Siblings

He lay under a cheap, red quilt, his face turned away. The other one lay with his feet on his pillow, his face turned toward her and up. She saw her words come out of her mouth, wind up the pull cord of the overhead fan (it was off), settle there, stuck in the dust. Her hands waved in the air. She conjured tears. I'm going to cry! His face turned from the wall, the red cover over his chin. He looked straight up. Do you understand? I can't take it anymore! The other one smiled, a squirm. His big toe bent toward the second one, enfolded it, a fat pad.

She had lost track of their feet, first.

Kicking off from center field and tulips

 At 7:30 am, I was doing this:

I was watching him:

At 10:00 am, I bought these as a sort of reward and incentive to get through the rest of the day:

At noon, I was doing this:

(disclosure: the photo is taken from another game earlier in the season, but you get the gist)

Some of you might remember when I described my Italian grandmother, in her very old age, walking around the house in her black dress muttering Pray that I die, Pray that I die. Well, I'm going to confess that the prospect of another basketball game contingent upon that one, provoked a similar response in me. Pray that they lose. Pray that they lose. If anyone is reading this who happens to be on our team, please forgive me. My prayer was answered, and they lost. Basketball season is officially over.

At 2:20 pm, I was watching him:

Henry broke a long batting slump, so bad that he had been plunged into the depths of despondency and failure just two days ago. He hit a DOUBLE and a TRIPLE. I screamed myself hoarse.

At 4:00 pm I'm watching this:



I just remarked on Facebook that the trouble with Facebook is that superlatives have become cliche, and there's just no way to properly describe Van Morrison in this video without using one.