The Final Vacation Monday

Monday, Aug. 25, 2003 - 6:06 a.m.

My grandmother is in the hospital and will be there for part of this week. My brother went down to visit her yesterday afternoon, and discovered that she had a blood clot on her leg the size of a small apricot, and convinced her that she needed to go to the hospital to get it looked at. So, she's there.

I'm not worried, though. Gran's EKG is superb, her heart rate is strong and regular, and she is probably only going to be there for a couple of days, until they can remove the clot and repair the vessel and la de da. She can't stand hospitals, however, so you have good "relax, you'll be home soon" vibes to spare for her, please do send them. Then again, when it comes to immediate family, for some reason I've always been kind of stoic; I recall telling my brother yesterday afternoon that I won't panic unless he tells me to.

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Yesterday was another really warm day in San Francisco. I almost always get in trouble with people east of the Mississippi when I mention the exact temperature, so you'll just have to trust me, it was toasty. I made meatloaf for dinner late yesterday afternoon, which made the place feel like it was around a hundred fifteen degrees Farenheit for a couple of hours, but at least now we can just grab leftovers and nuke them instead of heating up the place for the next couple of days.

I think John finished the most recent Harry Potter book last night, but at half past two this morning, I fell asleep, and if I recall, the light was still on. He was nearly at the end, though. The fifth book is an extremely difficult read, meaning that there's a lot less humor present than in the previous books, and it does culminate in the death of a significant character. At one point he turned to me and said "I don't think Rowling likes her characters anymore."

Well, that might be true -- but also, the characters have reached adolescence, and as I recall, my own adolescence was a very special kind of hell. So, maybe the characters are going through those aches and pains, and it's managing to come across to the reader a little too well.

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Last night, Paul asked me what I wanted to do while I was visiting Utah. I said I wanted him to share things with me that he enjoyed; pretty scenery, his favorite music, and a good meal, preferably one prepared by him. "Just, you know," I said, "Show me the stuff that tells me who you are." Hopefully I've not set him a Hurculean task.

His progress is otherworldly; there are little milestones that constantly amaze him; about a week ago he got onto his creeper and was able to scoot all the way under the truck and come out on the other side without getting grease on his shirt. And last night, he ran into some people who used to live in his neighborhood -- and they didn't recognize him. As I recall, he was also grunching about his watchband being too loose, too.

His kids -finally- start school on Thursday; thank the gods he got through this particular summer without killing or being killed.

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