Thursday, September 10, 2009
Fog on little cat feet
"Why, there's nothing there but a field!"
Thus Uncle Ken, when I presented a map I had edited for him, for a mailing he was putting out to lure other unsuspecting real estate agents over to Oregon First. It was not, you understand, an accurate map -- not a map you would use to actually GET somewhere. Just a stylized map to sort of show how many offices we have in the Portland area. And the little conversation bubble which was pointing to the Vacouver office was maybe a thirty-second of an inch below the spot which held the invisible office. Where, in Uncle Ken's deathless oratorical style, there was nothing but a field.
This is going to represent Uncle Ken to me, now and hereafter. It's possible, I suppose, that he will say something else that will be even more Kennian to me -- but so far, that's it.
The drive in this morning was lovely, in spite of a lot of traffic -- and in spite of the fact that I overslept this morning by about an hour, as a result of my stomach pain last night -- because the lovely drifting fog straying down the sides of the wooded hills, from the fat white bulk of it along the tops of the hills.
Yes -- serious pain last night for about two hours -- when I at last woke this morning, it was with a sense of amazement that I had actually slept. I've got to go and see a doctor.
Last night when I arived home -- late, after picking up Kevin Ray and taking him to Fred's to get a prescription filled -- I found the house standing wide open -- three doors actually open, and several blinds pulled up. When I went in, I found the kitchen and dining room pretty much trashed, and smears of butter, bread crumbs, mango peels and chunks of cheese and scrambed egg smearing the counters. Twelve glasses were standing around the kitchen full to varying degrees of milk and juice. Other evidence of the juice-making were on the counters, from the empty cans to the trails and trickles and sticky spots of juice. Eaten -- or at least, vanished, were: two mangoes, four pears, six yogurts, a loaf of bread, two half gallons of milk, a lot of cheese, a package of pre-cooked Indian rice, four of the bottles of water I was taking to work with me (waah!) and a full dozen eggs.
And this is what the house still looked like when I left this morning -- Joe slept most of the evening, and then when he did get up, he kept not taking cae of any of it. I confess I did pick up and stack up and wipe up several screamingly egregious examples of the above-mentioned stuff. I did leave him a big-lettered note, though. So we shall see. I should be prepared, when I get home, to find that nothing has been done.