Simpler Times

Remember the simpler times when the chicken run wasn't a re-enactment of Noah's Ark, when evil people weren't running the government, and when you could eat all the cheese you wanted to and no one could tell? Remember those days when you weren't hounded by every yellow pages company in the country, when gas cost less than your mortgage, and when you didn't feel guilty for not wanting to join the PTA because you know they'll just end up stoning you to death? Those were good times, huh?

Now that the elections are over I must check to see if Philip's cynical theory that gas prices went down just to soothe the populace into voting Republican is true. If it's true then the prices should begin to shoot up again starting today. By the way- GO OREGON! (for voting no on the measure requiring that parents must be notified before their teen can get an abortion, and for voting in a Democrat Governor.) Can't help but notice that the tide is shifting in this country and that's something to celebrate. Philip and I stayed up late drinking beer and talking politics. This is one of my favorite things to do. Staying up late with Philip drinking beer and debating the issues of the day. We've been doing it for thirteen years and it's so reassuring. And fun. And bonding. No matter how tired we are, there's always time for more beer and debates.

I only wish the next presidential elections were tomorrow. I would come with bells on. I would come with a whole band of tuba players and cymbol crashers. I would come with my accordion and play the one song I still know how to play: Piemontesina. Which is ironic because it's my grandpa Tom's favorite Italian folk song, and we couldn't be more different from each other politically. He wouldn't get to enjoy the irony though, because he's dead.

Here are twelve things I worry about:
(this is just the tip of the iceberg, I assure you.)

• That I will fail at my business and be forced to sell my home and the state of Oregon won't want me here anymore because I don't add anything beneficial to its population and it will kick me out and send me back to California. (what an obvious thing to worry about!)

• That Max will grow up to be a serial killer. (This worry isn't actually based on any behaviors of his so much as it is kind of always in my head that if you have a son you could possibly have given birth to the next serial killer, rapist, or Michael Bolton fan. Similarly, if you have a girl you may have given birth to the next Andrea Yates, Playboy bunny, or the next incarnation of the Tammy Faye syndrome. Having children is full of possibilities!)

• That I will have to go into surgery to have my arm worked on and they will find that they have to amputate at least one of them and dig out a couple of surprise tumors too. I wasn't worried about this until I dreamt it happened last night. I'm terrified of being put under. Especially when the doctor can't even find the hospital and wheels you around random buildings for hours on end trying to shove you into elevators that won't fit a gurney in them.

• That Max will die before me. I don't spend very much time thinking or worrying about this because what would be the point of such torture? It gets brought to my attention occasionally in movies. Two of the movies I am currently renting sent shivers down my spine. In "The Marrying Kind" a couple loses their son to drowning and it totally freaked me out because the kid was about Max's age and I never saw the tragedy coming because the movie was supposed to be a comedy. Then in "The Man Who Knew Too Much" a couple's son gets kidnapped and I just can't think of anything that could tear parents up more than awful scary things happening to their children.

• That my plumbing is going to break. That my plumbing will always break for the rest of my life.

• That my hens are going to catch cold and die because their run is so damn wet. Philip is going to work on improving their roof situation today.

• That my liver is going to kill me.

• That soldier ants have reached this country but that it's being hushed up to avoid mass PANIC IN THE STREETS.

• That Max's nose will start to bleed and never stop. (This worry is beginning to recede as we have now gone SEVEN nights without a nose bleed. And only one teeny tiny nose bleed during the day for eight days, and that one hardly counted because the dog gave it to him, it wasn't random.)

• That the Bush twins, or George's brother Neil, is going to run for president next. And win. That family has too many arms and legs.

• That the rest of my family is never going to emotionally heal and find their happiness.

• That I will run out of canned pears before the new year and will have to wait another nine months to can some more.