full anesthesia and everything. So if you are of the praying persuasion toss one in for Mom, would you? Poor darling, she's 78 and still gorgeous and although she won't talk about it, I know that she's miserable about losing her nose - who wouldn't be? I told her, well, if there had ever been a nose she had in mind, now was her chance to get it. She kind of laughed, and then said that she thought there was no reason for all this fuss, why couldn't they just take some skin from her fanny and slap it on there, maybe with purple stitches to make it stand out? This is bravado at it's finest. My mother hates doctors and hospitals with a cold and steely passion, so this is even worse for her in some ways than it would be for other people.

I go pick up M on Friday morning for a nice long weekend home, the first time I've seen him in 3 weeks. He sounds totally cheerful and happy and even had a great time on his 6 day hike on the Appalachian trail, which is fantastic, and he wants me to buy him a kilt, which is inscrutable like a koan, but fine, okay. Even though the Irish were never big into the kilt look, as I recall, but if the kid wants a kilt, the kid gets a kilt.