kerewin's whine cellar

The Cutting Of The Hair

So last Friday I got my hair cut. Now I love my hairdresser, she is amazing. I met her four years ago in Spanish 101, let's call her Edna (not her real name). We became friends and I helped tutor her in class. I had already decided I was unhappy with my then-hairdresser and she offered me a cut in exchange for my help. Turned out to be the best cut of my life. So, I kept going. This lady is clearly a pro and charges pro rates. I never asked her for a discount, but I was never sad when I was consistently charged half-price.

Rewind to a couple of months ago when I last got my hair cut. Edna is a thin woman, tall and very good looking. I noticed when she was cutting my hair that she had a little pooch. It looked a lot like the stomach of a co-worker friend who turned out to be pregnant. Edna also acted sorta odd the whole time. At the end, when I paid she asked me for my mailing address, when I asked her why, she said, "You'll see." However, I never saw, as I never received any correspondence. So Friday when I arrived I expected either a ring from her live-in, or a big belly.

She had neither. As I was waiting my turn in the chair, I did see her lean over and it seemed she was wearing low, low jeans with a long shirt, buttoned tightly over a slightly larger pooch than before. It seemed like camouflage. So I was called over, we hugged, she did a shoulder-only hug. She asked me what was new with me and in turn I asked, "What's going on over there," and I motioned in circles to her stomach. Mistake. BIG mistake.

Yeah. Not so pregnant. In fact, totally pissed off that I would make that allegation. So I tried to backtrack. "You were just odd the last time I was here, I didn't know what to think. I guess I expected something to be hugely different this time." We sort of made uncomfortable small talk through the hair washing. It was horrible. I kept thinking I should ask if she wanted me to leave. But we got back to something like comfortable. I kept apologizing. Turns out someone many months before had asked her the same question, totally out of the blue.

She asked me later, "Well that was rude, has anyone ever asked you if YOU were pregnant?"

I thought a long time about it, "No, not seriously, however people look at me and ask me how many kids I already have."

That made her laugh and she told me next time that I should tell people I have six or seven. "Then make up names."

We started discussing the things that people just say to you, because they assume. It really gets Edna's goat when people ask her where she went to college. Since she went to a very upscale beauty college, she tends to get a little defensive. She totally went off on some innocent guy one night and that's when she realized that she had to find some humor in the thing. She says, "I went to Northgate State," now. (Northgate is a popular mall near us.) As I left she made sure to tell me that she wasn't mad at me, and not to obsess about it all day. Except when I went to pay, I was charged the full amount for my hair cut (In addition to buying shampoo, conditioner, and a curling lotion to the tune of $75! Yeek, guilt is expensive!). So I was pretty sure I went from friend to client with one question.

I obsessed about it for hours, no matter what she said. I was even going to post this story here with questions from the gallery about what to do to mend this rift, if anything. Later on, I was out to dinner with my parents who were visiting and noticed I missed a call on my cell and had a message. I was worried it was a work issue and listened to it.

"Kerewin, it's your pregnant friend Edna. Just kidding! I just realized that I forgot to tell the front desk that you got the 'friend discount' and so you paid the full price. I am SO sorry! I wanted to make sure you didn't think it was because of what you said. Call me back if you want to talk." I didn't call her back because I am scheduled for a color on Friday.

Should I bring a shower gift?

Alio e Olio

With company here, and finding myself in a serious funk, I am having trouble posting anything daily. In the last couple of days everything I do is unsatisfying, all the people I meet are selfish and annoying, and basically all I want to do is lay in bed and have people leave me alone. That leads me to believe that the problem is me. However, I don't seem to have any magical Cure-The-Problem-Is-Me pills.

All I can hope is that I can get some honest to goodness downtime soon. With many family birthday parties coming up, work trips and learning to can tomatoes with my mother, that is going to be a good long while away. In lieu of posting anything worth while I am going to put up the recipe that gets the most hits from my main site.

Alio e Olio (translates to "Garlic and Olive Oil")

Ingredients

Spaghetti pasta, cooked al dente and rinsed in cold water, set aside

4-6 garlic cloves, peeled and slivered (or more, I prefer to use at least 6 cloves per person, however not everyone loves garlic as much as I do.)

dried red chili flakes

cracked black pepper

olive oil

parmesan cheese

Preparation

Lightly coat a skillet with the olive oil and add the garlic, chilis and cracked black pepper. Saute until the garlic starts to turn brown, toss the spaghetti in until it is lightly coated with the oil. Server on plates and grate some fresh parmesan cheese over the top.

This dish is also good if you care to add onions, capers or anchovy paste.

Already The Weekend?

I had this killer story to tell you. However, my parents just rolled into town for the weekend and I haven't had time to type it all down. Meanwhile, someone called and totally changed the ending. So instead I am going to link to a favorite curmudgeon of mine, who would have you believe he is, well, 'Damn old!', rather than the just 'pretty much old' that he really is.

Journal of the Wolf

By the way this bastard (he wouldn't be offended by my use of that, I suspect) writes so much better than I do, that I shouldn't have a blog at all. Also, he understands the card game Hearts in a way that makes me suspect that he is not human, because to play Hearts well means that you care about no one at the table, other than yourself. Somehow, that is supposed to sound complimentary.

As a side note, a teaser on the hair story. Is it wrong to spend $25 on a hair product that is supposed to make your hair much curlier?

Sneaking Hunch

"Sometimes when reading Goethe I have the paralyzing suspicion that he is trying to be funny." - Guy Davenport

That's kind of how I feel about This Guy

A Note To Friends

Hey,

Stop moving away. And if you live far away, like New York, or as close as say, Utah, move closer. I miss you all so much, even the people who move out of my neighborhood, and go somewhere less than 5 miles away.

It tears my heart out. So much work is put into loving you and visiting you in your far off (or close by) areas. Aren't I the center of your universe? Hey! I promise to pick up a bit more often, seriously, my shoes don't need to be in every corner of the house. Meeting new people is hard work, and even if they live just next door they aren't you. Or you. Or even you.

I am serious. My heart has only so many parts. I have only so many Sunset Garden Books to give away.

Free Upgrade!

As sad as we are that our neighbors are moving away, how happy we are that they had a yard sale today! We completely scored on a campstove with two full propane tanks and two foldable chairs that have cool cloth covers and fold into bags for a grand total of $9.

The real bargain of the day is when we swapped garbage cans. It may seem like a strange thing to you, but we got this very cool garbage can as a bridal shower gift. It was something we registered for and were more than happy to receive:

But as the years went by we wished for a larger mouth in which to throw our trash, something that didn't get fingerprints on it quite so easily and maybe something slightly larger. Why oh why didn't I register for the $50 trash can? Turns out our neighbors had the can I really wanted out on the lawn with a price tag. I spied the lovely thing (hello! brushed stainless steel, for fingerprint proof garbage throwing away) and asked why they were getting rid of it. Turns out they wanted something smaller. A free trade was promptly enacted and I think both parties are more than happy with the swap.

Lake Kachess

Too much sun, sand, beer, and wine. Not nearly enough food. We got home around 7 p.m. and went promptly to bed. There was however, enough sunscreen, so that when I woke at 11 p.m. I wasn't at all sunburned. Also starving. Too bad we don't have any food here. Still, I must have one of these:

Recovery

Sabrage is pretty interesting, I have to say. I want to learn how to do it. Still it was a meeting that started at 7:30 in the morning, at a location about 30 minutes from my house, provided it isn't rush hour traffic. Oh, right, 7:30 IS rush hour. Shit.

To make matters worse, I was the one who agreed to bring along the sabre for the "procedure." No, I don't own a sabre, but I have a friend who does. He works in a restaurant and so was up very late last night and was certainly not going to be awake at 6:30 in the morning for me to swing by and pick it up. He left it on his porch, though. It still meant getting up those 30 minutes earlier. I haven't ever been to his house before and I managed to drop the paper that had the address on it. The paper disappeared like it was ghost paper. I looked all around the area I was standing and it was just *poof* gone.

So, I was walking around a strange neighborhood at 6:30 in the morning hoping against hope to hit the right house. I was walking up to a house that seemed to have the wrong address, but based on the verbal directions I was given pretty much had to be right. Just as I was about to the porch the door opened. Oh shit! Someone I didn't know was coming out of the house, he only looked slightly shocked to see me. I should have asked him if he was roommates with my friend Mike, but instead I asked him how to find the address I remembered. That address didn't exist, by the way. I spent about 5 more minutes walking around the neighborhood, only to venture back to the porch where I probably scared years out of that dude's life. Guess what? It was totally the right place. Thank god I didn't get arrested.

I spent the rest of the day trying to stay awake. I've had a killer headache all day and when I got a chance to take a nap, I was out for a good hour and a half. Why can't we have meetings at noon?

As a side note, when I came home for the day I set down my work bag. It was given to me by the Hub who got one with his work laptop that he hated. He thought it would be perfect for me, yay! This laptop bag has a ribbon of cloth on the back where you can slip it over the handle of a wheeled bag when running through the airport, after refusing to check any baggage. Somehow the slip of paper I dropped had fallen into this strip and didn't work itself loose until I was home hours later. Apparently I was destined to get lost today.

Sabrage

A sabre can be used to open a Champagne bottle with great ceremony. This technique is called sabrage. The sabre is slid along the body of the bottle toward the neck. The force of the blade hitting the lip separates the lip from the neck of the bottle. The cork and lip remain together after separating from the neck.

Luckily tomorrow I get to witness someone using this technique to open up some sparkling wine. Unfortunately, this is at our monthly work meeting that starts at 7:30 a.m. Maybe I should watch the technique and try it on my newly received bottle of Champagne?

That Website Scared Me

Apparently Camel Toe is the new black when it comes to bikini pictures. Link taken from Fussy.

Now I might need a cold shower. Sheesh!

Do women actually wear these things on a beach? I haven't ever been that brave/stupid, even at my most fit.

Perceptions

Back in college I had a friend named Gena. We had a lot of classes and lab sessions together, because of similar degrees and similar classes we also ended up seeing a lot of Joe and Bill. These two weren't friends but work buddies, more or less. Whenever Gena and I would get together, we ended up talking about school and these two guys. She felt that Joe was extremely helpful and really nice, while Bill seemed to not be much of a team player and more or less didn't like her. I felt exactly the same way. Except completely opposite. Bill was the guy who was my better teammate and Joe not so much.

Who was right? How is it possible for two women to have these completely opposite reactions to the same person? I had (and still have) every respect for Gena, she's super brilliant and funny. Therefore I had (have) trouble saying that she was getting it totally wrong. On the other hand, I tend to be fairly perceptive about people so I couldn't just completely disregard all my beliefs. Even now, I struggle with this idea, where is the actual meeting ground between my perception and yours? How do we know? Who is the dick and who is the helpful guy? Maybe in the end, it all gets down to personal relationships, but on an H.R. level, how does one deal? (Thank goodness I never had to worry about anything like that.)

Dear Bank of America,

I want to thank you very much for getting your hooks into me with your credit card while I was in college. I also want to thank you for the continuous upping of my credit limit even though I was a waitress and made roughly $24k/year while going to school.

Now, I don't mind if you want to thank me for finally paying off this monstrous debt this month. Please forgive me for wanting to cancel my credit card. Why is it that I want to cancel this card? Well, two years ago when my husband and I had made about 11 months of triple the minimum payments and called to sweetly ask you to lower the interest, you refused. Apparently rules and regulations (that I agreed to when signing up for the card, you were sure to tell me) state that you must have at least six months of on-time payments. So we were two weeks late ONE SINGLE MONTH and you weren't able to help us.

What was that? Oh, NOW you are able to offer me a much reduced interest rate since I have been SO diligent in "cleaning" up my credit? Where were you when I needed you? How very patronizing of you to refer to my poor credit of the past.

Until there is a human factor in your company making some spur of the moment occasional exceptions to the rule, then you can stick your reduced interest rate (hello? Interest on zero dollars is still 0%) up your reduced ass. Oh, it doesn't pay to be human or make exceptions? Then let me explain it a little clearer, my credit union seemed to understand this: People, especially in their 20s and 30s are nothing but equity to you. We grow up and buy cars, houses, get insurance, have kids, get them student loans, make house improvements, buy expensive furniture and in general get into more than the debt that a simple credit card can rack up. I hope you don't mind if I write you a little love note each time we buy something expensive and finance it through some other banking institution.

Speaking of that, we JUST bought a Vanagon last Tuesday. We also bought this house just a year and a half ago. We have to have our roof redone sometime soon and we are planning on adding to the house when we do it. Even if you had the lowest rate possible and did all the work and paid all the costs and in FACT came to our house for every bit of the paperwork, we would NEVER, ever, ever, ever, EVER use Bank of America, again. We learned our lesson.

So you can take your patronizing attitude and your lower interest rate and your credit card and you can fuck right off. I am sure you are too busy chasing after other poor college students to pay this letter any mind. Too bad.

Sincerely,
kerewin

Indigestion

(Click on the picture to read the article on the New York Times website)

I already felt good about using biodiesel in my little Beetle but this makes it even sweeter, since I pay $3/gallon and was telling myself that the little extra made it all worthwhile. Of course, where we buy our biodiesel you prepay, so you don't have to actually think in terms of how much an entire tank costs (for the usual 12.2 gallons I use that puts it over $36/tank. Youch!).

Comtes de Champagne

After a little sleep everything seems a little better. Granted, I didn't get nearly as much sleep as I would have liked last night. However, the seminar was good and I learned a lot more about Burgundy than I knew before. We took too much time on Burgundy though, and had to pretty much run through Tuscany, Piedmont, and Portuguese wines. Luckily, through previous work experience I have a decent grasp on those areas. Especially as there were tests on each portion and the person with the best combined score won a bottle of Taittinger Comtes de Champagne Blanc de Blanc 1995. I wonder how much better I would have done with two more hours of sleep? Not that it matters since I took the bottle home with me anyway! After it was over, everyone was told they could grab the open bottles that we tasted through, so I got a nice Meursault and a lovely Barolo. Definitely worth it, even though there was only about a glass left in each one. I am only sad that none of the wines we tasted through were ones that I sell.

One of my coworkers suggested that I cheated to win that bottle. I let him know that I didn't cheat, I just blew the instructor.

Also, please don’t sneeze too near your computer, my internet connection is still tenuous at best. There is a new modem sitting in a box on the couch but I am nervous about just plugging it in (it came with a cd! It has to be harder than just plugging it in, right?) and the Hub is currently at Ozfest. I guess it will have to wait.

I Am Sorry, You Have The Wrong Number

I might be accused of phoning it in this week. I just can't seem to get out from under. Maybe it is the two long and tiring weekends in a row that I was gone, maybe it is that I just worked 12 hours and didn't accomplish what I wanted to. Maybe it is because I am in a 9 hour wine seminar tomorrow and my ride to the office wants to get to my house at the ass crack of 6:30 a.m. Maybe it is because I made two mistakes today that made me want to plunge a knife in my stomach (even though one started out as someone else's mistake that I just didn't catch).

Hopefully next week I am going to be unbelievable. Ugh, I still have work to do and I am just undermotivated. Effing paperwork.

p.s. After having a bad day at work and knowing that I can't really go into details lest it affect my employment I sometimes consider googling fellow employees names to see if they have blogs and dish the dirt. I haven't yet done this, but it is becoming an urge I can barely resist. Am I the only one who thinks like this? Somehow living with strangers in another country who don't speak English seems remarkably easier, today.

p.p.s. We have had the internet for almost 16 whole HOURS now. The possible solution? The Hub propped up the modem to keep it cool underneath. Could it just have been overheating? And if so, why didn't we have any problems the last FIVE YEARS????? UGH I better go to bed before I just sit here and verbally puke up all my bad mood. Trust me internet, there is a lot to go around. My blog list seems to be having a hard time of it lately, too and that is just feeding it. So I shall off to bed before it gets any worse.

for your entertainment in the meantime:

From Flying To Bathing Cats(Is there even a speck of dust in that whole place????) Again, stolen from: Feministe

Can You Watch That For Me?

I went to bed without an internet connection and woke up with one. Can someone volunteer to stay here today and make sure it doesn't go away by the time I get back?

On a nicer note, my alarm went off today at 6 a.m. and I reset it for thirty minutes and rolled over and snuggled up to my husband. All my lovely lead time was gone, but I certainly felt better.

Overheard In The Airport

Yesterday while waiting many hours in the airport for a flight from Oakland to Seattle, I overheard a mother and daughter talking.

"I took Holland America the last time I took a cruise. It wasn't that good," said the daughter.

"Well that's because they're the worst! You have to take Royal Caribbean. Once we took a Royal Caribbean cruise we realized there was no other way to travel*," replied the mother.

"Of course, this was twenty years ago," said the daughter.

"Oh my goodness! Things have changed so much since then, the next time you go you'll be unbelievable**! You just won't believe how much better it is."

*Except, apparently when you travel by plane.

**Even though I wanted to tear my hair out from their loud, unintelligent, seemingly never-ending conversations, I am SO totally stealing that phrase.

Blah

So the plane from Napa was delayed about 2 hours yesterday. I got home and felt crappy and as of this morning probably have either a sinus infection or a cold. As a plus, our ISP has had spotty connection all weekend + today. If you see this, read it quickly, we don't stay on more than 5 minutes at a stretch. Why is it again that we run our servers through our house?

Oh yeah, my period started this weekend as well. Good times.

Speaking of the Many Faces of Me

So it is almost midnight (yet I plan on posting this as a Friday post, so kill me) and I am sitting here drinking wine, watching the dvr saved Anthony Bourdain's No Reservation on the Travel Channel. Back at 8 p.m. I was sure I would be in bed in an hour and actually get at least 6 hours of sleep. By 9, I thought it might be a good idea to take my shower now. By 10 I may as well watch some television and have a glass of wine.

Here at 11:40 one last glass of wine and a little more television. Well hell, in for a dime, in for a dollar. (Dude, I am SO screwed at 4 am.)

By the way, I am the suckiest friend. My dear friend lives in the Bay Area and I can't even fit in a couple houirs to see her while I am in Napa for 3 days.

Oh, and I am totally addicted to Anthony Bourdain. Monya, tell me again why we didn't force him to let us hang out with him when he was in Seattle those few months ago?

I'll Fly Away

Although I am not quite ready to be gone for another weekend I am headed down to Napa for a work trip this weekend. When I asked if the hotel rooms would have wireless I got the big eye roll, so you can bet that there won't be any new posts here until at least Sunday.

Have a great weekend!

Someone Had A Little Too Much Caffeine

Cats on Drugs

link stolen from feministe

You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up

Today I was running around and hungry for a bite, I stopped at a local bagel shop and had a SuzyQ Special minus the smoked salmon (not that they would know what that was – plain cream cheese, onion, tomato, capers, smoked salmon, salt, and pepper on a toasted everything bagel). The shop is on First Avenue right near the Pike Place Market and I spied a table near the window, perfect for some quiet gnoshing and some telephone work.

As I finished my sandwich I started to collect all the trash and get things together. I turned slightly to pick up something that I dropped. I noticed that outside just across the window from my table was a man reading a magazine. The title of the article he was looking at caught my eye. "Ten Tips To Tighten Your Pu..." with his arm draped over the rest of the last word. I stood up to get a better vantage point and got much nearer the window. This is the part where if fate wanted to tell a very embarrassing story she would have him turn and catch me. Luckily fate was more interested in this story right here.

He lifted his arm to have a drink of coffee and lo and behold, "Ten Tips To Tighten Your Pussy." Thinking perhaps that it would be some weird cat fanciers story or something I took a closer look. In silhoutte on the article were women's bodies, nothing graphic but it was pretty clear the topic of the article at this point. I dumped my trash and walked out on the sidewalk and tried to spy what magazine he was reading. At that point he was furtively flipping pages.

So when I got home tonight, I took the bullet for you, dear readers. I googled the title to find out the name of the magazine and let me tell you, you won't be finding articles on how to tighten any muscles. If you are looking for that, you might just look up Kegel Exercises.

There is another good way to develop your Kegel muscle. Most people already know how I can't do a number two while travelling*. However, when I was a kid, I was also paranoid about people hearing me go pee. If I was in a public restroom and someone would walk in while I was going, BOOM, it would just stop. DEAD. Let me tell you, that shit hurts. In my teen years I finally worked my way out of it, but I still have the ability to stop on a dime, if need be.

*Seriously, I don't think I can link to the Argentina story three times in one week

David Sedaris Is A God

The only preventive thing I do is wash clothes after buying them in a thrift shop—this after catching crabs from a pair of used pants. I was in my mid-twenties at the time, and probably would have itched myself all the way to the bone had a friend not taken me to a drugstore, where I got a bottle of something called Quell.

(I found this link on Kottke.org)

Shogun

[Written Friday evening, after a long day of volunteering.]

I once read in Shogun that a Japanese person has three faces; the first is the face that they present to all, the second they only show to family and close personal friends, the third they show only to their innermost self. You get the feeling that all three are true personalities living together, well or not so well.

In some ways this journal started out as my third face. Only a few select friends had the url. Other than that, my anonymous self was only revealed to the rest of the internet world, should they only look. However, because of my journalist training and my deep (insecure) need for recognition as a writer won out, I emailed all friends, family, acquaintances, and homeless people with the url. Before doing this, I read through every post and deleted those few that pertained only to my third face.

The problem with that is that if you are writing a journal, you want to be as honest as possible, you completely reveal your third face. That's only acceptable if you are writing in a place where no one else can read what you write. That would sort of leave the internet out, if you know what I mean. So how honest are you if your writing is edited in case of family issues, harmony with spouse, hurt feelings of friends, or possible job loss? I suppose it puts this writing as somewhere in the middle of the first and third faces. The irony being that this complete turn around on my part has increased my readership by approximately two people, one of which is related to me (hi H-Star!).

Still, there is no going back. Doing this, and making an attempt to do it daily means that I *am* writing. Maybe only one of the fifty or so ideas that do through my head every single day, but putting pen to paper, so to speak (putting fingers to keys?). I am a writer. I am not in the "industry," I am not published, nor am I likely to be, but I get to express those ideas that would normally only be left in my head. Maybe only 20-some people even bother to read what I write, (I am pretty sure only about five of those people are strangers to me) but that is about 1,000% more people reading what I write than ever before.

So that brings us to I.P.N.C.: Well planned, completely organized, a control freak's wet dream. So I am loving it, but my legs have completely forgotten what it is to stand on your feet for eight or more hours. Friday night, after lunch and dinner events my fellow volunteers (Moni, Theresa, and Bill) and I return to our dorm rooms (all the volunteers are staying for free in the dorms of Linfield College). We hang out, have a glass of wine, our first of the day at 11 p.m., and start telling stories. I am pretty sure everyone knows how much I love to tell stories. Somehow we end up talking about David Sedaris, who is a god. Much laughter. Funny Sedaris stories lead into funny, personal stories. We move from shared living room dorm space to the lawn to share illicit cigarettes (what is it about stressful wine events that brings out the casual smoker in us all?) while laughing hard enough to make our stomachs ache.

Another set of volunteers and friends were staying in the dorm area above ours. They happen to have an exchange student staying with them for the Summer. Raboul is 13 and probably a little bored with all the adults. The night before lots of the volunteers who were staying in our dorm area played baseball with him until the wee hours. Today, after we all worked so hard, we were much less inclined. Not so much with Raboul, being 13 and all. We were the people who played with him last night and I am sure he wants us to play with him tonight. So he comes out and starts playing around with his bat and ball. A few times a stray ball comes our way and we want to be nice, but we want to be grown ups tonight, too. Poor little guy. He swings his bat to hit a ball and it just slips out of his hand and full on decks one of the people who is sitting and talking with us (Theresa).

In the midst of the adults swinging into action the 13-year old is beside himself. He doesn't really have the language skills to apologize, but he tries. Theresa is ok, telling him it is just an accident, but she still has her head down. We get her to look up to see how bad it is and she has blood all over her hand from holding the wound. On her eyebrow a large red knot is welling up. I go inside to get a wash cloth, some soap, and an ice pack. Was it the sight of blood where it all went wrong? Moni stays with her and Bill gets the first aid kit from his car.

By the time I get back Theresa is going into some sort of shock. She seems out of it, mumbles and talks of us calling 911. We get her inside and Moni gets on the phone. Meanwhile, I have the ice pack and Theresa seems to be going down in flames. She keeps closing her eyes and has completely lost focus.

"Theresa," I say, rather sharply. he eyes snap open.

"Say something to me, stay with me." She say nothing and closes her eyes. Her limbs start shaking a little.

"Theresa!" I say about five times. I am starting to wonder if I need to slap her. Isn't that what they do in the movies? Finally she opens her eyes and says, "What do you want me to say?"

This is where she started coming back to Earth. Although she does keep asking me if she is about to die. We get her blackberry for her and call her husband as she asks. We tell her we called the ambulance for her and she asks us to bring her contact case so she can take out her contacts before they get there. She just started to making jokes when the paramedics arrive. Even though she was coherent and in good spirits they decided it was better safe than sorry and took her to the hospital.

Raboul went to his bedroom and cried for an hour.

Everyone but me went to the hospital. I stayed behind and washed up. My first face perspective feels awful and wonders how I could have been more help. My second face wonders if this isn't some weird cosmic balance that evens out the true joy we were experiencing before the accident. I could be coy and tell you that what my third face feels shouldn't even be published. But in truth, my third face is a strange jumble of the history of my family never admitting that anything was ever bad enough to see a doctor, wonderment at the idea that a lonely 13-year old boy might be seeking attention, and annoyance at how setup for tomorrow's I.P.N.C. is going to be seriously messed up.

Happiness can move to sorrow at the drop of a hat. Maybe we are expected to take away as many truths from bad experiences as from joyous ones. Maybe there isn't any rhyme or reason at all.

{A funny story from later on: Theresa is Moni's boss and someone said at dinner the next night, "Hey Moni, there are a lot of easier ways of getting a promotion than hiring a 13-year Scandanavian to hit your boss. In fact, we should call you Monya Harding." Of course, good old Monya is one of my readers and I immediately turned to her and said, "You realize that is going to be your alias on my blog now, right?"}