A Day at the Races

Bambi comes up, she does the laundry for me.  I just asked her to do my jeans.  Man.. she cleans up the WHOLE house..does the dishes,  sits and drinks pop with me.   Merry Maids will NOT do the dishes.  She wanted a packet of cigarettes, that’s all she wanted.  I give them to her,  and some money too.  Then, she folded all the other clothes.  I could get KC to do it, but KC does it because she wants the reward.  Which is O.K.  I don’t mind.  However, KC just stuffs ’em into the laundry basket, they aren’t even dry and they are all wrinkled.

Bambi seems to like to do housework, which I cannot fathom.  She goes through the dishes in no time flat, and is very thorough, despite the fact she can’t see very well.  While she does the dishes she regales me with stories of whatever has happened lately.

Meanwhile … sister in the hospital.  Bambi is talking about the PICC tube.  Bambi says that they had to cut a hole for it in her, when she was in the diabetic coma earlier this year.

My sister in the hospital and I am wringing my hands, but she is doing better, no infection, but she’s still on the ventilator.  It don’t look bad actually.  Every time they bring her out of her drug induced trance, they have to knock her out again because she won’t stop wriggling around.  Her  fear is overwhelming her.  She had this pancreatic duct fixed, and she’s got stitches clean across her.  I got a little cold now in my lungs, and I do not dare see her in the ICU.

People are fighting all the time.  Either out and out fighting, or “I don’t like him”.. or “he’s a bum”..etc.   I give Bambi some Rantidene (Zantac) for her stomach, and we are figuring out what to do with these sweet potatoes, which we got a ton of.

This Thanksgiving,  will be the first one in a long time,  maybe ever, where I am actually THANKFUL.. where I actually feel it.. if my sister can make it.   When someone close to you is ill,   you look at their life, and go down.. back down through the years.  It tears you up really.

You never know what other people’s pain is, never have ONE CLUE.. until you have experienced it your self.

It just dawns on you.. through your other thought, which is so dark and fearful.  What a miracle it is.  What a miracle it is.. to be even breathing.  There’s no need to figure it out.  It doesn’t seem important anymore.  How miraculous the other creatures, and other things are, in the world.   You see the other people as God sees them.  Silly, but amazing nonetheless.   How miraculous, that anything exists- at all.

I keep working on my story, but it pales in comparison, to the drama that is always going on all around me.   They blackmail one another.  Bullshit one another.  Who is in the doghouse, and who is not.


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