Aug. 15th, 2016 10:55 pm
One more revolution
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muckefuckIn possibly the least auspicious beginning to one of my birthdays ever, my first phone call wasn't from the pharmacy robot (as I first suspected) or a well-wisher (my second guess), but a collection agency. Seems my doctor's office hasn't the patience to wait for my insurer to reprocess all our bills for the year until they get it right and I'm not sure I blame them. (Naw, I kinda do.) On the other hand it featured this exchange:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu took a whole hour: half-an-hour to wait for the bus and then another half-an-hour for it to make its way down to Lawrence with all the old and infirm getting on and off at every stop. When I got there, I found him waiting to be cleaned up by the CNA--who, it turns out, hadn't been told he needed assistance. Neither had his nurse. He had no idea who he'd told, in fact, so there was no way of knowing who'd dropped the ball. I left frustrated with both the staff's sloppiness and with him for tolerating it.
My first stop was Cafe Meinl on Southport, which managed to disappoint me in a myriad of small ways. My coffee was badly mixed. (All the syrup was on the bottom.) My eggs were overdone. My waitron was training someone and couldn't be bothered to give me the check or run my card. My guts were still acting up. And Southport itself has changed so much from the street I first fell in love with twenty-two years ago. When I told my father, he asked, "Changes for the better" and I said, "It's not for me to judge, really. I don't live in Lakeview. Maybe they're very happy to have a Gap there."
Stage two was Bookworks on Clark Street. The moment I learned that they were closing and today would be their first 50% off day, I knew where I wanted to spend my birthday. But I was fighting a sense of melancholy the whole time I was scanning the shelves. And even having told myself I was going to be as generous as I could when it came to my choices, I still found it hard to find things to buy. My customary limit of $100 was in place, but in the end I barely spent a quarter of that.
Meanwhile, the sky continued to threaten rain and I'd left my umbrella at home, lulled by radar projections which showed the bulk of the storm remaining comfortably south of us. At least I finally had quick connexions taking the bus back to share my birthday torte with the Old Man (who this time was just after getting cleaned up) and the droplets held off until I was back at home. On the way, I'd cobbled together a dinner at Revival on Granville with the couple across the street and their straight nephew, plus JB (coming straight from work and looking the worse for it) and Diego.
There were a few missteps in this meal, too, bu they're much easier to take when you're distracted by good company and pleasantly lit on a fancy g&t. The server's easy charm only fed our spirits and I had the rare pleasure of seeing one of my friends explain slashfic to a whole table of people unfamiliar with the concept. We left in high spirits and I arrived at home just in time for a comedy of errors with my phone: First Dad called me while I was going through messages and I missed it. Then he called my sister by mistake, who informed me of this via text. Then he called back again while I was replying to her and sent his call to voicemail by mistake. He finally switched phones and called from the landline.
So now the frustrations and discomfort of earlier in the day are all but forgotten and I'm left with the pleasant afterglow of a good meal with friends and well wishes from a host of people. That's all it really takes to make me happy any more. The single best thing about getting older is finally getting your expectations calibrated.
"Can you verify your zipcode and date of birth."If I'd gotten out of the house when I'd planned, I would have missed the call entirely, but I hadn't slept well and (relatedly?) I'm still dealing with some GI issues from last week. Getting down to the facility to see
"My zipcode is XXXXX, my date of birth is X/XX/XX."
"So today must be your birthday."
"That's correct."
"Happy birthday."
"Thank you!"
monshu took a whole hour: half-an-hour to wait for the bus and then another half-an-hour for it to make its way down to Lawrence with all the old and infirm getting on and off at every stop. When I got there, I found him waiting to be cleaned up by the CNA--who, it turns out, hadn't been told he needed assistance. Neither had his nurse. He had no idea who he'd told, in fact, so there was no way of knowing who'd dropped the ball. I left frustrated with both the staff's sloppiness and with him for tolerating it.My first stop was Cafe Meinl on Southport, which managed to disappoint me in a myriad of small ways. My coffee was badly mixed. (All the syrup was on the bottom.) My eggs were overdone. My waitron was training someone and couldn't be bothered to give me the check or run my card. My guts were still acting up. And Southport itself has changed so much from the street I first fell in love with twenty-two years ago. When I told my father, he asked, "Changes for the better" and I said, "It's not for me to judge, really. I don't live in Lakeview. Maybe they're very happy to have a Gap there."
Stage two was Bookworks on Clark Street. The moment I learned that they were closing and today would be their first 50% off day, I knew where I wanted to spend my birthday. But I was fighting a sense of melancholy the whole time I was scanning the shelves. And even having told myself I was going to be as generous as I could when it came to my choices, I still found it hard to find things to buy. My customary limit of $100 was in place, but in the end I barely spent a quarter of that.
Meanwhile, the sky continued to threaten rain and I'd left my umbrella at home, lulled by radar projections which showed the bulk of the storm remaining comfortably south of us. At least I finally had quick connexions taking the bus back to share my birthday torte with the Old Man (who this time was just after getting cleaned up) and the droplets held off until I was back at home. On the way, I'd cobbled together a dinner at Revival on Granville with the couple across the street and their straight nephew, plus JB (coming straight from work and looking the worse for it) and Diego.
There were a few missteps in this meal, too, bu they're much easier to take when you're distracted by good company and pleasantly lit on a fancy g&t. The server's easy charm only fed our spirits and I had the rare pleasure of seeing one of my friends explain slashfic to a whole table of people unfamiliar with the concept. We left in high spirits and I arrived at home just in time for a comedy of errors with my phone: First Dad called me while I was going through messages and I missed it. Then he called my sister by mistake, who informed me of this via text. Then he called back again while I was replying to her and sent his call to voicemail by mistake. He finally switched phones and called from the landline.
So now the frustrations and discomfort of earlier in the day are all but forgotten and I'm left with the pleasant afterglow of a good meal with friends and well wishes from a host of people. That's all it really takes to make me happy any more. The single best thing about getting older is finally getting your expectations calibrated.