Not in the clamor of the crowded street, not in the shouts and plaudits of the throng, but in ourselves, are triumph and defeat.--Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
REDIRECT ALERT! (Scroll down past this mess if you're trying to read an archived post. Thanks. No, really, thanks.)
Due to my inability to control my temper and complacently accept continued silliness with not-quite-as-reliable-as-it-ought-to-be Blogger/Blogspot, your beloved Possumblog will now waddle across the Information Dirt Road and park its prehensile tail at http://possumblog.mu.nu.
This site will remain in place as a backup in case Munuvia gets hit by a bus or something, but I don't think they have as much trouble with this as some places do. ::cough::blogspot::cough:: So click here and adjust your links. I apologize for the inconvenience, but it's one of those things.
Monday, November 10, 2003
Up early Saturday, of course, because I didn’t need any sleep. Start trying to make sense of surroundings, made difficult by the feeling of many sharp objects embedded in my back and shoulders, and the pounding pain in my spine. Felt like I had been sleeping on a sack full of angry bulldogs all night. Which might explain the weird smell in the room, I suppose.
Got the kids dressed and the room folded back into place then went downstairs for breakfast. Good ol’ Southern breakfast spread—salt, fat, sugar, starch—the four basic food groups. Went back up to room, passed by a hastily hand-written sign on an easel, pointing back toward the meeting rooms telling people where to find the New Earth Psychic Festival.
I suppose it’s too unsophisticated of me to suggest that with all that psychic power and auras and chakras and stuff around, that a handwritten paper sign is something of a letdown. Seems like you wouldn’t need any extra help from the temporal world at all. Then again, it was written in Magic Marker.
Back up to the room, watch a bit of television, leave to let the cleaning lady clean, come back, watch some more, then get ready to go to the second game against the Shockers of the Madison Soccer Club at Merrimack Park.
Not near so much trouble finding this one, especially with the help of the SUN. (Amazing what a little light can do.) Parked across from the portable toilets and waited for the inevitable request to go inspect them, which came in about five minutes, then it was time to go set up the cheering section.
Once again, constant wind. I stuffed tissues into Catherine’s ears so they would hurt any worse later, and stuffed some in mine so I wouldn’t have to hear her complain.
Completely different set of girls today—they played good and hard and smart. And SOMEone managed to get a goal in the first half, after coming so close all year long. Corner kick came in high and hot, over the heads of the defenders, to a little girl who happened to be in the right place at the right time to punt it in after a brief scramble with the goal keeper. Her daddy and mommy were very proud of her, and she acted like it was no big deal—just skipped a little skip, then turned and trotted back up the field. Somehow, she’s figured out the old saying about, “Act like you’ve been there before,” I suppose. And they went on to score another point in the second, and managed a 2-0 shutout.
Pack up, head for the hotel again, change, go downstairs past the Psychic Fair to our own room for the team end-of-year party, which was a scene of great destruction and noise. We stayed for a good while, but we still had to get everyone bathed and in the bed, because we didn’t know what time our game on Sunday would be, or if we would have time to go to church. And I was still operating in zombie mode and needed to go to bed.
Finally got word about 9:30 that we would be playing at 10 the next morning. Hung up the phone, turned off the light, and began Night Two of Angry Bed.
The kids mumbled all night, I ached, Catherine giggled, and then about 2:30 she wet the bed. ::sigh:: Such a long time since her last such accident, and she waits until I am so bedraggled by sleeplessness that I seriously contemplate leaving her in the hallway for the rest of the evening. Up, get her changed, cover up large wet area on bed with towels and blanket (sorry, Holiday Inn, as well as anyone else who uses Room 402—and the weird smell is not our fault) then back to “sleep”.
Up, dress, breakfast, check out, go to game. Regular Randolph this time—just off of Drake. Cold, blowing wind. Of course. And well and truly absolutely NO restroom facilities.
We were playing now for fifth and sixth spots against the Lady Jets from Hoover. We’ve played them before, and the result this time was the same. We got beat, 3-0. ::sigh:: But, as with every other game our girls have played this year, they played good, strong, heads-up, physical ball. If they keep it up, they will wind up like their Lady Husky big sisters in the U17/18/19 bracket who won the title this year. Congratulations to them, and to our girls, too.
And to the strong, quiet, all-purpose player wearing number 47.
Stopped by the swinging TGI Friday’s on University for lunch, then off to home. I let Reba drive after we got south of Decatur, as I spent some time fitfully drooling in the passenger seat. I had just really dozed off when there came a tiny, hopeless whimper from the very back of the van, by a little boy who ONCE MORE needed to make a pit stop. NOW. I woke up just in time to see us getting off at an exit with no signs of life, and no access to reenter the Interstate.
Amazing what a little jigger of adrenaline can do. I was wide awake now, and told Reba to head on up the road a bit. Just by happenstance, we had gotten off at an exit close to Highway 31, so we made the turn south and in just a few minutes found a handy service station with indoor plumbing. Boy and Dad out (again, just like yawning…) and then the girls took their turn, and back down the highway to the next entrance ramp, then on to home.
Never has our toy-strewn, unvacuumed, dusty, looks-like-it-was-hit-by-a-tornado house looked so inviting! Unload, start washing clothes, get ready for evening church, go, manage to stay wide awake (not really), go eat supper at the new Chinese place, go home, put kids in bed, collapse once more, and FINALLY get some sleep. In spite of the fervid, hot-and-sour soup-induced dreams.
Some more sort of weekend.
One thing you will notice being missing is my usual lovingly detailed descriptions of animals that met their Maker under the wheels of various conveyances.
Well, going up, it was dark. Coming back, I was dozing.
In the end, isn’t one addled possum enough for you people!?
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