Death. The Heimlich Maneuver. Winds howling all night long.
It was not a great weekend.
The death was expected, and as difficult as it always is to say it, probably a blessing because there was great pain and little quality of life. Still, no matter how much one lives with the expectation, the shock of the void that is left is as great as if it came as a surprise. There is no preparation for such loss, for the total absence of someone you knew.
Most of our mothers taught us not to talk with our mouths full. The confluence of Peking Duck and emphatic conversation was a bad one. It is shocking to watch someone turn blue, to see them obviously unable to draw breath. We'll never know how completely blocked her airway was, but she lived to eat another Peking Duck. Said my fortune cookie: "Luck is with you now. Act on your instincts." Yeah.
Top all this off with last night's howling gale--I still haven't figured out what landed on the roof around 3 am--and it was no wonder the son was up with nightmares, and the conviction that something was prowling around the front of the house. If anything was prowling around the house, it was probably Olivier, or the mysterious beast that left half a cat on one neighbor's lawn and nearly gutted the little Maltese next door a couple of months ago.
I still must take the Christmas tree down. I suggested last night to the spouse that perhaps we should just leave it up for Easter and decorate it with eggs.
I needed another book to read last night, but can't bring myself to start something new. So, I pulled Smilla's Sense of Snow off the shelf again. I figured it was worth rereading before I head off to those parts mid-summer.
My passport had migrated to my makeup bag. The photo is even worse than I'd remembered.
Go listen to some good music: "Times Like These" from the album One by One by Foo Fighters.