The further and continuing adventures of the girl who sat in the back of your homeroom, reading and daydreaming.
Sunday, April 04, 2010
I love my family but I can't claim we get along. My siblings found it the height of humor, when I remarked on how my 20-year-old tomcat had lost weight (recently diagnosed as a thyroid problem -- he's on meds) and is creaky enough that he can't groom himself much (I brush him), to suggest perhaps he was already dead.
I love my Mom and my nieces and nephews are decent kids adults but I gotta line up somebody other than my brother and sister to bury me because they'd be giggling too much. And Baby bro's a health nut, so I can't count on waitin' to be last in line. Gads, I shudder to think of the sport they'd have at my house after I was gone, all the science fiction and radio and techie books (with a few mystery novels here and there) and old tools and radios they'd just snicker at and dump at the curb.
Maudlin nonsense. Guess it's good to be rid of it by venting.
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Ego vadum perussi vestri prandium
"I saw to what extent the people among whom I lived could be trusted as good neighbors and friends; that their friendship was for summer weather only; that they did not greatly propose to do right; that they were a distinct race from me by their prejudices and superstitions."
Henry David Thoreau
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