Here's what I know for sure: I'm not looking forward to the next couple of weeks.
Mammogram time. Unk! Nothing like having "the girls" flattened like crepes - unless it's getting a colonoscopy. No need to get descriptive there.
How did both these torments conspire to come due so close together? I need to start planning ahead.
Deadlines being what they are, I've got Irene on my mind, even though she'll have wreaked her havoc by the time this makes it into print.
Our youngest son and daughter-in-law live in New Hampshire with a slew of critters - some their own, some they foster until they're socialized and fit for adoption.
A hurricane is not fun for dogs, cats and other living things, especially one that's the size of Europe. If I were awaiting such as Irene, you'd find me in our bathtub, under a mattress, wearing a football helmet and sucking on a quart of gin.
Wind and I don't get along.
Not everyone feels this way. While I'm here on my faithful couch, glued to the TV and fearing for our kids and their animals, cameras are focused on people frolicking in the surf, skipping along in the wind and rain, tempting Fate to smite them in their tracks. Who does that?
"I have a good idea. Let's go play in the hurricane!"
"Yeah, that IS a good idea. Maybe a tree will fall on us or we'll get impaled by a flying projectile. That'll be fun!"
Thirteen people have already been killed by this thing. Who can fathom humankind?
But enough about hurricanes; Irene will just have to run her course and we'll hope for the best.
The good news is that wheels are in motion for a new laundry room/shop just off the kitchen. Our contractor and a nice young woman who will draw up new plans were here yesterday, measuring walls and talking about things that were over my head. Construction things. Angles and distances, heights, widths and breadths - and something called a cricket, that has to do with the roof.
"A cricket might be just the thing, right here."
I like this new drawer of plans, mainly because, along with a tape measure and engineer's ruler, camera and notebook, she carries pencils in her tote bag. I'm a sucker for pencils, as much today as when I was in grade school.
Also, she has good hands. Small and smooth and well-proportioned, with nice fingernails. I wish I could've seen her feet, too. I don't know what it is about hands and feet, but they matter to me. The first time I laid eyes on Fearless Leader's feet, it was clear I could love this man.
Possibly, I'm very shallow.
We've been through this planning process before, and are now back to square one due to the first architect's grandiose vision of a laundry room/shop that, when estimates for construction were all in, came to six figures.
I snorted and nearly swallowed my tongue when our contractor delivered the news.
"Say that again," I wheezed, sure I'd heard wrong because my hearing aids were in the bathroom, not in my ears, and our contractor speaks very softly.
"A hundred and one thousand dollars."
Right. Like that was going to happen.
I'm so looking forward to the day they knock down the existing structure and get to work on rebuilding, I'm beside myself. As it stands, the roof leaks, it's moldy and populated with spiders and the occasional unlucky mouse. (Mice have short-lived adventures at this address; two ruthless cats see to it.)
OK, I've had enough of the "news." Time to turn off the TV and convince myself that our kids are going to be fine. I've seen the same man being loaded into an ambulance 20 times, the same waves rolling in, the same pier being destroyed by some fierce surf.
There's "live coverage" and there's the same coverage being shown over and over and over again while I'm live on my couch.
Enough already.
* Lynne Horner is a former Maui News features editor and writer who now lives in Springfield, Ore. Her "Second Thoughts" column appears every Tuesday. Send email to her at lynnenhorner@yahoo.com.
