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

Where to start?

I’m so bumfuzzled it’s like my brains have been replaced with a hive of bees. And not just any bees, but large, happy bees with cartoon smiley faces, all humming an annoying sort of tune like you would hear on a cable news show about halibut. Yeah, that bumfuzzled! (Although, this feeling might have something to do with eating at the East Buffet Chinese Restaurant and Sushi Bar last night after church.)

Good to be home—last night was the first good night’s sleep I’ve had since we left. Friday afternoon, went and picked up Miss Reba from work and we headed out to Trussville, got a bite to eat at a little mom-and-pop gyro place beside the dollar store (which should give you an idea of just how great of a lunch it was!), then on to the house to finish packing and loading the van. As I’ve mentioned before, my idea of packing is an extra pair of jeans and some underwear in a brown paper bag. I am a decided minority in my household, which treats any trip as being something akin to Napolean’s invasion of Russia. (And we all know how THAT turned out.)

Five folding chairs, big rolling bag of wife clothes, extra giant duffel bag full of kid clothes, hanging bag of dress clothes and a big duffel bag full of dress shoes for Sunday (both of which turned out to be useless), big bag of toiletries and makeup and assorted feminine stuff, Rebecca’s field bag full of uniforms and junk, drinks, snacks, books, one hundred brass field cannons, four thousand cannon balls, sixty kegs of powder, plush animal toys, flares, sledgehammers, &c., &c.

Got close to 2:30, decided to go on to elementary school to get kids so as to be able to leave as close to 3:30 as possible. Rebecca’s first game was going to be at 6:30, and her coach likes them to be on the field around an hour ahead of time, and it takes 2+ hours to get there, and so we were going to be hotfooting it. Add to this that the field location was still somewhat cloudy in my mind—it was initially scheduled for Liberty Middle School’s field, out in the frontier town of Madison, then the team mom gave us a schedule that had it at the Garth field in the toney Randolph suburb over in the far east of town (Party on Wayne!—Party on, Garth!), then when I checked Friday morning, I found that the most recently updated schedule had it at Liberty again.

Yes, you can see what’s going to happen very clearly, can’t you.

Well, I could too, but you know, tiny brain and all…

Got the kids at 3, made them all go to the restroom, chugged back down Highway 11, got home, made them go to the bathroom again, stuffed them in the van and waited for Ashley’s bus, which got her to our door at just a minute or two past 3:30. Just about on time, and then we were off—WAIT! The list for forgotten items—more books, more stuffed animals, this, as well as that!

Finally, on the road. Just like Jack Kerouac! Not really.

While Sal and Dean were balling that jack, they didn’t have to put up with four cranked-up kids in the back, including one still half-crazed from the combined effects of an ear infection and the antibiotics used to cure it. Beat generation, my hind foot. I’ll see your beat, and raise you a sound pummeling of your cerebral cortex with all four hundred know variations of “Off Key Popular Song Lyrics Sung at Top Volume”.

But, we did make it to the big I-565 and Exit 8 just about nightfall. Going to try for Liberty first, just in case. You’ll read all about it shortly in our next exciting episode—right now though, I have to go cover the front desk because we are short-handed today, then I have to go meet Reba for lunch, then I have a meeting with some guy.

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