Cliff. Bus. Death. Soon
Well, it rained so dreadfully around here the day before yesterday that people actually died from it -- but we're having sun through the weekend. This suits us -- it means we can put the First Communion guests out on the deck, where they will be more comfortable -- and picturesque -- than they would be in the house.
The child's grandfather is flying in today, though not in his own plane. We're pretty happy about this. It's true that the drive is longer for us -- it's about an hour to the Pittsburgh International Airport to pick him up, if he pays someone else to fly him, whereas if he flew in his own little plane we could drive about 6 blocks away and pick him up at the Allegheny County Airport (my weather pixie broadcasts from there).
So, if he flew himself in it'd be easier on us in terms of the commute.
Nevertheless, there is, on the other hand, the Fear Factor, which is my case is pretty great. If my dad -- who's in his mid 70's -- were to actually fly his little plane from Albuquerque to Pittsburgh, I'd be impossible to live with, on account of getting constant streams of psychic information concerning his horrible death in the air. (Though, as he once pointed out, he probably wouldn't die in the AIR...)
I come by this honestly, and indeed the genetic source of this constant psychic death-is-occurring-even-now-to-your-beloved stream that runs through my head continually, without ceasing, is the very parent who's supposed to be flying in today, unless the plane goes down.
All three of his kids were constantly dying spectacular deaths, in our youth. The fact that all three of us are actually alive at the moment, and indeed more or less thriving, still makes him no never mind. Death. Happening now.
Same thing for me. I put the child on the bus, and he's headed off to certain death, probably down at the end of the block. I'm convinced, actually, that the bus is going to go off a cliff. Now, I live in a borough called Pleasant Hills, which is, as I have noted, both pleasant and hilly. There are no cliffs. Well, I take that back -- there's a cliff over behind the Ponderosa on Route 51. But the bus doesn't go anywhere near there.
Nevertheless. Cliff. Bus. Death. Happening soon.
The one advantage to having this kind of Constant Spectacular Death Override Function is that when horrible things really happen -- which despite the odds, they do, sometimes, they do, God help us -- people such as my dad and I aren't surprised. Shocked, sure. Upset and horrified, of course. But we're never surprised.
Told ya. There WAS a cliff there! See?
Anyway. The Portents of Doom get to have a weekend together, which will include visiting the Place of the Daughter's Employment, where she might even get some work done (there's a bookstore! yay!), and attending the First Communion of the Catholic Grandchild. (There's not very many Catholics in my family. In fact, we're all three of us going to be together this weekend. That's it. We'll read Thomas Aquinas together, me, my dad, the child. Yeah. That'll be good. Sit still, child. Stop squirming. Aquinas is Good for you. Gotta stick together here.)
Also, we'll sit out on the deck eating cake.
Unless, of course, we're dead. There's that cliff issue.
The child's grandfather is flying in today, though not in his own plane. We're pretty happy about this. It's true that the drive is longer for us -- it's about an hour to the Pittsburgh International Airport to pick him up, if he pays someone else to fly him, whereas if he flew in his own little plane we could drive about 6 blocks away and pick him up at the Allegheny County Airport (my weather pixie broadcasts from there).
So, if he flew himself in it'd be easier on us in terms of the commute.
Nevertheless, there is, on the other hand, the Fear Factor, which is my case is pretty great. If my dad -- who's in his mid 70's -- were to actually fly his little plane from Albuquerque to Pittsburgh, I'd be impossible to live with, on account of getting constant streams of psychic information concerning his horrible death in the air. (Though, as he once pointed out, he probably wouldn't die in the AIR...)
I come by this honestly, and indeed the genetic source of this constant psychic death-is-occurring-even-now-to-your-beloved stream that runs through my head continually, without ceasing, is the very parent who's supposed to be flying in today, unless the plane goes down.
All three of his kids were constantly dying spectacular deaths, in our youth. The fact that all three of us are actually alive at the moment, and indeed more or less thriving, still makes him no never mind. Death. Happening now.
Same thing for me. I put the child on the bus, and he's headed off to certain death, probably down at the end of the block. I'm convinced, actually, that the bus is going to go off a cliff. Now, I live in a borough called Pleasant Hills, which is, as I have noted, both pleasant and hilly. There are no cliffs. Well, I take that back -- there's a cliff over behind the Ponderosa on Route 51. But the bus doesn't go anywhere near there.
Nevertheless. Cliff. Bus. Death. Happening soon.
The one advantage to having this kind of Constant Spectacular Death Override Function is that when horrible things really happen -- which despite the odds, they do, sometimes, they do, God help us -- people such as my dad and I aren't surprised. Shocked, sure. Upset and horrified, of course. But we're never surprised.
Told ya. There WAS a cliff there! See?
Anyway. The Portents of Doom get to have a weekend together, which will include visiting the Place of the Daughter's Employment, where she might even get some work done (there's a bookstore! yay!), and attending the First Communion of the Catholic Grandchild. (There's not very many Catholics in my family. In fact, we're all three of us going to be together this weekend. That's it. We'll read Thomas Aquinas together, me, my dad, the child. Yeah. That'll be good. Sit still, child. Stop squirming. Aquinas is Good for you. Gotta stick together here.)
Also, we'll sit out on the deck eating cake.
Unless, of course, we're dead. There's that cliff issue.
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