Just Have To Get Through Friday
My dad tells me that one of my uncles died this week. This would be Tia Rachael's husband, who I never met, or only met once, either way, I do not remember him. They live way out in Maryland somewhere, but only Rachael ever comes out to visit. The last time she was here, it struck me how much she looks like my mom did, and I liked looking at her, though it was a bit painful. She called Jason up to tell him and to chat, or rather, to sob on the phone while he commiserated. Rachael has always been my favorite aunt, she is funny and even Jason says she has a good heart.
Jason amused me this week. We were sitting around the dinner table and he was telling us how Evan's car transmission conked on the way to a wedding in Yosemite, so Evan is short one car at the moment. Because of this, and I sympathize because I have vast experience in dead transmissions, Evan needed Jason to pick Lauren up after school at the Catholic girls' school. Jason, while waiting for Lauren (actually he was accidentally waiting in the parking lot of the boys' school next door, but the girls found him anyway), was shocked to observe how short the skirts were on the good little Catholic high school girls, and expressed to us his amazement that the school would have a uniform with skirts so short. At this, Jane and I exchanged glances of the "Aren't men clueless!" variety, and laughed and explained to him how girls roll up the waistbands of the skirts as soon as they leave the classroom. Jane was very tickled, since she went to Catholic school and was guilty of this sin all during her school days. Jason said that the reason he parked in the wrong lot was that there were more girls in front of the boys' school than in front of the girls' school.
He is at some meeting tonight, and he told me what it was, but I have forgotten. Since he may be late for dinner, I am making chicken pot pies, not a glorious gourmet, from-scratch recipe, but right out of the box. I love those frozen pies. I just took them out of the oven, molten and lethal, so they should be about the right temperature by the time he rolls in.
I was swamped with maps this week, and our new computer programs are acting up. The new lady in the department seems to think I can solve her computer problems, which is laughable, but I decided to call the tech guy anyway, and all the while I was on the phone she stood there and kept saying that it wouldn't help because there wasn't anything she could tell him about the problem, complain complain complain, but I just ignored her; my goodness, how much whining can I stand before my next diary entry is from the prison library??!! I have to admit that the words "SHUT UP!!" hang in the air between us when she talks on and on and on, but only I am aware of the words not spoken.
Am I vacation deficient or what?