Ah, Friday

Last day of the week and I am so ready for the weekend.

I went to see Grannie after work yesterday evening. When I got there, she was sitting up in bed and looking rather normal, except for the big, soft collar around her neck and all the stuff taped to her hands and arms. She is doing remarkably well. She has one or two small problems to remedy before she can come home, but they're nothing too serious and they will, eventually, get handled and she'll be home.

Once home, however, I'm pretty sure it's going to be a tough job to ever convince her, again, to go to a hospital. She seems rather adamant. (Hah! I just said Adam Ant.)

Anyway.

She's hoping, right now, to get home soon enough to see some of the Barclay's on HER TV - Tiger is playing - and playing well, so far - and she is Tiger's NUMBER ONE FAN. (Please. I am NOT exaggerating.) They don't get the Golf Channel on the hospital TV system - and there's no Network coverage until the weekend. It's killing her not to see him play.

Change of subject

The weather has been so strange this year. August has almost run its course and the grass is still a brilliant green. It's not SUPPOSED to be - it just is. August in Chicago usually means frying eggs on the sidewalk, melting tar in the streets, and grass that's brown and crunchy. It's been hot enough, but it's been so very wet this year. And of course, if it's wet, the grass is green and the tar won't melt. Which is good if you park your bike in the street cause then it won't fall over from the kickstand poking holes in the asphalt. Fer reals.

Another one

#3 son goes back to school in two weeks. Franky, I can't wait. Maybe I'm just an old fuddy duddy, but the strange hours he keeps drive me nuts. I'll miss him later, I know, but for know? Don't let the door hitcha where Mother Nature splitcha.

Ah. Regular hours. As relaxing as going to the john every morning at 10:30.

Ndinombethe.