It started yesterday. My alarm went off at 5:30 like it normally does and Mrs. Wigglebottom got up out of the bed in the other room and came in to see if I was going to get up. I was not. I hit “snooze.” She wandered aimlessly around the house for a few minutes. I could hear the click of her toenails on the hardwood.
When it went off again at 6, same thing.
Will today, she asks, finally be the day that we get up and walk?
I, too, miss our morning walks and it is so beautiful here at dawn, I feel like we’re missing out. And yet, we still have four more weeks where we’re supposed to be keeping her crated all the time.
We, of course, did not crate her, because she hasn’t been crated since she was a puppy and I couldn’t see the wisdom in paying that much money to fix the dog’s leg only to turn around and slowly drive her crazy by keeping her confined.
America, she’s so bored and I’m at my wits’ end about what to do about it. Clearly, she feels okay and any discomfort she feels is outweighed by her desire to get back to moving around and being a dog.
To switch gears, they still haven’t decided if they’re going to operate on my grandma. Yesterday, it was a definite yes. Then late last night, her heart doctor got wind of their plans and was basically, “You’re going to risk killing her over a broken bone? That seems stupid.” and so he’s going to look at the CAT scan himself and give his verdict on whether the severity of the break warrents the risk of putting her through surgery. It may be that they just immobalize it for a couple of months and then it doesn’t work great ever again.
I just hope that they’re doing a good job of letting my grandma decide. Yes, she’s old as dirt, but her mind’s good, and, in the end, she’s the only one who can really know what’s right for her.
I was thinking last night about my grandma, who was not a feminist. I think so often we hear about how feminism ruined it, how everyone was happy and everything was fine until those feminists came along and ruined it.
But my grandma’s life was not fine. She wanted to be a history teacher and she went down to Illinois State (which, at the time, was the Normal college) to do so and when she got there, they tried to steer her into Home Ec because History was for men. She tried to argue that there were no men, there being a World War on and all, but it didn’t matter.
So, she gave it a try, hated it, and came home.
Just because she didn’t have words to describe what was happening doesn’t mean that, when I was in college, she didn’t sit at the dining room table one Thanksgiving, crying as she told me about it. She knew what happened to her was bullshit, but there wasn’t anything she felt like she could do about it.
On another tangent, I’m on this email list and I feel like I made such a complete doofus of myself on it last week, talking about how I was excited to learn that Muddy Waters played in a band in Mississippi that contained a guitar player, a fiddle player, and a mandolin player and how I wanted to hear what that would sound like, blues on a fiddle and a mandolin. And everyone came back with, basically, “Oh, god you n00b” and I about wanted to die of embarrassment.
But yesterday, over at Boogie Woogie Flu, Ted Barron put up a song with a blues violin! I could listen to it! And it is cool. And so I can return to being a dork in private.