long week

It is only Wednesday, and it is already a long week.

The cement people finally turned up on Monday and they have been here early the last three mornings. The big truck in particular makes a lot of noise. And now we cannot use our driveway for at least a few days. I only hope it will make cleaning & using the driveway easier in the winter, as Dan claims it will. I am worried it will only make the driveway even icier.

Monday I had to take the Jeep in for an oil change and a routine checkup before work. So most of the early afternoon, my most productive time at home, was shot.

Yesterday Dan and Stevie and I had a meeting with the high school principal about what to do for next year. The school district really wants him at the high school, and at least one of the high school coaches in one of Steven's sports preceded us in meeting with the principal.

In this ultra competitive world, no one seems to understand that our son wants one more year of childhood - and one that he should be able to get, as he does not want to have to be an adult at age seventeen, like his brother.

Pushing towards college and sports as fast as you can seem to be more important than finding your own pace and place in life.

After the meeting we went and visited one of Steven's friends, who had a horrid accident on his little dirt bike last week and who was badly hurt and was in the ICU and had to have some serious surgery. He had come home, and we went to see the poor kid. Concussion, broken collar bone, broken arm, messed up jaw, shattered face. Poor kid. He enjoyed having Steven there, so I left him there and went to work (with the understanding that Dan would pick him up). I'm glad I did, as Steven coaxed his friend out for a walk, and helped him with the walk. And the poor mom was still so wound up and upset over everything that happened (the ambulance had gotten lost on the way to their house, among other things).

And then, of course, there is work. That never ends. Mine, Dan's, Bill's.

Someday I hope to able to retire. Get a pickup truck and one of those campers that sits in the truck bed. Go to the mountains and the canyons for a month at a time. Take lots of pictures. Watch wild animals going about their lives. Spend time outside in the sunlight to counteract spending so many years already spent two stories underground in the afternoon and at evening and at night and having to miss part of every morning sleeping. Actually see the dawn. Get caught up with the big pile of books that I want to read. Have time to write stories and poetry. Not be surrounded by sickness and pain and death every five days out of seven. Lie on top of a mountain and watch the stars. Dance naked with a snuggly man in the light of the moon in a mountain meadow, near a rushing stream to provide us with music for our dancing. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh. Laugh.