White Lightning Axiom: Redux

An eventful evening indeed, and not much time to breathe. The trip home was particularly rough. The rain was coming down in sheets and a majority of the slower drivers opted for the left lane since it was clear of truck traffic. No matter, just accept it and ramble on. It could be worse. As I take the ramp to my exit, I see the flashing lights of a police cruiser in the opposing lanes of the turnpike. As I cross on the overpass, I see that the west bound traffic is backed up from just beyond the exit ramps all the way to the eastern horizon. It looks like two of the three lanes have been blocked by an accident. I did not dwell on it since there was not much I could do. That, and it was not in my lanes so ... phtttht!

Back at the manor, no time for subtly. Let the dogs out and insist that they do their duty of ruining my yard so I can collect their waste now before the rain turns it into a sloppy pile of mush. Much easier to clean up the former than the later. With the shoveling of Mastodon Spore out of the way, I run back inside and get the fire cranking. It's cold and wet. Wet cold is the worst, it seeps into your bones and slowly and relentlessly sucks the will from you with no mercy or quarter. Not the fate I'll allow for my little twin tyrants. Nope, remove the ash from last night and build the standard boy scout tinder tower. Within seconds, the orange flames are consuming the largest logs and my job is finished here. The dogs mosey over to the stove and plop down in front of it. Guess they are a bit chilly too after dancing about in the miserable evening precipitation. I run off to the kitchen and start to cobble together the dinner for the kids. The menu says pot stickers and lo meign. I cook up the dumplings and reheat the lo meign but throw in some extra lasagna noodles with ground beef just to make sure they have enough to eat. Since I know that Jake won't touch the dumplings, I slice up a kosher hot dog for him so he will get some protein. While the pot-stickers are cooking, I run upstairs to get the bath items prepped, Jakes antibiotics ready and the night clothes laid out. Since I'm upstairs, I grab a couple of the hampers of dirty clothing and haul them back down stairs along with the empty milk bottles from this morning that we left in the mini-fridge next to the mile wide water bed. Leave the bottles in the kitchen while I run off to the laundry to get a load started in the washer. Busy-busy-busy! It's getting close to 1730, my drop-dead time to get going so I can get to the Child ReEducation Facility before 1800. After that, they start charging us a dollar a minute for each kid. Expensive, but it works wonderfully as a deterrent to parents being late. One more thing, get out my old suit for tonight. I'll be going down to Chinatown in Philly for the wake of our departed friend, Cuong Van. I hope it still fits.

As I move through the S&R mission, something happens which I did not need. Well, if it happened any time, I would not need it, but today at this time is certainly less than optimal. The window wipers on the SuperSaturn just stopped working. Right as I pull into a parking spot, they stop cold on the lower portion of the windshield. Swell, its raining and I need to drive into the city tonight, in the dark, with malfunctioning equipment. No, it looks like I'll have to take the Family Tank tonight. The rain has mercifully abated for a short time, making it easier for me to get the kids through the security force check points and into the transportation sector. I don't push my luck and get out of the DMZ as quickly as possible. Back at the Manor, the kids are happily demolishing their dinner while I went about the business of pouring myself into a suit fitted to my figure in 1992. I've gone from a mostly inverted Triangle to a rectangle with a bubble at the bottom. All I have to do is refrain from eating for the next few hours and I won't blow a button or seam. Eventually, I get myself in order before the Mrs docks the FamilyTank and I hand over the guard duty to her. I steal her keys and the battery to her cell phone since mine is on it's last bar. It's now 1815 and I'm doing my best to hammer through the tail end of rush hour. Fortunately, most of the waylaid stragglers are going the other direction, but there is still a significant load of second-shifters on the road. Since I'm driving the Family Tank, I have a greater sense of ease with the ABS, all wheel drive, 6" of ablative battle plating, meson cannon array and anti-emc shielding. I'm ready for whatever interstate 95 has in store for me ... just hope I don't scratch the paint.

I make it downtown in roughly 30 minutes. Not to shabby. I took a back way by going down Callowhill street and jumping across the Vine street Expy on 8th. Sneaky on my part, or just plain dumb luck. We usually run down Vine till the 15th street exit and double back. I park my car at the parking lot we always use at corner of 9th and Race. They charge 5$ for all night parking after 6pm. It's a ragged lot full of pot holes, burnt out lights and a battered shack where an equally ragged and battered attendant sits stoically through the night. The funeral home is about three blocks away so I have a bit of a hike to undertake. I have enough time to get to 12th street so I should not have a lot of trouble. The wind is at my back and the rain is a fine but sparse mist. I make my way past a small satellite police station and on to the building that houses the funeral home. The exposed sides of the buildings have murals applied to them and have been covered with grit, grime and the settling of exhaust, but no graffiti. Either the preservation is due to respect or that the usual vandals do not visit this small oasis of Asia in the city. Arriving a few minutes early, I file past weeping young women and solemn men. They are all razor thin and look extremely professional except for the puffy red eyes and trembling hands. I sign a book and leave a few notes for the people who could not be there. So many of us from my company knew Lisa, and by proxy, her husband. We were there for her wedding, and witnessed her relief once the reception was over. We've had lunch with them and shared the joy of our children. The memories flooded back as I watched a the Buddhist monk with his entourage chant and perform a mesmeric ceremony. I have been to a few Buddhist funeral ceremonies so I understood some of the mechanics, but I rarely dive into the intrinsics due to the distraction of grief. As the night ebbed away, more mourners arrived to convey their condolences and to proffer a shoulder to Lisa. It was a beautiful ceremony and was only complemented by the outpouring of sympathy and love. I recognized some of the people as ones that I had met at the wedding. Some others were common friends that I had time to briefly speak with later. There were the folk that I met for lunch earlier last week (Greg, Scott) and some that I have missed dearly (Jeff, John, Jill {my nemesis}). It is unfortunate that such events are the moving force to bring us together. I was told later that even more acquaintances and friends arrived later. I had to depart shortly before 2000 hours so I could get home and lend support to the Mrs.

The night had grown even darker and more vicious. The biting wind snapped at my ears and nose and the rain summoned it's energies and tried to prevail against my will. Certainly the weather of sorrow and loss. I have a long walk back to the parking lot to contemplate the evenings events. Mortality, in all it's facets, is a prickly subject to mull. I shake off the morbidity and vexation of such contemplation. Ahead, I see one of the Asian markets that I visit whenever we come downtown and duck into the doorway to gain reprieve from the punishing maltreatment bestowed by the forces of nature, both internal and external. I give the Wearily Waiting Mrs a call and ask her if I could pick up anything from the local markets before departing for the warmth of our hearth. She asks me to pick up some sweetened soy milk and some sponge cake from Saint Honore Pastries up the street. I grab the soy milk and three cans of Cafe Du Monde coffee (w chicory) at 3.50 each. When lent is over, my coffee consumption is going to peak for a bit. I pay up with some difficulty. The older woman at the cash register mistakes my credit card for a debit card. After a few convolutions, we get things straightened out and exchange the goods for commensurate payment. I make a quick detour and pick up 2 pork buns, 1 sponge cake(ette) and 1 chocolate cake roll for the Mrs. She will probably destroy the pork buns tomorrow since she is staying home to pack up the Family Tank. The parking lot is less than a hundred meters away, but it might as well have been 1000 leagues. The weather is becoming more and more determined to waylay me. I succeed in overcoming the petty wrath of mother nature and slide into the Tank with my treasures in hand. The parking is 5$ since I got there after 1800. That is a great price compared to what I dish out for the parking lot robber barons of NYC.

The trip home is rapid paced and makes the Indy 500 look like a Sunday drive in grampa's old Packard. I start to breach Mach-7 before my exit comes into view. I fear for my life since semi-trucks are passing me in giant, darkened flocks of dim running lights and rattling Jake-brakes. I eventually make it home at 2040 hours. Just enough time to remove the increasingly constricting monkey suit and spend some quality time with the wife & kids. Jake snuggles with Mommy while Alexis does her best impression of an OCD Manic on speed. It's past 2000 so they are doing their best to keep moving in order to escape the inevitable conquest by slumber. It is futile on their part, I draw a warm bath and we set to the business of putting them to bed. We follow shortly thereafter.

The morning greets me with the soft mumbling of talk radio over my alarm clock. I ignore it for a good 30 minutes before I remember that I wanted to get up early. It it shortly before 0600 and I launch myself through the morning script with a quickened pace: shower, dogs, fire, laundry, lunch, kids, hit the road by 0650. Nuff said. Traffic is light, but the rain complicates things. The wipers are still not functioning so I hang back to avoid the spray kicked up by vehicles ahead of me. This opens up opportunities for other less reserved drivers to slide into the space. No loss, I still get to work by 0730. I have a busy day ahead of me that I start with a call to Chris, my mechanic. He agrees that not having functional wipers in this weather is a bit of a hazard and agrees to look at it and see what he can do. This is why I patronize his shop. He may cost more, but he knows me and what I need. The satisfaction of needs and not the proffering of excuses is what I desire. Chris fulfills that inclination without fail. If the rest of life would only follow suit.

# posted by mdmhvonpa @ 1:13 AM