12:21 p.m. - 2006-05-30
W is for Whore
It's the day after a long weekend, and I'm not ready to be back at work, as evidenced by the fact that it's 12:22 and my biggest accomplishment so far today was ripping open a new box of multi-grain Wheat Thins and shoveling lots of them into my mouth.
My weekend was filled with almost nothing but relaxation. It was so nice to not be on a schedule, and to take a shower at 2:30 in the afternoon if I wanted to, and wake up and have breakfast, go back to sleep and repeat. The pool opened this weekend and it was just lovely to hang out there in my new elephant tutu tankini and work on my melanoma.
We're having our kitchen floor tiled, so it wasn't all relaxation. We've been living with our refrigerator and stove in our dining room, leaving the kitchen refreshingly spacious, and the cats freaked. There was no stovetop or oven cooking, so we ordered pizza, grilled outside, and went out, which was a nice change of pace.
My parents were over on Monday and we hung out at the pool. My brother and Shay were driving back from Shay's family's beach house in NJ, and bringing our 93-year-old grandmother back with them. The met up with us at our house so we could transfer Grandma Mary to my parents. Either the dog or Grandma (or perhaps both) had thrown up in the car on the way home, and S & G looked like they'd had it, so they didn't stick around, leaving us time to feed Grandma and test to see how much she remembered. Always known for being sharp as a tack, her memory has started to decline recently. She asked about something we were eating, and if I had been the one to cook it, and I explained that no, since our stove was sitting next to us in the dining room, I haven't been able to cook anything. "Oh," she said. "I thought that was a washing machine." Because in her mind, THAT would have been a perfectly normal thing to have sitting in your dining room.
Later we all got into a surprisingly philosophical discussion about the Da Vinci Code, and whether or not Mary Magdelene (Grandma's namesake) was a prostitute. Grandma is of the school of thought that believes she was a harlot, and called her a whore. Then she remarked that "whore" is a funny word to spell, that it's not spelled exactly like it's pronounced, and how exactly did you spell it again? Leading us all into an informal spelling lesson, I set the record straight for her, letting her know it's W-H-O-R-E. And then they left and took Grandma home. It was a fitting way to end such a nice weekend.
