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I was woken early. My son Dan's Jack Russell terrier was standing next to my bed, barking to be let out. Dan was sound asleep, like all 21 year olds at 7 a.m.
My idea of waking up is to slowly reassemble myself. Realize that the dreams were dreams. Something annoying is happening. Oh yeah. Reality. I don't wake up well. Ask any of my ex-wives.
Rub eyes. Stumble out of bed. Let dog out. Start coffee. Rub eyes. Close the windows in anticipation of a hot day. Walk across the living room rug. Step in dogshit. Not even awake yet, and I'm washing my feet and carpet. Oh well.
Once the coffee is ready, settle down with the news and the job boards. By 10 am, I am awake enough to start making phone calls -- either the followup kind, or the cold-call kind. Another day without joy in the search, but each possibility that is cut down is succeeded by a new possibility.
Time for lunch. Eat. Walk. Son gets up, his car won't start. Drive him to work. I hate getting dressed without having a shower first.
All day gloomy, 911 on the TV and overcast on the sky. Rain, dammit. We need it.
3 pm, phone rings. Don't recognize the number. It's my parents' doctor. My Mom is okay, but he's putting her into the hospital for a week for tests on her heart. Been through this before -- give the hospital 2 hours to admit her, leave house. The Jeep at least is running fine, and the first sprinkles of rain are starting. Then the highway congeals to a stalled mass of irritated steel boxes. Get off freeway, get to hospital.
The usual stuff. Mom's okay, drill into her not to do ANYthing without a nurse's help. Yes, I'll call your harp students and cancel the lessons. Yes, I've left phone messages for all the siblings and grandkids. No, I won't tell Dad until tomorrow. Leave hospital when her meal arrives.
Enough, already. Talking to my brothers and sisters on a crackling cell phone while driving in the (now pouring) rain, sun's down, autumn's coming. Bleah.
Get to the gas station near my house. Stop Jeep. Fill up. Jeep won't start. Same thing that happened, on this very spot, two weeks ago. Push Jeep to parking spot and try jiggling the shifter (worked last time), kicking the outside of the damn machine and sitting inside, listening to the rain pouring down.
Phone rings. It's the last of my sons calling. Mike's a paramedic, and the oldest, so it's easiest to explain to him what's going on with his grandmother. And how are you, he asks. Fine, but my car just crapped out. Where are you. The Holiday station at 54th and Nicollet. I'm right around the corner, he says. Be right there.
Thirty seconds later, a Hennepin County Medical Center ambulance pulls across the gas station and parks at an angle behind my dead Jeep. Two paramedics hop out, as the lights keep flashing. Mike asks me to lift the hood, and for 10 minutes we poke around the engine compartment while people come and go from the gas station.
I wondered what they were thinking.
"You mean you can call paramedics for a CAR!?"
I wondered if they expected the two handsome young men in the uniforms to shout "CLEAR!" from under the hood of the Jeep.
Mike figured it out. Hammer on the starter, and the Jeep kicked over and roared to life. Handshakes for his partner, a big hug for my son, and then the ambulance pulled out of the gas station, lights flashing, against the westbound traffic on 54th, a brief "BLURP!" from the siren, cars pulled over, and they were off.
I drove home. Here I am. Another day almost done.
Some are more interesting than others.
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