accidentally took the day off
and it was just as well.
I stopped by chez parents after getting off the highway this morning to drop off my suitcase (I'll be staying here for next few days house-and-dog-sitting)and look for a cell phone charger. (They didn't have a cell phone charger, but I did end up crawling into bed and going back to sleep for a couple of hours.) I had called work and let them know that I wasn't coming in. (I had planned on going to work to keep distracted... but then I realized how much prodding it was going to take to get my dad packed and ready to leave for the funeral in New York.)
First, we had to turn off the Israel/Lebanon news. Then we had to call relatives to let them know about Bubbe's death and the funeral. Then Dad had to get dressed. And pack his suitcase. I ended up packing the suitcase as he talked to my Bubbe's friend on phone (a friend whom she hadn't spoken to in last few years because a mysterious grudge. There were a lot of people against whom Bubbe held mysterious grudges. My Bubbe could be a very difficult person to get along with.)
We also had to go the bank and the safe deposit box to get my Bubbe's papers and other items that my aunt might like to have. We made it back to the house just as the aiport service was pulling into the driveway. Mom and Dad and Zach made the last minute rush to get all the suitcases into the van as I ran thru the checklist: Dad, medicine? Bubbe's stuff? Your suitcase? Your carryon? It also turns out that in their haste to leave, they accidentally picked up my overnight bag that I brought for my house-sitting mission (and foolishly left in the front hallway near the front door.) The airport service driver promised to drop it off on his next trip out south.
I just ate way too many carrots and hummus. I have been answering the phone as concerned neighbors and friends have been calling, as well as fielding calls from other relatives.
Elmo and Molly seem completely unperturbed by all of this. They both like to sleep in the bathroom off the kitchen, which makes it rather difficult to get in there and use the toilet.
Being dogs, don't really understand the concept of "peeing as a private act." Heck, for them it's the ultimate in proclaiming one's identity to the neigborhood: I whiz, therefore I am.
I stopped by chez parents after getting off the highway this morning to drop off my suitcase (I'll be staying here for next few days house-and-dog-sitting)and look for a cell phone charger. (They didn't have a cell phone charger, but I did end up crawling into bed and going back to sleep for a couple of hours.) I had called work and let them know that I wasn't coming in. (I had planned on going to work to keep distracted... but then I realized how much prodding it was going to take to get my dad packed and ready to leave for the funeral in New York.)
First, we had to turn off the Israel/Lebanon news. Then we had to call relatives to let them know about Bubbe's death and the funeral. Then Dad had to get dressed. And pack his suitcase. I ended up packing the suitcase as he talked to my Bubbe's friend on phone (a friend whom she hadn't spoken to in last few years because a mysterious grudge. There were a lot of people against whom Bubbe held mysterious grudges. My Bubbe could be a very difficult person to get along with.)
We also had to go the bank and the safe deposit box to get my Bubbe's papers and other items that my aunt might like to have. We made it back to the house just as the aiport service was pulling into the driveway. Mom and Dad and Zach made the last minute rush to get all the suitcases into the van as I ran thru the checklist: Dad, medicine? Bubbe's stuff? Your suitcase? Your carryon? It also turns out that in their haste to leave, they accidentally picked up my overnight bag that I brought for my house-sitting mission (and foolishly left in the front hallway near the front door.) The airport service driver promised to drop it off on his next trip out south.
I just ate way too many carrots and hummus. I have been answering the phone as concerned neighbors and friends have been calling, as well as fielding calls from other relatives.
Elmo and Molly seem completely unperturbed by all of this. They both like to sleep in the bathroom off the kitchen, which makes it rather difficult to get in there and use the toilet.
Being dogs, don't really understand the concept of "peeing as a private act." Heck, for them it's the ultimate in proclaiming one's identity to the neigborhood: I whiz, therefore I am.