Tuve pensamiento de que canciònes a tocar a mì funeral. Agradable, eh?
Los canciònes son: muchas de las canciònes sobre Lee “S” Perry’s from the secret laboratory. UB40 (includes Promises & Lies). That one song from Gilberto Gil: Table Tennis Table. Most of Santana’s ( guest ) album — Shaman. Toots Thielemans — especially from his Brazilian jazz repertoire. Speakin’ of Toots: the other: Toots (Hibbert) in Memphis. Heck, some tunes from Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan — that‘ll put everyone in the mood. And Billie, Holliday.
Sì, estuve un tiempo recientemente que tuve pensamiento de las canciones a tocando a mi (funeral). Pero, quien sabe? posiblemente hay mucho tiempo, años y años, para me a vivir. Felizmente, estere ice-hockey pronto! (en tres meses es posible)
Yeah … Rachel says this was “F*ing good!” That’s Betty wavering or hovering in the entrance. Visiting this establishment apparently worked (somewhat) in hurrying the arrival of the baby.
Y … continua con … # 3: not so Nada Moocho Gwan but, eh, but
STUFF IS ABOUT TO HAPPEN
update: “Stuff” HAS Happened!
Rosco was in Portland (OR) for a few daze, during which time a new grandchild was to appear/occur, but didn’t.
Two daze later: (News update: Monday evening Nov. 11 inducement has commenced. I’ll finish this blorg-post SOON, but will comment or whatever as to the status… News update: 7:13 p.m. Portland time, another GRANDSON! Name and details forthcoming. They think either “Calvin” or “Henry”. I say, then: Calvin Hobbes! Our son (whom I just now called) said … if Henry, then Henry Indiana Jones! (¿ Henry Oregon Jones?)
Betty, Eddie, and Rachel cross yet another bridge.
Chance encounters: (1) on the first flight from home towards Portland, OR, Rosco is seated next to a man. He is reticent, napping most the way, and wakes up about 15 minutes before landing, stares at me for about ten seconds, and says: DIDN’T I SEE YOU AT JACK McCASLIN’S FUNERAL? He did. I attended the first part of the farewell rites for a former work-mate in Cedaredge about two years ago. Steve (my airplane acquaintance) was flying out to a slope-stability job for his company in Idaho — the same sort of work my son-in-law does.
(2) I usually stop at the Starbuck’s in the SLC airport between flights. Seriously: I (almost) never visit a Starbuck’s — as they are killing mom-&-pop everywhere. But at the SLC airport, it’s part of the ritual. A sassy lively vibrant energetic employee gave me some good-natured grief: about my hat (a Colorado minor-league basketball team), the fact I pretended to slip and almost fall next to the WARNING: WET FLOOR sign, and I was just doofussy and un-collected in general. So, on the return trip, 5 days later, I went by the Starbuck’s (having already bought coffee at Seattle’s Finest) just to see if she was there. She was, but she wasn’t. She was on break, about to have lunch in the ‘dining’ area between all the eating/beverage/food stalls. I sat down, after having ascertained that I wasn’t intruding. We talked for many minutes. She is one of those “about to be Saints” — working at the S-bux in order to put herself through mid-wife school (takes TEN YEARS ?! — well, it doesn’t, but she started, stopped, worked, raised a daughter, moved, but she’ll be done, soon!) — and then return to the Sudan (home) because, well, that is where she and her skills will do the most good.
Her I.D.-and key-lanyard identified her as a K C Chiefs fan, and tho’ I insisted I personally didn’t care, but my wife did, she proffered the “sorry for your misfortune” in advance of next weekend’s show-down between the Chiefs and the Broncos. A pleasant stimulating interlude between flights. I certainly hope “Atonga” does as intended, without undue difficulty.
Wierd. This was the most I ever spent for domestic airfare, for the shortest period. After having talked to Betty a week ago (Nov. 2) and she (and the kids) asked WHY AREN’T YOU HERE YET? I then arranged to fly out two daze later — thinking that the 5-day span of time there would cover the new grandchild’s due date.
The daily “inducement walk” did not do the desired inducement.
But they (and the off-in-the-forest dog, Nelson) enjoyed this none-the-less.
Still, I’ve always enjoyed the Portland area. Betty maintains that she does not. Mostly it’s the penetrating humidity which keeps her in a continual chill. For me, it’s different. There is the afore-mentioned humidity, the Twilight-esque almost perpetual cloudiness, drizzle, and fog. Trail runs through a forest of moss-covered trees, ferns, and even though it might be wet out, the trail wasn’t gumbo-y muddy. A plethora of restaurants and shops the likes of which are exotic and new to me. And, compared to what I’m used to in Colorado, a general attitude and vibe of, well, politeness. You can count on people letting your vehicle merge into traffic whereas in Colorado it’s not a done deal unless you make it happen. You catch someone’s eye and nod or smile and they’ll smile back. “Back home” it’s like “every (wo)man for himself.” We’re rugged individuals out here in the west, baby. Don’t tread on me.
Which, somehow, it seems pertinent in some convoluted way to mention that a half-hour ago (it’s 9 a.m. Monday Vet’s Day Nov 11) I saw a big coyote trot across my yard. I looked carefully and no, there wasn’t a cat (or anything else) in it’s mouth. It brazenly ambled down the neighborhood road, then detoured off up the neighbor’s hill when it saw a dog-walking pedestrian headed its way. I thought those things came out only at night, and furtively at that.
Oh, yeah, my most relaxing moment last week in Portlandia. (But, as “they” say — pixures don’t lie — ¿ do I really LOOK that old?) Grampa (they call me “Papa Rosco”) with Eddie and the grand-dog, Nelson. The cat was also curled up in the huddle for a while.
The alarm went off at 3:30 a.m. so I could make the 6 a.m. flight back home. On the counter Rachel left a baggie — I ate all but one before the pixure wuzz took.
I was reminded of the snacks and drinks kids leave out for Santa.