Reading: To the Lighthouse

13 December 2002: Loyal mittens

I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before how much a friend's statement struck me, that I can be struck by the most minor setback but then go giddy with something equally small. It's still true. An coworker in the UConn bookstore called me Sybil, not entirely kindly, because he never knew what mood I'd be in from minute to minute, let alone shift to shift. But that was 1991, and we won't talk about that.

Yesterday I called the vet to make a reservation for Blake to board. They're full. How could I have been so stupid? Why didn't I make this reservation when I booked him for Thanksgiving? I dread putting him in storage for two weeks, but so it goes when you have a bizarre pet with whose species no one is familiar and with whose particular obnoxious spoiled personality you could not really ask anyone with less patience than Job, or Haitch, to host for two weeks. Even Haitch never stayed with him for longer than a week.

His vet recommended another animal hospital, and I called there and they can take him. It's more expensive and farther away and we don't know it, but the human I spoke with sounded competent enough, certified avian vets are on staff, and they require any bird to have had a wellness check within the past six months (Blake last had a physical in September).

The problem is they're closed on Saturdays. Two people had volunteered to fetch him on Saturday morning so he'd be there when we get back Saturday afternoon, but they both work on Friday. But if RDC doesn't see Blake that weekend, he won't see him for yet another two weeks. RDC said he would rather have him at the vet being cared for than alone over Friday night. Which is fine: I think overprotective on his part (mine tends toward what soothes me) but I don't have to ask anyone to drive even farther southwest taking out of their workday to do it.

I was so distressed yesterday morning when all this happened that--well, anyway, I was bothered. I went to the post office and mailed six packages, glad to be there in mid-morning rather than at lunch. I went home and snuggled Blake for a few minutes and explained to him what would happen. Then I came back to work and breathed. I'm better today.

Last Thursday I was finishing Baltazar and Blimunda on the bus and so absorbed that when I scarpered at my stop, I left my mittens on the bus. I realized as soon as the bus pulled away and stood staring after it. I had expected I'd be late the next morning, what with the concert and all, but I got my regular bus out of hope. The bus driver knew nothing. RTD Lost and Found knew nothing. I groused at Jessie and she said I need more loyal mittens.

Then all this week I drove, somewhat because I could since RDC was away but also because there were errands I had to run and we're not downtown anymore (no, this has not ceased to sting). Except Monday. Monday I drove because it was Monday. Tuesday I shopped for stocking stuffers over lunch; Wednesday I met a friend after work to see a movie (well, "Bowling for Columbine" wasn't showing at the big box downtown anyway); Thursday I went to the post office. Today I got on the bus. I greeted LeRoy, the driver, and smiled at a couple of other regulars.

The most regular of these is always on the bus--except last Friday morning--but never reads or listens or does anything but sit. That kinda gives me the shivers. But I had my hopes. I smiled at him as I took my seat and he smiled in a small way at me. Well, that's it, I thought. If he doesn't have them, they're gone.

So I sat, mittenless, and peeled off my gloves. I like them too; they're lavender chenille, warm enough, and might have a gift from NBM except I don't think I've had them that long. Usually they live in my overcoat pockets, since they're (relatively) dressier, and I wear the warmer fleece mittens with fleece jackets.

I opened up To the Lighthouse, which I started last night and which I'm pretty sure I'm going to love, but which I shouldn't read in small bursts on the bus, and that's when the regular spoke.

"Did you leave your gloves on the bus last week?"
Yes I did.
"I have them." And he did.

So if not loyal mittens, I have loyal busmates.

"I wish we could take him with us," I said to RDC.
"We're not staying in a residence hotel anymore," he mused. We were going to do that when my mother-in-law's house was going to be full of other relatives. Also we're flying Joe's Planes, not United, and Joe takes domestic birds in the cabin. (Blake's not domesticated but he's certainly domestic.) Sometime this week he has to see the vet for a health certificate. But he's coming with us. There's a yoke off my shoulders.