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The Last Word

February 9, 2005

Listened to the show Saturday and it was not bad. The kids and I made it home just in time after a day out and about. I bought them each two pair of jeans. I'm not sure I understand it but they manage to wear holes into the knees of their jeans in a matter of weeks and it pains me to send them out in tattered clothes. If there's one thing I'm not, it's a seamstress. Lord knows I've tried. I made some plaid flannel curtains for the kitchen and they stayed up a good three hours before I pulled them down and shredded them and now I use them for cleaning windows. They were uneven and I found myself tilting my head when I looked out the window.

While we were out we had pizza at a nice little restaurant at the mall. Of course we put our waitress through a bit of trauma because the kids couldn't agree on what toppings they wanted and then there was the what-to-drink issue. So we ended up with cheese pizza and water and the kids wrote thank you notes to the waitress on the back of their paper placemats. As we were leaving she caught up with us and gave the kids each a helium balloon, which made us an accident waiting to happen all the way home.

So as I unloaded shopping bags Mr. Keillor talked about Franz Schubert and how Schubert was poor and had a rough childhood and was bipolar and loved food and it showed. Well now, we all have our mountains to climb, don't we? And pigs can't look up at the sky. At least that's what the kids tell me. Something about their bone structure keeps pigs from tilting their heads back. Seems to me, though, if I were a pig, I'd find a way. And Schubert did as well. He just kept making music. Kind of like Elvis and the Beatles. You take what you're given and you go to town.

Which reminds me. I had a little conversation with Mr. Sundberg the other night as we lay in bed listening to the wind whistling outside. I was telling him about how I've been restless lately and now that the kids can dress themselves and get their own snacks and have enough discipline under mild threat to sit down and do their homework after school, I'm thinking it's time for me to find a job. Mr. Sundberg rolled over and said, "Mmm hmm." I told him I feel a bit crazy some days and feel a need to do something meaningful out there in the world. "Uh hmmhh," he said. I said when I think about what it is I do well, it seems work in a library or a bakery or a little shop where they sell cards and gifts would about do it. Mr. Sundberg let out a long snore which told me not that he wasn't interested but that it had been a long day and he was tired and we ought to discuss this in the morning.

Getting the last word doesn't matter much when the person to whom you are speaking is sound asleep. I kept talking anyway. I told him I'm even considering going to school. Massage school. Or maybe a culinary institute. And the words "English major" have, of late, been on my mind. Now wouldn't that be a kicker.

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