Today’s post comes from 9th District Congressman Loomis Beechly, representing all the water surface area in the State of Minnesota.
Greetings Constituents,
I’ve been getting calls from 9th Districters who want to know how I stand on the latest political standoff, so I want to take a moment here to say that I am delighted at the way the Fiscal Cliff talks are going!
All The Stuff That Matters Is Happening In Here
Think of it. Just these two guys are having a string of private meetings to come to an agreement on a huge deal that profoundly effects everybody else while the rest of us watch and wonder.
It’s like spending the whole month of December standing around in St. Peter’s Square, waiting for a plume of white smoke that means the Cardinals have finally found a compromise, except that in this case the Vatican is more like an ice fishing shack and the guys inside aren’t wearing funny hats, they’re playing poker, drinking beer, smoking cigars, and arguing about whether catching big fish through a hole in the ice is a matter of skill or dumb luck.
I can only guess that before long, the door will open and they’ll flop some smelly fishy carcass onto the snow and tell us it’s a last-minute take-it-or-leave-it kind of deal that is our only hope of saving the economy from another crash onto the scary rocks. That’s Democracy!
Well, not really.
Some of my colleagues say they will examine the deal very carefully and hold it to a set of high standards. But my promise to you is that I will plug my nose and vote for anything that comes out of the shack if it keeps the Ship Of State afloat, no matter how ugly it is, regardless of how brutally it does what it does.
Because people who live in an all-water district know that staying afloat is our highest and best goal. Yes, we 9th Districters understand that sinking feeling on a level that other Americans can only imagine. When you can’t breathe, tax brackets and the safety net are just silly details people talk about.
Actually, I take that back. A safety net is pretty important thing when you can’t breathe.
But my point is this – as your Congressman, I have been relieved of the need to think very hard about this one. All I’ll have to do is react, explain, and probably apologize later.
In fact, let me apologize right now.
“Sorry, constituents, but I felt I had no choice. It was either vote for a flawed deal, or watch the sweet world disappear from view, flailing helplessly against the grasping weeds of Lake Default as they pull us down into the forever darkness!”
But maybe that’s too grim an analogy for you, so let’s think of it instead as the elementary school holiday pageant. The kids are trying their hardest, so remember that your role is to stand in the back of the gym and applaud. Just be grateful. There’s already too much stress in the season to waste time looking for more.
Have a lovely day and a wonderful Christmas, or whatever other holiday you observe! The world isn’t going to end and 2013 will arrive on time, bringing plenty for us to complain about.
Your Congressman,
Loomis Beechly.
I always appreciate the Congressman’s honesty, even when I don’t quite get his point. But I trust that he is truly telling us what he believes, which is a Very Brave Thing To Do when your thoughts don’t make much sense.
Good morning. The first long wait that comes to mind is waiting at a hospital while my dad had an operation. My Dad had somehow managed to get the emergency room on his own after becoming very sick. My mother was in a nursing home recovering from a stroke. It was a four hour drive from where we lived to Platteville where my parents lived. I watched my Dad go into the operating room and he didn’t come out for a several hours while I waited by myself in the waiting room. When he finally emerged it turned out they had to operate on him for an ulcer which turned out to be a complicated operation, but the operation went well. My Dad said he thought that it must have seemed to me that the operation was taking a very long time. He had that right.
Clyde, I know that you have to do a lot of sitting in waiting rooms thee days due to your wife’s health problems. I guess, from what you have said, that you are pretty well prepared to do that waiting.
My brother and I waited with our mom while her husband, Bill, had surgery for pancreatic cancer. He was in surgery for nine hours and they removed his pancreas but they couldn’t get all the cancerous tissue because it was up against a major blood vessel. We waited another two or three hours for him to recover sufficiently so that Mom could talk to him before we were able to take her home. She was in no condition to drive at that point, so I drove her car home to Wabasha with my brother following in his car. We left my car in Rochester. After we got Mom settled in at home, my brother drove me home to Waterville, then drove himself home to Minnetonka. I had to get back to Rochester to pick up my car the next day, then I drove to Wabasha to be with Mom. She was too tired to be able to go see Bill the next day but his own kids finally went down to see him. Mom was able to go see him often but not every day. He was in St. Mary’s for a couple of weeks. Chemo started almost immediately after the surgery. Mom and Bill had another year and a half together before the cancer finally had its way with him. I’m grateful for the time they had together. They loved each other very much.
One of the longest waits of my life was when our family set up a death watch, waiting for my mother-in-law to die. It wasn’t so long in actual time, but when we were living through that moment it seemed to take forever.
Kathe picked her cancer-ridden mother up at the University Hospitals and drove her to her new home at the Walker Methodist retirement home in south Minneapolis. Kathe’s car radio was playing Ferde Grofe’s “Grand Canyon Suite” on this trip. At one point, Esther commented on the music, noting that, “Here come the braying jackasses.” Then she dropped into a coma, making those her last words.
Esther was comatose when the staff moved her into her room at Walker. It was obviously just a matter of time until she passed. The staff administered morphine suppositories to make Esther comfortable, knowing that the morphine could also speed her toward her end.
The family rallied, meeting each evening in Esther’s room. We always had two or three boxes of crappy wine to help pass the time. On most nights there were close to a dozen friends and family members drinking and talking about old days while Esther slumbered on in her coma.
Night followed night, and the mood in the room became sillier and louder each night. Fortunately we were in a mostly empty corner of the home, so our parties didn’t bother others. We drank and told stories about the past.
After several days, the farming branch of the family in northwestern Iowa began to express their displeasure. They bugged us to say, “When is the funeral? We have farms to run. We need to make plans.” We told them we couldn’t bury Esther alive, so we were obliged to wait for her to pass. Kathe asked the nurses to jack up the morphine levels, but they found that shocking and refused.
Night after night the chaplains would make an appearance to ask us to pray and improve our morale. Most of us were not religious, and that led to the discussion in which we decided we had to start praying with the chaplains to avoid dampening their morale.
On the second Tuesday of our vigil Kathe decided to plan a memorial service on Saturday, knowing Esther would not make it that far. She planned it and told the farmers what day they could plan to come. Then she phoned the StarTribune to place the death notice. That went well until the person at the paper asked when Esther had died. “She hasn’t yet, but she’ll surely be dead by Saturday,” Kathe assured her. The woman shrieked, “We can’t post a death notice for a woman who isn’t dead!” Kathe sniffed, “This isn’t a fun time for me! I had hoped for a little cooperation!”
Wednesday and Thursday passed. Boxes of schlocky wine disappeared. People told stories, laughing and crying. And then Esther finally departed. We all agreed she had nearly been late for her own funeral.
I imagine that was a surreal and stressful period for all of you at the time. However, it makes a terrific story. There are far worse things to be remembered for than some truly excellent last words and nearly being late for your own funeral. Brava, Esther!
Esther was proud of her knowledge of classical music. I think she would have been happy with those last words. May we all go out with such a nice line.
That was a dreadful situation, Steve. I do find the joke about your mother-law-in nearly being late to her own funeral very funny. I have also had the experience of waiting for people to died when they were terminally ill and near death.
We were grateful that my ever practical father left a good living will and that there was an incident that ultimately allowed us to follow those directives, making his passing go quickly. My brother, mother and I had all had private fears of having to lose him in pieces and parts to dementia in a nursing home, which was a quite real possibility. Instead he left us in a matter of days with little fuss after a medical incident when he was still mostly aware of family and place (though he would occasionally get lost in time). I have memory of him in the hospice wing at the nursing home humming and “playing the piano” on his bed sheets in his final unresponsive state. He may not have been fully aware of his world by that point, but he still had his music to the end.
OT Yesterday, at the end of the day, there were some comments about the request made by my friend, Willie, to attend church with us. I don’t feel excessively guilty about our failure to make that invitation. I do wish we had invited him to go to church with us. We were not ready to give out an invitation like that at that time. I do feel a little guilty about happen, but mainly I think of it as something of interest that happen during those times. From what was said, I believe there was some understanding that don’t I feel excessively guilt about the failure to give that invitation.
28 dead so far is correct since the shooter’s father wasn’t included in the school total. It’s up to 20 kindergartners dead, 6 school staff, the shooter’s father, and the shooter.
my daughter called to tell me and i have mixed emotions, i hate being in the world at a time when every horror makes the news stations buzz for a week within seconds of when it happens and gives us all something to feel terrible about. i feel bad for the messsed up kid who shot everyone and for all the unfortunates who were in the wrong place at the wrong time but i cant help but wonder if it would happen if it didnt make the sicko famous for a nano second as he decides to take the world with hinm as he does his swan dive into oblivion. not saying its wrong, just makes me wonder. remember how many people streaked the baseball and football games in the 70’s until they changed the rules making it against the rules to give them the sought after attention? it went away. cant help but wonder about these poor devils on their way to the death spirial they have called on themselves. i did want to see the obama words but couldnt hang around to wait for them. i will catch them on you tube this afternoon. what a sad sad part of our modern world.
President Obama just gave a news conference – he was tearing up throughout and had to stop talking for several very long moments. He recounted several other recent shootings. Apparently the 24-year old shooter first killed his father (with whom he lived), then headed to the school where his mother was a kindergarten teacher. He went into her classroom and took dead aim at all 20 five-year olds, then his mother. His Glock semi-automatic hand guns had a total of 30 rounds; 27 of them deadly. Our children and grandchildren aren’t even safe in their classrooms. I’m mortified thinking of the parents of these little ones. I hate the gun culture in this country, just hate it.
A Long Wait (with caps) sounds like something Pooh would discuss with Owl. Perhaps the anticipation of Pooh Sticks appearing on the far side of the bridge.
Christmas morning waiting with my siblings for the parents to wake up. Being just a little bit noisy (enough to rouse them but not to get in trouble for it).
Later on, waiting on Christmas morning for the teenagers to wake up!
i feel like life is a waiting game. i was described once to a bunch of chinese associates by one i have worked with for many years. he said some people are like tigers or rabbits that move quickly and strongly and make the world a crazy place to be a part of and that i am like an elephant who knows where he is going and gets there one step at a time very slowly and purposely. i liked that and it makes me a little less crazy when not everything falls together in the time frame i had hoped for.
i would love to have the ability to make all the stuff happen i have floating around in this head but it feels like that little puzzle with the 15 numbers and the 16 squares and you have t keep moving stuff around trying to get it all in order. the interesting part is when you get them in order you need to pick up the next puzzle and begin again. im getting there but i still have a ways to go. ill just keep pluggin away.
Greetings! Waiting to hear if you got the job after a really good interview. The time between the first contraction and the moment you can hold your baby. The duration of a car trip in winter when you’re anxious to finally see your family again. How long it takes to get your refund after you’ve filed your taxes — but the money is already spent. Christmas Eve day when you’re a kid — waiting to open presents until after supper and dishes were done. Waiting for pain medication to take effect. That sleepy child who will fight off sleep with as much crying as possible. The sweet slumber after a baby is fed, bathed, freshly diapered and in a clean snuggly soft onesie pajamas — then Mom gets to sleep.
Which brings up my eternal question — when will they make adult clothes as cute and comfy as baby clothes? They get the softest, plushest cotton, terrycloth that’s like velour, roomy/stretchy gussets and it’s one piece with a snap crotch and no shirt tails to keep tucked in. And fer cuuute! Sometimes you get tired of having to look professional, young, hip , thin or sexy. Pretty pastels of clowns, duckies, bunnies, kitties and puppies for us mature folks whose figures resemble a chubby baby again. I love baby clothes, don’t you?
On the other hand – I had an adult pair of footed pjs once, and it just wasn’t as cute as I’d hoped… you’re right, though, the flannel wasn’t nearly as soft as baby flannels.
Thanks, Joanne – I’d let myself get way pulled under by Connecticut tragedy, and that is helping me climb out a bit.
Most of mine have been mentioned, and they may not be terribly long, but:
– waiting (no shelter) in the rain for the bus to arrive, and you forgot your umbrella
– driving a VW microbus in sub-zero weather and hoping for some heat that never comes
– the time between when the baby you thought would sleep through the movie cries, to when you get him the heck out of the theater
– the time from when you tried out for the chorus you wanted, to when you get the notice
– an entire piano lesson
– the drive to the vet with the cat (wrapped in a towel) in my lap because I never bought one of those cat carriers
Your list somehow reminded me of this: the length of time it takes to get home when you realize after you have left from wherever you were that you really should have stopped to visit the restroom before departing…
I hate waiting. Especially meetings where the answer becomes obvious after a few minutes discussion yet we still have to beat that dead horse. C’MON! Let’s just vote and get on with this!!
Yesterday I didn’t tell this story of waiting. When our daughter Amelia was born it she was delivered via emergency C-section. There was about 20 minutes while I was out in the hallway while they prepped Kelly. I paced. I worried. I desperately wanted to talk to someone but didn’t want to call anyone because there wasn’t much to say yet at that point.
So I called our home answering machine and I talked to myself for a few minutes.
We saved that message for years and did write it down at one point. Mostly it’s a lot of me sighing.
At work early this morning. Waiting. Big Lego Robotics event and they wanted to be in here at 6:00. Waiting for things. That 1/2 hour before a show opens is tough for me too. I pace.
Trail Baboon 
Good morning. The first long wait that comes to mind is waiting at a hospital while my dad had an operation. My Dad had somehow managed to get the emergency room on his own after becoming very sick. My mother was in a nursing home recovering from a stroke. It was a four hour drive from where we lived to Platteville where my parents lived. I watched my Dad go into the operating room and he didn’t come out for a several hours while I waited by myself in the waiting room. When he finally emerged it turned out they had to operate on him for an ulcer which turned out to be a complicated operation, but the operation went well. My Dad said he thought that it must have seemed to me that the operation was taking a very long time. He had that right.
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Hand’t thought of that one. Sitting in the waiting room for 8-9 hours with the family as their pastor supporting them is a long wait, too.
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Clyde, I know that you have to do a lot of sitting in waiting rooms thee days due to your wife’s health problems. I guess, from what you have said, that you are pretty well prepared to do that waiting.
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OT: Jim, thanks for the tip on streaming RH with iTunes. It works much better.
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That suggestion might have come from another person. That is what I do to stream RH.
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Waiting for the cream to clot into butter when you are turning it at age 4 or 5 is a wait.
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Waiting for the sweet corn to finish boiling when you are 4 0r 5 seems like forever.
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When you are 4 or 5, waiting for pretty much anything seems like forever.
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Traffic jams. Especially if you are riding with a person who isn’t very patient.
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Indeed. True words, Jim.
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My brother and I waited with our mom while her husband, Bill, had surgery for pancreatic cancer. He was in surgery for nine hours and they removed his pancreas but they couldn’t get all the cancerous tissue because it was up against a major blood vessel. We waited another two or three hours for him to recover sufficiently so that Mom could talk to him before we were able to take her home. She was in no condition to drive at that point, so I drove her car home to Wabasha with my brother following in his car. We left my car in Rochester. After we got Mom settled in at home, my brother drove me home to Waterville, then drove himself home to Minnetonka. I had to get back to Rochester to pick up my car the next day, then I drove to Wabasha to be with Mom. She was too tired to be able to go see Bill the next day but his own kids finally went down to see him. Mom was able to go see him often but not every day. He was in St. Mary’s for a couple of weeks. Chemo started almost immediately after the surgery. Mom and Bill had another year and a half together before the cancer finally had its way with him. I’m grateful for the time they had together. They loved each other very much.
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Cancer is mean and doesn’t play fair. Stupid cancer.
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One of the longest waits of my life was when our family set up a death watch, waiting for my mother-in-law to die. It wasn’t so long in actual time, but when we were living through that moment it seemed to take forever.
Kathe picked her cancer-ridden mother up at the University Hospitals and drove her to her new home at the Walker Methodist retirement home in south Minneapolis. Kathe’s car radio was playing Ferde Grofe’s “Grand Canyon Suite” on this trip. At one point, Esther commented on the music, noting that, “Here come the braying jackasses.” Then she dropped into a coma, making those her last words.
Esther was comatose when the staff moved her into her room at Walker. It was obviously just a matter of time until she passed. The staff administered morphine suppositories to make Esther comfortable, knowing that the morphine could also speed her toward her end.
The family rallied, meeting each evening in Esther’s room. We always had two or three boxes of crappy wine to help pass the time. On most nights there were close to a dozen friends and family members drinking and talking about old days while Esther slumbered on in her coma.
Night followed night, and the mood in the room became sillier and louder each night. Fortunately we were in a mostly empty corner of the home, so our parties didn’t bother others. We drank and told stories about the past.
After several days, the farming branch of the family in northwestern Iowa began to express their displeasure. They bugged us to say, “When is the funeral? We have farms to run. We need to make plans.” We told them we couldn’t bury Esther alive, so we were obliged to wait for her to pass. Kathe asked the nurses to jack up the morphine levels, but they found that shocking and refused.
Night after night the chaplains would make an appearance to ask us to pray and improve our morale. Most of us were not religious, and that led to the discussion in which we decided we had to start praying with the chaplains to avoid dampening their morale.
On the second Tuesday of our vigil Kathe decided to plan a memorial service on Saturday, knowing Esther would not make it that far. She planned it and told the farmers what day they could plan to come. Then she phoned the StarTribune to place the death notice. That went well until the person at the paper asked when Esther had died. “She hasn’t yet, but she’ll surely be dead by Saturday,” Kathe assured her. The woman shrieked, “We can’t post a death notice for a woman who isn’t dead!” Kathe sniffed, “This isn’t a fun time for me! I had hoped for a little cooperation!”
Wednesday and Thursday passed. Boxes of schlocky wine disappeared. People told stories, laughing and crying. And then Esther finally departed. We all agreed she had nearly been late for her own funeral.
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I imagine that was a surreal and stressful period for all of you at the time. However, it makes a terrific story. There are far worse things to be remembered for than some truly excellent last words and nearly being late for your own funeral. Brava, Esther!
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Esther was proud of her knowledge of classical music. I think she would have been happy with those last words. May we all go out with such a nice line.
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That was a dreadful situation, Steve. I do find the joke about your mother-law-in nearly being late to her own funeral very funny. I have also had the experience of waiting for people to died when they were terminally ill and near death.
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We were grateful that my ever practical father left a good living will and that there was an incident that ultimately allowed us to follow those directives, making his passing go quickly. My brother, mother and I had all had private fears of having to lose him in pieces and parts to dementia in a nursing home, which was a quite real possibility. Instead he left us in a matter of days with little fuss after a medical incident when he was still mostly aware of family and place (though he would occasionally get lost in time). I have memory of him in the hospice wing at the nursing home humming and “playing the piano” on his bed sheets in his final unresponsive state. He may not have been fully aware of his world by that point, but he still had his music to the end.
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Sweet, Anna. Wouldn’t you like to know what his last tunes were?
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At least one was a hymn tune my mother recognized – one she said he learned as a child.
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So glad you appreciated (and captured!) the humor in that situation, Steve.
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OT Yesterday, at the end of the day, there were some comments about the request made by my friend, Willie, to attend church with us. I don’t feel excessively guilty about our failure to make that invitation. I do wish we had invited him to go to church with us. We were not ready to give out an invitation like that at that time. I do feel a little guilty about happen, but mainly I think of it as something of interest that happen during those times. From what was said, I believe there was some understanding that don’t I feel excessively guilt about the failure to give that invitation.
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Who is going to be the first to post a Tom Waits song?
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Actually, the longest year of my life was the nine months and two weeks spent waiting for my daughter to be born.
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It’s the last two weeks that are killer. I’m pretty sure my entire pregnancy until those two final weeks was as long as those two final weeks.
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Exactly! I remember thinking the last month and a half was the longer half of the time “we” were pregnant.
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The hour or so before bread rises enough to assure me that I haven’t killed the yeast this time.
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Have any of you seen the news about the elementary school shooting in Connecticutt?
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Horrible tragedy. 28 dead, including 18 children.
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Sorry, that should be 27.
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28 dead so far is correct since the shooter’s father wasn’t included in the school total. It’s up to 20 kindergartners dead, 6 school staff, the shooter’s father, and the shooter.
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my daughter called to tell me and i have mixed emotions, i hate being in the world at a time when every horror makes the news stations buzz for a week within seconds of when it happens and gives us all something to feel terrible about. i feel bad for the messsed up kid who shot everyone and for all the unfortunates who were in the wrong place at the wrong time but i cant help but wonder if it would happen if it didnt make the sicko famous for a nano second as he decides to take the world with hinm as he does his swan dive into oblivion. not saying its wrong, just makes me wonder. remember how many people streaked the baseball and football games in the 70’s until they changed the rules making it against the rules to give them the sought after attention? it went away. cant help but wonder about these poor devils on their way to the death spirial they have called on themselves. i did want to see the obama words but couldnt hang around to wait for them. i will catch them on you tube this afternoon. what a sad sad part of our modern world.
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I’ve wondered that too.
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Afternoon–
I’m only just starting to hear news today. I can’t imagine the waiting if you had a loved one in that school in CT.
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President Obama just gave a news conference – he was tearing up throughout and had to stop talking for several very long moments. He recounted several other recent shootings. Apparently the 24-year old shooter first killed his father (with whom he lived), then headed to the school where his mother was a kindergarten teacher. He went into her classroom and took dead aim at all 20 five-year olds, then his mother. His Glock semi-automatic hand guns had a total of 30 rounds; 27 of them deadly. Our children and grandchildren aren’t even safe in their classrooms. I’m mortified thinking of the parents of these little ones. I hate the gun culture in this country, just hate it.
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A Long Wait (with caps) sounds like something Pooh would discuss with Owl. Perhaps the anticipation of Pooh Sticks appearing on the far side of the bridge.
Christmas morning waiting with my siblings for the parents to wake up. Being just a little bit noisy (enough to rouse them but not to get in trouble for it).
Later on, waiting on Christmas morning for the teenagers to wake up!
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Yes,
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I meant
.
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i feel like life is a waiting game. i was described once to a bunch of chinese associates by one i have worked with for many years. he said some people are like tigers or rabbits that move quickly and strongly and make the world a crazy place to be a part of and that i am like an elephant who knows where he is going and gets there one step at a time very slowly and purposely. i liked that and it makes me a little less crazy when not everything falls together in the time frame i had hoped for.
i would love to have the ability to make all the stuff happen i have floating around in this head but it feels like that little puzzle with the 15 numbers and the 16 squares and you have t keep moving stuff around trying to get it all in order. the interesting part is when you get them in order you need to pick up the next puzzle and begin again. im getting there but i still have a ways to go. ill just keep pluggin away.
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8WpU4p3MaOs
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Greetings! Waiting to hear if you got the job after a really good interview. The time between the first contraction and the moment you can hold your baby. The duration of a car trip in winter when you’re anxious to finally see your family again. How long it takes to get your refund after you’ve filed your taxes — but the money is already spent. Christmas Eve day when you’re a kid — waiting to open presents until after supper and dishes were done. Waiting for pain medication to take effect. That sleepy child who will fight off sleep with as much crying as possible. The sweet slumber after a baby is fed, bathed, freshly diapered and in a clean snuggly soft onesie pajamas — then Mom gets to sleep.
Which brings up my eternal question — when will they make adult clothes as cute and comfy as baby clothes? They get the softest, plushest cotton, terrycloth that’s like velour, roomy/stretchy gussets and it’s one piece with a snap crotch and no shirt tails to keep tucked in. And fer cuuute! Sometimes you get tired of having to look professional, young, hip , thin or sexy. Pretty pastels of clowns, duckies, bunnies, kitties and puppies for us mature folks whose figures resemble a chubby baby again. I love baby clothes, don’t you?
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On the other hand – I had an adult pair of footed pjs once, and it just wasn’t as cute as I’d hoped… you’re right, though, the flannel wasn’t nearly as soft as baby flannels.
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Thanks, Joanne – I’d let myself get way pulled under by Connecticut tragedy, and that is helping me climb out a bit.
Most of mine have been mentioned, and they may not be terribly long, but:
– waiting (no shelter) in the rain for the bus to arrive, and you forgot your umbrella
– driving a VW microbus in sub-zero weather and hoping for some heat that never comes
– the time between when the baby you thought would sleep through the movie cries, to when you get him the heck out of the theater
– the time from when you tried out for the chorus you wanted, to when you get the notice
– an entire piano lesson
– the drive to the vet with the cat (wrapped in a towel) in my lap because I never bought one of those cat carriers
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Your list somehow reminded me of this: the length of time it takes to get home when you realize after you have left from wherever you were that you really should have stopped to visit the restroom before departing…
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Yes!
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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjCw3-YTffo
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Good Morning-
I hate waiting. Especially meetings where the answer becomes obvious after a few minutes discussion yet we still have to beat that dead horse. C’MON! Let’s just vote and get on with this!!
Yesterday I didn’t tell this story of waiting. When our daughter Amelia was born it she was delivered via emergency C-section. There was about 20 minutes while I was out in the hallway while they prepped Kelly. I paced. I worried. I desperately wanted to talk to someone but didn’t want to call anyone because there wasn’t much to say yet at that point.
So I called our home answering machine and I talked to myself for a few minutes.
We saved that message for years and did write it down at one point. Mostly it’s a lot of me sighing.
At work early this morning. Waiting. Big Lego Robotics event and they wanted to be in here at 6:00. Waiting for things. That 1/2 hour before a show opens is tough for me too. I pace.
Hang in there people. Be nice to each other.
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Cool that you thought of calling yourself. Sometimes it just helps to talk, to anyone.
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