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So I skipped out of town for a couple of days. I wasn't doing anything useful and we had not had an overnight for months. It was just the nice fellow and me. Photos will be following. Lately I've been having him take lots of pictures of me because I'm really unphotogenic and most of the pictures people take of me are hideous. I've learned the rule for pictures of Lucy: outside: standing up: squinting into the wind. Those pictures please me. Others don't.
My son Frank had called the Red Cross to volunteer in hurricane aid. It was my idea: I found the number in the phone book. Helping people is what he likes to do, and he's applying to med school right now, so it all seems sort of natural. Tonight he had a four-hour orientation, tomorrow they'll call his references (his best friends) and then they'll tell him when he's going. The assignments are for three weeks, and he's supposed to get good boots and to bring food and water for two days, so he's going to take more than that.
We're all sort of nervous and excited. This evening I keep finding myself ready to cry. I'm sending my son into toxic waters for an indefinite amount of time (don't believe the three weeks). Of course I want him to go.
I've just read the account at sfsocialists (by way of Making Light, naturally). I can't say much but go read it. THere are two stories here: there is the story of heartless, actively vicious people in authority, and the story of people in crisis trying to stick together, help each other, survive, and get out. If they're shooting at pedestrians trying to leave town, will my kid be able to keep his temper on the ground? Injustice tends to make him livid.
I had more to say but I forgot it in the chaos that erupted just now when the dog wanted to go out and show those raccoons a thing or two. I think they were coming in to raid her bowl again. I thought they only did that late at night if the dog door was left opened. You cna tell when they've succeeded because they wash her food in her water bowl and that leaves crud.
I'm going to bed. My firstborn is going away, and I don't know when or for how long.
My son Frank had called the Red Cross to volunteer in hurricane aid. It was my idea: I found the number in the phone book. Helping people is what he likes to do, and he's applying to med school right now, so it all seems sort of natural. Tonight he had a four-hour orientation, tomorrow they'll call his references (his best friends) and then they'll tell him when he's going. The assignments are for three weeks, and he's supposed to get good boots and to bring food and water for two days, so he's going to take more than that.
We're all sort of nervous and excited. This evening I keep finding myself ready to cry. I'm sending my son into toxic waters for an indefinite amount of time (don't believe the three weeks). Of course I want him to go.
I've just read the account at sfsocialists (by way of Making Light, naturally). I can't say much but go read it. THere are two stories here: there is the story of heartless, actively vicious people in authority, and the story of people in crisis trying to stick together, help each other, survive, and get out. If they're shooting at pedestrians trying to leave town, will my kid be able to keep his temper on the ground? Injustice tends to make him livid.
I had more to say but I forgot it in the chaos that erupted just now when the dog wanted to go out and show those raccoons a thing or two. I think they were coming in to raid her bowl again. I thought they only did that late at night if the dog door was left opened. You cna tell when they've succeeded because they wash her food in her water bowl and that leaves crud.
I'm going to bed. My firstborn is going away, and I don't know when or for how long.
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