Mick is looking just thrilled to be in the camera's eye as he sits in his regular spot at the Wheelwatch, now a much smaller bar and restaurant with the addition of the soon-to-be-open Pel-Mart. Kind of looks like a member of ZZtop, huh? Is that scary, or what?
Does absence make the heart grow fonder or does familiarity really breed contempt? I think both are true. How about "out of sight, out of mind"? This, too, can be true. Right now, in the dual Shockey households, the first is the current reality. Some days Mick and I will talk about eight times during the course of the day. These are rarely short phone calls. Hopefully he will soon be too busy with the new Pel-Mart store and the bar/restaurant to spend as much time as we do on the phone. Phone-ear is making me irritable. Not to mention my aching butt ( and leg). Soon, hopefully, my hamstring and behind will allow me to be more active in the up-keep of our property. Because that situation is REALLY making me irritable. Watch as the couch potato gains a pound a day. Oh, please, no, and no, not more than that!So,for now there's some down-time and occasional long pauses in the conversation when Mick and I realize that NOTHING has happened worth speaking about. He can't talk Mariners' baseball with me. With Mick gone, sports have been 86'ed from the television.( We may start DVRing "Keeping Up With the Kardashians".) Besides, that's (Mariner up-dates and play-by-play, post-game commentary) his brother Frank's department.
I may call him later to share two minuscule observations. First, Miranda quietly disappeared while one of her shows was on. I thought nothing of it for several minutes and then decided to find out what she was up to. I lucked out and found her on my first attempt. I opened Sam's bedroom door and there was Miranda, buried under about six (after all, it's summer, and the normal twenty would be excessive) blankets ASLEEP! I need to call Mick and tell him that his daughter has pulled a Randy. Mick's brother Randy was notorious during his summer fishing visits with us in Pelican, for quietly disappearing without a word once dinner was over. Stupidly, we'd always assume that he was in the bathroom or getting a beer or pop and would be back any moment. Then we'd realize that he'd been gone for two hours and realize that he'd GONE SNEAKING OFF TO BED! Why he'd be so stealthy, I've no idea. Did he think someone would actively try to prevent him from sleeping? Maybe he was afraid that someone would point out that it was absolutely obnoxious to get up at 4:00 a.m. and make coffee and omelets and wait impatiently for everyone else to wake up? That would be correct, of course, that's exactly what we would have done. So he became a sneaky sleeper
Now, Miranda doesn't have the excuse of getting up at 4:00 a.m. She does have the excuse of being a teenager. She's probably still tired from her trip, but I'm hoping she wakes up on her own soon so that I don't have to be the mean one. Although, this napping on the sly will compel me to tell her again that I wish we'd named Sam Francis instead. What? you ask. Why? If the girls had been Miranda and Francis, their nicknames could have been Randy and Frank, the same as Mick's brothers. Horrifying. Absolutely horrifying in Miranda's estimation.
Oh, no! Realization has struck and I feel like a heartless shrew! Luckily, I didn't throw water in Miranda's face or scream abuse ( for those who don't know me--I'd NEVER do those things). I did have one of those light bulb moments, though, when I realized that the poor kid has jet lag. Jet lag? Yeah! They put more than 67 miles on their feet during their Smithsonian field trip and I'm sure every kid that went on the trip is probably looking like a zombie. Of course they ignored lights out and stayed up much longer than what was allowed. They're 14! They mistakenly think it's a thrill to stay up all night long. They don't realize that billions of dollars are spent each year with adults trying to get some sleep. Miranda has been trying to help me. Now, Randy, on the other hand, on his Pelican fishing visits, can NOT claim jet lag when there is only a one hour difference in time zones. He can try to claim a genetic anomaly or some kind of disability or just thumb his nose at us. He'll continue to sneak off to bed and we all know it, legitimate excuse or not. NOT. But Miranda I will cut some slack.
I'm procrastinating on some aggravating paperwork that I need to deal with. I will procrastinate for perhaps another day and then will be overcome with a sufficient amount of guilt to get the job done. What I'd give for a personal secretary! Of course, that secretary would be grossly overpaid because I really don't have much in the way of paperwork, meetings, social events, or other secretary-like activities that need to be dealt with. I just resent the few that I do have. I guess he or she will have to scoop poop out of the yard,too. We can dream...
Sam has been dreaming of life in the fast lane--her idea of the fast lane, that is, which consists of visits to restaurants and Wal-Mart and Target. Sam suffered a bitter disappointment this morning. The day began with her requesting (aka demanding) "Salad restaurant car fast". She repeated this several times and though I told her, "no, we aren't going to ANY restaurants today", I couldn't help but wonder what Salad Restaurant referred to. So, it was time to call Mick. We pondered this request. It was a new one on us. Miranda joined in and tried to figure it out, too. We couldn't do it. We couldn't crack the code and finally gave up, feeling decidedly dissatisfied.
I've cracked the code! I know what Sam wants now, where she wants to go. We're not going to, but at least I know what she's referring to. Salad Restaurant is Olive Garden. Time to call Mick. After all, we've only talked on the phone five times so far today. We're getting behind.
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