Sunday: A Seziure, Groceries, Movies

So, yesterday I wake up around 10:00 and the kids immediately asked for pancakes. I'm not sure what I did different but they came out fluffier than usual, because usually I get twelve pancakes out of the recipe and this time I only got ten, but with lots of blueberries and plenty of butter and syrup we were all very happy.

The kids were immediately booted outside, where they roamed on the monkey bars, swung on the swings, and rambled about in the kids' fort out back. There were the usual skinned knees and an argument about who got to use the monkey bars when, but on the whole they were good about it.

Omaha was talking on the phone to the host of the radio show she produces (on a total shoestring budget, which is getting stringier by the moment, but that's her story to tell) and I was reading a book when I heard something that made me look up: the square breathing. Ever since she's been on Gabitril, she's been able to tell when she's about to have a seziure, and more recently she's been able to quash the seziure down with a supreme effort of will. Sometimes she's only partially successful.

I get up and take the phone out of her hand. She's got it in a bit of a death grip. The host is still gabbling in her ear. "Sean?" I say. "This is Elf. I'm afraid Omaha's having a seziure. I'll have her call you when she comes back. Bye." I put the phone down and wait. A few minutes later, Omaha blinks at me. If it's a seizure, it's a very mild one. "You there sweetheart?" She nods. "Why don't you go lie down."

"Yeah," she says. "I think I'll do that." She's frustrated by the fact that the rest of the day, her seziure haunts her, makes it impossible for her to remember even the simple things, like the name of her own radio show, for one. The kids and I make our beds-- interrupted at one point by Omaha coming back in and lying down on the bare mattress to catch another nap.

The day passed otherwise uneventfully. I did some random housekeeping until it was time to take Yamaarashi-chan back to her mother's home. At first, she didn't want to go, but then it occurred to her that her new favorite video game was waiting for her there and she was instantly ready to go.

I drop her off without incident, then head over to the grocery store for the weekly run, then home. We sit about while I heat up the oven and make pizza, which was a good choice after all since both the mozzarella and the parmesean needed trimming and using. We sat downstairs and watched the MST3K of a Gumby short and then "The Screaming Skull," ("Flat, drab passion meanders across the screen!"), which was so silly it even made Kouryou-chan giggle.

Physical Therapy, Day 1.

So, this morning, I awoke at 5:30am to make it to my first day of doctor-mandated physical therapy: at least one kilometer or twenty minutes of swimming, whichever comes last. After rising and quickly getting dressed, I grabbed my pool pack and headed down for the Mount Rainier swimming pool for the morning. It was easy to find and only ten minutes from the house.

I discovered what it means to be prepared. First, there's a fee: $4.50. Not too bad. There's also a three-month pass for $135.00. (Math problem: "adult exercise" swims occur 30 times over a three month period. $4.50 x 30 = $135, meaning that I save nothing by buying the pass and even lose money if I miss a day.) I also needed a quarter-- an old quarter, with the eagle on the back no less-- to use the locker room.

The technology of swimming has certainly improved. The silicone haircap doesn't hurt nearly as badly as the latex ones used to when I was in varsity swim. The goggles work well, too, and actually keep the water out of my eyes without pain. It's not the big ticket tech which matters, but the little things.

I managed a half-klick, about fifteen minutes worth, and when I was done I was in pain. I could barely move. It took every last drop of energy I had to pull myself out of the pool and wobble back to the showers. One nice thing about being at the pool so early and sharing it with but one or two other people: the locker room was empty and I got to use the handicapped shower which, unlike the others, has hot water. I drove home and caught the bus.

To do this on a regular basis, I'm going to need even more preparation. I need to have breakfast ready when I get up, including possibly the protein and creatine mixture I was using when I was bicycling heavily to work on a daily basis, have the money ready out the door, and make sure I've taken the anti-inflammatories. I'm also going to have to make sure that Kouryou-chan gets to bed on time, and I go to bed at the same time myself.

Monkeys being monkeys, again.

I'm trying to work up the right amount of anger about all of the silliness I've seen today, but for some reason I just can't. It's just a bunch of monkeys, anyway. Homo sapiens. Don't take the "sapiens" part too seriously.

Pagans holding a ritual at a public park in North Carolina were harassed by Christian demonstrators, one of whom shouted Bible passages during the entire hour-long event. Leaders for the Coven plan to contact legal counsel as to whether or not police officers properly discharged their duties under a state law that prevents the disturbance of religious events.

"I don't remember more than a couple accidental demolitions a year." So said city attorney Jeffrey Eichner, who is defending the city of Rochester, New York, against the second claim this year that the city razed the wrong building by mistake. The city has promised to buy accurate property maps and distribute them to contract demolition teams in the future. Now there's a thought.

The Montana Family Coalition has started a new campaign to "not surrender the last frontier of the culture war," namely gays on television. It seems that Queer Eye has outraged quite a few "conservatives." You just know the reporter of that piece was metaphorically rubbing his hands with glee over a quote like, "A really good reality show for gay people would be five gay men dying of AIDS."