My oldest daughter was chastising me yesterday for not blogging more often. I know she's right. The time between entries is way too long. Some (a lot) of this fault rests with Smash who has not written in a very long time. Something about busy at work, busy at home, travel, guests, blah, blah, blah. I expect the real reason is the same as mine: when life is just moving along in a humdrum rhythm, there's really very little to blog about. I realize now that the blogs that I read the most often are those written by people who are experiencing some sort of upheaval in their lives, be it loss, infertility, or the trials and tribulations of raising young children. There's a tension in their writing -- a story to tell. Joe says that anyone's life can be an interesting story, that's it just all in the telling. I'm not sure that's true; sometimes my life even bores me.
I'm getting ready this week for a four day vacation beginning next Saturday. Joe and I are going to Florida with some friends. In preparation, I went shopping and bought a pair of pants that had to be hemmed. Needing any tailoring work done is always an adventure. I don't sew myself, but I have found someone who does. He runs a local drycleaners, can sew like a dream, does the work quickly, and charges reasonable prices. The only downside? As far as I can tell, he does not speak a word of English. We manage to communicate by pointing, folding material and hoping for the best. In the middle of the non-verbal communications, he often startles me by yelling out "Ye-ha." I have no idea what this means. He never gives a receipt for the clothes left for tailoring, and often retrieving ones garments requires lots of gesturing, pointing, and sighs of relief when the clothes are back in hand. Recently when I went to drop off a dress for alteration, the tailor's son was in the store. The son was in his thirties, well-dressed, and spoke perfect English with not even a hint of an accent. Noticing that I had no receipt in hand, he asked if I had been given one when I left the dress. I told him no, and he sighed with obvious distress. His dad went "Ye-ha." We have a system; no need to make changes.
I'm looking forward to being away for a few days, although beneath my happy anticipation is an undercurrent of worry about my dad. For the most part he seems to be doing okay, but there are still days when he tells me that he is so weak that it hard for him to get up from his recliner. I feel panicked and think that his congestive heart failure is catching up with him, but then the next day he reports that he feels much better. He's definitely more frail. I'm not sure why I worry about taking a trip -- I'm five hours away from him when I'm at home, and I expect if needed, I could reach him from Florida in about the same amount of time. Still, I just feel uneasy being "off duty" as it were. I'm not sure whether I will tell him that I am away. I think he would worry, so it may be best just to make my daily phone call from my cell and not mention that the call is being made beachside. I'm still thinking about what to do.
Perhaps worry about my dad, on top of worrying about everything else, has set off my recent wave of insomnia. For me, sleep has always been a refuge. When happy, I slept. When troubled, I slept. When bored, I slept. Naps, no problem. Early bedtime, all the better. But no longer. I can't sleep, and it's awful. I plan my whole day around sleeping. No caffeine, no naps, plenty of activity. Sometimes after dinner, I'm so tired I think my eyes just won't stay open a minute longer. But as soon as my head hits the pillow, my mind starts racing at a million miles per hour, and I am wide, WIDE awake. I toss, I turn, I get up, I go back to bed and finally at some point late into the night, I finally sleep an unrestful sleep. I hate it. I spend a lot of my time scheming as to how to lay my hands on an unlimited supply of ambien. So far, no good ideas.
The town where I live was named this week "The Most Affluent Town In America." I'm sure that people across the United States, hearing this breaking news, are picturing a vibrant downtown, fancy restaurants and stores, and even fancier people. I've lived here over twenty years; the thought makes me laugh. Sure we're up to our necks in politicians and rich folks, but what a dump! A dump we treasure, but still a dump. This is fodder for another post, for sure.
And finally, over dinner I was complaining to Joe that my blog is double dullsville. So, he's given me new ideas for upcoming entries. Stay tuned.