There is in Cooterville a little Chinese takeout place nestled in a shopping center next to a bar. Or maybe it’s next to the hair salon and the bar is after that. I really don’t remember.
At any rate, there is a little Chinese takeout place. It hasn’t been there long. Maybe two years? I really don’t know since I haven’t actually lived in Cooterville for about thirteen years now, and when we did live a few towns away, Cooterville was not our out-to-dinner destination.
But the little Chinese takeout place is actually pretty good. Much, much better, even, than the sit-down Chinese place in the Greater Radiator Springs area with the waitress who has to remember to stand with her good ear towards you as you order. Actually? It’s not too hard to beat that place.
The first time I was at my parents’ house and we all decided to get take out from the little takeout place, I took both of my boys with me to pick up the order. There was no scheming behind that decision. No illogical thinking that I would somehow be exposing them to something akin to their birth culture. I just took them because. Because Quinn had just recently come home to us, and Tank Boy was clingy from the move.
I think the folks who run the little Chinese takeout place in Cooterville don’t get many Asian customers. I say this because I am familiar with the demographics of Cooterville, and there just aren’t many Asians. Like, almost none. I remember two people of Asian ethnicity in my high school when I was a student there. One of them was an exchange student.
So perhaps that is why the woman behind the counter gave me extra smiles, extra attention, free cookies, and a free two-liter bottle of pop (or soda, or soda pop, or coke, depending on what part of the USA you live in).
This past weekend we were at my parents’ house for a combined baby shower and father’s day event. Quite the day.
My mother decided ahead of time that we would do Chinese takeout for the father’s day dinner, since it would be difficult to prepare a meal while the baby shower was going on.
This time I schemed. Would we get free cookies again? How about that two-liter?
Tank Boy didn’t want to come with me to pick up the food this time. Though I was sure it was going to hurt our chances of scoring free stuff, I didn’t make him go. But Quinn? He’s always happy to go, or stay, or whatever. So I took him. We got a free two-liter.
Boy, that was anticlimactic, wasn’t it? In my mind this was going to somehow be a funny post, but instead I have been fighting off a migraine this morning, and?
I have a thousand things to do. We are having a garage sale this weekend, and un-birthday party for Midge (she got shafted in the birthday party department two years in a row, so we really owe her, and now it’s hot enough for people to come swim), and friends coming to spend the weekend. I have a lot to do today, I don’t feel well, and the funny just isn’t coming.
I spent yesterday pillaging closets, working in my garden, and embedding horizontal wires in two deeps worth of bee frames (I know you have no idea what that means – basically it means I stood over a hot grill in the sun to heat up the manual embedder so that I could push wires into wax for about two hours whilst getting terribly sunburned on the back of my neck, which then led me to having dreams about dying [probably from skin cancer], all so I could add more “boxes” to my hives so that my bees won’t swarm) (aren’t you glad I shared).
Today I need to work in my garden some more, pillage other areas of my house, and I think I was supposed to go strawberry picking with a friend. Instead? I’ve been on the couch all morning. I’m feeling much better now, though not good enough to keep me from chugging a second Dr. Pepper, which is a shame because I’ve been down to one can a day for about three weeks now. My goal is to get myself down to zero, but that’s just not happening today.
So, totally ignoring the rules of good newspaper journalism here, I am putting what are probably the most important things to report last:
So far today (it’s 11:21) Quinn has said more, yeah, & shoes. I think earlier one of the kids told me he said something else, too. Book, maybe. That was when I was to busy being all passed out and concentrating on the pain. Seriously. It helps.
I don’t know how to explain it, but if I can lie down (lay down? I can never remember) on the side where the pain is and really dig that side of my head into the pillow and focus, really focus on the pain, I can get inside it and block it out. I know, I know, I sound like a Shirley McClain disciple or something, but I don’t know how else to explain it. I’ve had to do it so much over the years that I’m getting better at blocking it out when I’m upright, but it’s still much, much, much more effective when I’m not. So the pain is gone now, and hopefully the gnawing feeling of needing to toss my cookies will pass soon (with the help of Dr. Pepper). Then maybe I can haul more crap junque out to the garage. Although, the septic people are fixing things out in the field and cut our invisible fence line, so the control thingy plugged in in the garage is beeping incessantly, so I really don’t want to go out there.
Sorry for the rambley, nonsensical post. That last paragraph up there before this one? Was not “the most important things.” I was meaning the stuff about Quinn actually talking and had no idea I was going to start talking about my weird, self-taught pain management techniques (which, by the way, I never mastered for labor and delivery; but I didn’t get as much practice there).
Oh! And? I now have 11 people following me as I say absolutely nothing on Twitter. So many, many times I’ve almost broken down and tweeted. So many. One of these days . . .
See R.A.M.B.L.E. I shouldn’t write when I feel like I’ve just been brought back from the brink of death.
And Tewt . . . I mean George (people, migraines addle the brain. Really. Earlier I accidentally typed fart instead of far, and I’ve put so many words in the wrong order. I probably should have left it all that way. Would have been much more entertaining reading). Whatever.