Thursday, June 12, 2008
Never Rains But It Pours
I put young M on a Greyhound bus to Baltimore early this morning. He has a couple vitamin waters, a lunchable, a cut up cucumber, some Dramamine, my old copy of Another Roadside Attraction and three fifty dollar bills in his shoe. He's going from Baltimore to the Delaware shore to hang out for a week in a house full of teenagers. He's excited and I'm a bit worried; putting your baby on the bus is always a downer. Particularly when there's a bearded, burly, cigar smoking dwarf wearing combat boots and a red cowboy shirt with the sleeves torn out getting on the same bus. And then, he'll arrive in the middle of nowhere downtown Baltimore - and when something is the middle of nowhere in central Baltimore, believe me, it is really the middle of nowhere, where nowhere = post apocalyptic wasteland - and have to take a cab to my friend N's house in Butcher's Hill. This scares me too. He is cool and tough and says he can find Butts & Betty's, the bar on the corner, with no problem. How reassuring. But it's good for him and hell, I got myself all the way to Europe at his age without a cel phone, so there you go.
Speaking of Europe, the latest QOB update is that she is continuing to recover well and is still slated to leave the hospital on Friday. I thought the family had calmed down somewhat but apparently not and my brother N is quite reasonably totally fed up with all of us. The QOB may, now, be arriving in Charlotte via Amtrak with N around 8ish Sunday night. Or maybe not. Everything is as always up in the air. No wonder she didn't want to alert the family. When I'm 80, in the unlikely event that I live that long, I'm definitely not telling anyone about my strokes. Of course, there will just be me and the 30 cats in the Waffle House dumpster anyway, and I plan to be doing more than enough drugs to make a stroke basically indiscernible, so, you know, whatever.