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.
Wednesday, January 07, 2004
Finishing up supper last night, I had turned around to get something and heard Middle Girl and Boy giggling. Seems Rebecca's eyeglasses lens had popped out again, right onto the table and nearly into her plate. Why that was particularly giggleworthy, I'm not sure, but in any event, I told her to leave it alone and let me fix it later.
I've already tried once--the old clear-nail-polish-over-the-screw-threads trick--which held for exactly four days. After I got through eating, I got her itty bitty glasses repair screwdriver and tried to get the screw to behave and stay in place, but alas, it was all for nought. And I jabbed myself in the finger. ::sigh:: Got on the phone, found out the Vision Center at my home away from home was open until 8:30. I really, REALLY didn't want to get back out--I already had on my long-handles and sweatshirt, and it was cold. Oh well.
Got my jeans back on, socks, shoes, billfold, keys and took off for the store. The nice lady put in a self-tapping screw and neatly popped the excess off from the other side of the frame, cleaned them and handed them back all nice and shiny.
No use letting an entire trip to Wal-Mart go to waste, so I ambled over to the magazines to see if there was anything interesting. There was, but it was in its late-20s, balding, except for the long stringy mess that hung down off the back of his head. He was slouched over by the motorcycle magazines, with an older woman I took to be his mom. "I'm gonna get me that V-Twin magazine right there, 'cause it's got that article about the new Sportsters, and that's the one I think I'm gonna get." The woman was silent, just standing there probably wondering why it is her baby seems so interested in buying one of them fool things when he won't even move out of the basement.
She slowly pushed her shopping cart on around toward the end of the aisle, then paused briefly, looking down at the bottom rack. She picked up a thick paperback book with a boldly printed cover, all about dogs and cats.
He looked at what she had picked up. "What's that book about?" he asked.
Remember friends, always wear your helmet.
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