Gala Killing Cranky Shindig

My lame Little Pony has gone down into the woods to build a 'long house' with HH. I'm hoping it's a model, not a life-size Native American lodge. The Pony says his arm does not hurt. He does not want to wear his sling. His appetite has returned. All signs point to a Pony on the mend.

This afternoon, we are going to a big shindig for my grandma's 90th birthday. She mentioned that she had never had a birthday party, so my cousin organized this gala affair at one of the local country clubs. We are not really country club people. It will be interesting to see who shows up. Grandma has many friends who I know by name only. My grandma had four kids, but only one son is living now. The others had rather untimely deaths, what with a daughter dying in infancy (I am named for her), my uncle dying in a motorcycle crash when a truck pulled out in front of him, and my dad dying of cancer the year My Little Pony was born. I don't know if the long-distance cousins are coming or not.

I suspect HH is trying to kill me. Because we are going to the big birthday bash, I got up early this morning for my walk. By 'early', I mean 8:10. The minute I laced up my shoes, HH made a beeline for the door. "Where are YOU going?" I dared to ask. "I'm going to mow the yard," HH stated, implying that he's the only one around here who does anything. But let's not forget yesterday, when HH left at 9:30 a.m. and returned at 6:15 p.m., leaving me to spoon-feed the barfing Pony with Sprite every 5 minutes. Anyhoo, after waking the #1 son for his churchly excursion to town, and seeing that the Pony was settled on the couch with everything he needed, I ventured out for my walk.

HH was mowing by the driveway, which, of course, is a major leg of my walk. I make the trip to the end of the driveway, veer left across the front of the yard into the BARn field, down the side of that field, along the blackberry brambles that separate it from the most recent purchase from the Landstealer, in front of the Barn itself, through the No-Man's-Land of the woods where the broken outhouse, #1's car, HH's collector truck (minus the hood and bed), and HH's first shed are parked, across the front yard of the Mansion, beside the 5th wheel camper, and back to the driveway. It's a big ol' square, and takes 5 minutes to complete one lap. So on the first leg, I had to inhale HH's lawnmower exhaust, because it just so happens that every time I went by, he was at a turning point and rode right up the driveway beside me. Don't tell me I should have stopped and let him go by. HH would have worked it so he could attach to me again. He's like that. On the other leg, the minute I crossed into the BARn field, I had to breathe smoke from HH's latest bonfire, which was cardboard boxes that sat on the porch all night, from Save-A-Lot groceries and the Pony's post-surgery gift of a huge plastic castle thingy. If you are city folk, you may not realize that in the mornings, things are damp from sitting out. They do not flame up and blaze so much as they glow red and smolder. And in the morning, there is no wind yet. The air is still. And humid. And smoke does not just rise in a pretty plume and disappear into the atmosphere, but spreads out and lingers. Kind of like fog along a river bank. So I had to inhale that smoke on three sides of my square, and the exhaust on the other. I did not feel healthier when I finished.

And for some reason, dwelling on my lungs reminded me of another story from the Pony's no-slice surgery yesterday. The Pony had changed into his hospital pajamas, and was laying in the bed watching cartoons, waiting for all the working visitors to visit. The main nurse had explained that when he woke up, the room might be really quiet, or it might be loud. Sometimes the anesthesia makes kids sleepy for a long time, and sometimes it makes them cranky. If he felt like he was going to be sick, or if he had pain, he should tell the nurse so she could make him feel better. The Pony agreed. The myriad of visitors came and went, and the Pony was wheeled away, and HH enjoyed his 1 and a half donuts, and then we heard a big commotion across the hall. By 'commotion', I mean 'screaming at the top of the lungs'. "Oh," I thought. "Somebody is hurting." There was a little blond boy about 2 or 3 that I had seen being carried around the hall earlier. I figured he was done with his surgery, and not feeling well. The nurse came in for a minute. "Sounds like we made somebody mad," she said. And continued, "They were trying to put his pajamas on." Well. There went that theory. The kid was screaming BEFORE the surgery. Go figure.

Now I must go make sure my children are presentable enough to attend a shindig at a country club. HH is on his own.