The little blond boy who died in the car. The little blond boy who died in a hot car. The little blond boy who died in a hot car when his father allegedly forgot and left him there throughout a workday. Anyone following the story knows that several factors have surfaced that do not jive with the little boy being forgotten all day, or forgotten at all. The parents researched hot child deaths and said it was their greatest fear.

Great fears tend to make people over vigilant and leave them self-guessing themselves – think of someone with a gas stove returning home to make certain it was, indeed, turned off. Think of someone afraid of home invasion repeatedly checking locks.

Maybe a note on the steering wheel or visor? Maybe a wallpaper picture of the child on a phone or computer? Maybe an irresistible urge to run out to the parking lot to check, or a call to daycare if it were the other parent’s turn?

Their greatest fear.

I  can’t fathom the reported behavior of the parents because I cannot imagine anyone being anything but devastated beyond words, let alone reason if something like that happened. However, whether I can understand it or not, apparently the father talked about having committed a felony after pulling into the parking lot with the dead child in the car. The mother sat her husband down and asked him if he thought he had told the police too much.

I have driven with a little blond boy in my backseat during two different times of my life. I feel myself shudder and grow physically ill at the thought of opening a car door and realizing what the new reality was. I would be on my knees, sobbing, hysterical. I would probably be demanding to wake up from the nightmare.

If it were their greatest fear, I am dumbfounded they would not have taken extra precautions, and obviously what I am suggesting is the unthinkable: A little boy being purposely left to die.

We had some adventure today, and it has nothing to do with me getting wet. The wetness comes later and was run of the mill.

This morning, rain was predicted for the afternoon and so Cameron and I took Shane over to a corner of the fairgrounds and then Cameron spent some time driving around, practicing. It was cool and cloudy and Shane road with his paws and head out of the car – I mean you don’t go fast on fairground roads. There were a lot of squirrels about and when Cameron slowed to an almost a stop for a turn, Shane spotted one and JUMPED OUT OF THE WINDOW!

It was faster than fast; he was in the car, he was out of the car.  Cameron slammed on the brakes and the plastic cup of water I had been holding between my thighs for Shane if he wanted a drink sloshed all over my shorts. But, of course, that was not our main concern. Where was Shane? He showed himself some distance off and refused to come when Cameron called. It was a stubbornness that was not appreciated.

We need to have a serious discussion with that dog . . . and I had to insist to Summer that my wet shorts were from the jostled cup of water. Sigh.

That, though, is not the wetness of which I spoke. After the trip in the morning to avoid the rain, the forecast changed to no rain today, but rain tomorrow. So I started out on a slow walk and half way through, it rained. Not very hard, not cold, and not long. However, I did get wet all the way through to my socks. Do  you know that wet walking shoes can be very heavy?

I am clean and dry once again, although my hair is still wet and in need of fluffing. I am now going to fluff.

I walked  yesterday and soaked my clothes with sweat; I walked today and did the same. I didn’t think I’d do it two days in a row, but it is Quentin’s birthday and I felt like doing something he would be proud of. Not the walking, but the keeping on walking. I alter my stride and the bounce in my step to cater to muscles when they start to ache, Then when I finish up and my clothes are wet and my face dripping, I savor the endorphins and Raspberry Lemonade.

That’s what I did today.

Oh, and I showered.

As we approached the Lagrange House, I noticed the corn was very tall, taller than I had seen it elsewhere. And then I saw the grass. It was up there, but not as much as I thought it could be, because, I found out, a neighbor family had mowed it. I guess living between two rivers and a creek and frequent rain and temperatures in the 70’s to low 80’s is a good growing medium for THINGS THAT HAVE TO BE MOWED. Not to mention pruned. Summer and I went at it – she on the big mower with the accelerator pedal  and me on the little cart that can scoot up close to things. In other words, I shifted . . . a lot. I also got stuck in a couple of holes but since I was on the lightweight cart, I was able to put it in reverse and, pushing with my foot, get it moving.

The day before she and I replaced the ceiling fan (with light) in her room. I will skip all the details and just mention that at the end I was standing at the circuit breaker talking on my phone to her on her phone up by the fan:

I’m throwing the switch on the count of three.

Just throw it.

The lights came on in the room. I am slowly approaching the fan; I am pulling the light switch. IT CAME ON!

Then I ran upstairs and we stood there, thinking, my gosh, it works?

Today I am being a bum. Maybe I will go for a walk and maybe I will just keep on bumming.

Because Quentin’s birthday falls on July 6th, in 1982 we invited quite a few people in the neighborhood in Palatine to join us to celebrate the anniversary of the United States and Quentin’s first birthday. His cake was made of many, many little cupcakes forming a U.S. flag.

They are on me to go to now, so maybe more later.

Ah, little blond boy with the scent of sunshine in your hair, how I have loved you.

I am at an ebb tide, not writing much, although that is not to say I have not been thinking. Then, again, it is not to say that I have been doing just that. More than anything I have been on the chicken with the cut off head side of the line, that is: a little disorganized, flighty and psychologically pacing and wringing my hands.

It is interesting on this side of the (head off) chicken line, but not exactly where one would choose to vacation. I have the sensation it is a daytime version of one of those near nightmares where nothing really big is wrong, but every little thing just doesn’t appear to be working out.

The nursing home was depressing tonight. Some people are sharp in the moment, but lost in deafness and bad eyesight. I am reminded on one of those stuffed animals with a battery that animates them for a little while if you squeeze a hand or poke a tummy. But when  you have squeezed or poked and the comprehension is bright in the eyes and then it gives way to closed eyelids, it is light watching a firefly. What thoughts are in someone’s mind between the stimulation? Do they wait for it or do they just want it to fade away?

One gentleman, who quite frankly got on my nerves last summer when his booming voice dominated the dining room and when he went from table to table telling the same joke, tonight greeted me with a big smile and said, “You travel 116 miles to see her.” I didn’t realize how much he had failed recently and instead of agreeing, I said only came a few miles. He had been proud that he thought he was aware of and remembered something and I watched his face fall.

I came home and played a little game on my phone that involves manipulating numbers in a square and finally figured out the pattern  to get moves possible, and then I slipped and clicked a number in the wrong place and there was no undo. Oh, well, I probably won’t stick with it because now that I understand it is just too easy to sit there and make a crucial misstep with your finger and Poof!, you’re done for.

I think I will read for awhile and then close my eyes. Unlike Scarlett O’Hara, I don’t believe I’ll think about tomorrow.

Today I am more lazy than usual, having things to do, but thinking I’ll just sit here instead. I am kind of stiff from climbing around on chairs, pulling (gasp) expired spices out of cabinets yesterday and then walking. We also cleaned drawers, which entailed my dumping all contents into a box and then sticking a magnet that looks like a golf club in the mess. Yes, I thought it would give a little fun aspect to the project, but the novelty did not last long.

Of course, there was the little surprise this morning when Summer turned the light on in my face and told me we had to make use of the early morning quiet at the fairgrounds so she could do her running for the online PE class. Yes, we all find that class a little odd. It wasn’t so much that she woke me early, but that I was in the middle of a deep sleep cycle; I felt like a zombie. It went downhill from there.

Shane couldn’t go with us because he would probably chase her  . . . and she didn’t want to run that fast. The humidity was in the 90’s but the temperature was only 71, so she got by without collapsing. He was not a happy camper, not at all.

I am beginning to wonder about my walking shoes; I think they may not be designed for fast walking, but more like the sturdy plodding on uneven ground. They are heavy and I am being bothered by the lack of give at the top of my foot. However, I walk on concrete and I appreciate the sturdy sole. Lately, my walks often leave me with legs that want to function like L’s. It is awkward.

Oh, did I mention I am trying to improve my walking posture? I pretend a giant fishhook is embedded in my breastbone and I am being reeled in. I would not suggest that you imagine it, just leave me to my pretending and look away.

One of our friends with the red striped stockings had a foot accident and I was going to to surgery. It soon became apparent that the fabric was threadbare and so I have decided to give Summer a sewing lesson ON THE MACHINE as we make two new legs and feet in boots.

I could get her interested in making tote bags, but then I think we did that before video games were available. I remember once my friend Suzy Wolff came when I was in college and we made sun dresses, with Mother’s guidance. Mine was green with big pink flowers. Yes, it was the 60’s. I loved that dress. Wore it for years – probably long after it went out of style.

Mother was an excellent seamstress, and I picked up some of the basics, but didn’t do enough of it to get really good at the zipper thing. Fortunately, our friend does not need zippers in her legs. I do have the sewing machine my great uncle gave my grandmother when she graduated from high school in 1900. He owned a business in Northern Michigan and was known as “The Potato King.” Anyway, he gave his youngest sister, Sara, one when she graduated and his niece, his namesake and my grandmother, one when her turn came. (Sara and Grandma were only 3-4 years apart in age.)

Nattering. That’s what I’m doing. I’d natter some more but I might open a door with a long convoluted story behind it and find I had bitten off too big a job for my natterer.

I did a repeat performance of walking in hot, humid weather after having applied a cleansing cream that foams when wet. Fortunately, it doesn’t seem to do that with sweat. It just mixes with the perspiration and gets down in my pores. I  think it makes me look slimy, but I don’t think about it any more than to make that supposition. Right now my face feels super clean, which is more than I can say for my yet to be showered body.

People are starting to shoot off fire crackers now and then and Shane feels it is his duty to run out and bark. Then I have to yell his name; I think he should have a name for use in public when he is misbehaving. Something like Ralph, maybe. It would be a Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde thing.

Oh, speaking of the Hyde personality, Summer and I had an iffy few minutes this morning. I had an urge to watch a couple of YouTube videos of Tickle Me Elmo and we took it a little further and watched Elmo being blown up while laughing his head off – in one video, quite literally. We had to do penance by watching the original cute, adorable Elmo do his laughing routine as it was intended. Gosh darn, that fellow is cute.

Last night, after Der Bingle arrived  – and Shane had his fairground trip, Summer decided it was time for a party. Tongue in cheek, she talked of quality bonding time with her grandparents, by which she meant watching a movie while she interjected “remarks”.

Choosing a movie when the watchers are AmeliaJake, Der Bingle and Summer is the first obstacle to a fun-filled evening. We started off with a prolonged checking of what was on TV; that led to the viewing of the ending of at least two movies, one of which was Thelma & Louise and a somewhat prolonged period of her calling out the titles of DVD’s. We couldn’t agree on one, so we watched Tommy Lee Jones in, brace yourself, Volcano.

That would not have been my choice had I been alone, but agreeing to it ended the Chinese torture of titles of movies bouncing off my head with the rhythm of dripping water. She had not seen it before and we didn’t realize she did not know it was L.A. from the get-go. L.A., which she pointed out, does not have a volcano.

I announced I needed Taco Therapy and Der Bingle said he wouldn’t mind having a bean burrito, so eventually there I sat on the sofa, munching tacos, watching Tommy Lee Jones and fielding questions about the movie we were currently watching  . . . and comments about the last part of Thelma & Louise and the off the cliff into the Grand Canyon scene. Summer felt that by ending the shot in mid-air, T & L might have survived and concluded it left too much to your imagination. Okay. Any remarks about iconic movie moments fell smack on the floor of a virtual Grand Canyon.  Gravity and imagination – I guess it has a personal variable.

So, I sit this morning, sated with tacos and a little sleepy,  When Quentin and Robert William were little, we made a point of introducing them to classic movies. Cameron, too, has become a fan of them, but this one . . . can I bear a long monologue about Ilsa getting on the plane or not getting on the plane?

Soon I will have to make myself start winding cord on the weed eater spools. One was empty yesterday and the other was full and then, hello, the spool flew off and Cameron and I hunted for a long time for the actual spool and its cover in a large bed of myrtle. We found them finally; we also found a tangled mess that had been smoothly wound cord. It was not pretty.

I decided to mow since I had the long cord out. It was okay, not too hot and I got to meet Rufus, the 11-week-old bulldog puppy who has come to live next door. I don’t believe Shane knows what to think about Rufus, but I imagine he will be guarding his Wubbas.