Equinox at Least

And so it is autumn, or it will be at 5:05 p.m. today East Coast DST according to The Farmer's Almanac.  I find the Almanac an essential element in life.  It is chock full of good information.  Unfortunately, I did not have a start to autumn picture, so I had Chat make one up.  It was too tame for my tastes, so I asked it to make a gentle autumn color photo out of this.

Of course, the b&w is better.  I've disappointed myself in not preparing for the moment.  

This was my hurried Dick and Jane slash Chat creation.  Oh my how she's grown.  I should have had Spot frolicking outside the window, but I was in a terrible hurry. I still have until the cocktail hour, however, don't I?  

I had to see a financial advisor yesterday.  It was making me nervous as I know nothing about finances.  The fellow assigned to be at Schwab was young and I'd imagine not as intelligent as I'd like.  That said, he seemed to this financially under-educated oaf to know what he was doing half the time, so I gained confidence as we went along.  I told him to put all my money on red and spin the wheel.  If we hit, I'd be rich as Midas.  

That is not what I said at all.  I told him my main objective was not to lose money.  It really didn't matter, I said, because I am taking care of my mother and will be dead before I ever get to spend any of it.  He looked at me as if he could see the truth in that.  Once I gained my footing, I did what I usually do and made some statements that tilted the room and kept him off balance.  I always enjoy watching people flay their arms about trying to stay upright. Disorientation is my usual goal.  

Maybe not the best thing to do, though, with your financial advisor.  Still, I felt pretty good when I left the office.  There was a Home Goods store right across the street, and I was feeling like being among the throng, so that is where I went.  You can't imagine, I am certain, how much such a mundane thing is like an adventure to me now.  

The store was full of cheap chintz and women picking through it looking for diamonds, emeralds, and gold.  If you needed an ironing board or a woven basket, you were in luck.  I was the only boy in the store, though, and enjoyed getting looks from these house fraus looking for stimulation.  

I'm not sure they saw me as The Stimulator. 

When I left, the afternoon was gentle, and I thought to adventure more.  How?  Oh, yea. . . I could go to the mall!  I could smell Bloomingdales when I entered the door.  That would be something.  

I was on my way when I remembered something.  I had to take my mother to the dentist at four.  Oops.  Adventure aborted.  What to do?  Oh, well. . . there is always the Cafe.  

When I walked in, nobody was at the counter.  I waited awhile, then the owner's daughter walked out.  I haven't seen her this year.  You may remember her from a photo I took of her behind the counter wearing a shirt that said, "It isn't illegal unless you're caught," or something similar.  She has a deadpan expression, what is now referred to as the Gen Z stare. 

"You cut your hair," she said. "It looks nice." 

Really?  Hmm.  She is young, so I have always felt invisible.  

She told me her band had been "on the road."  I was quite impressed, I must say, as they had done a ten day D.C./Philly/NYC tour.  

"What kind of music are you playing?"

"Punk."

I'm surprised that is still a thing.  

"I used to play in a band.  We were kind of popular."

"What was it called?"

"Oh, you wouldn't have been born yet, I think.  In our last iteration we were New Suburbans."

"I've heard of them," she said with a faint Gen Z smile.  I was absolutely certain she hadn't. 

But that was fun.  As I said, it is almost like having friends.  

I got back to my mother's house in time to take her to the dentist.  She wasn't ready. 

"You said five, right?"

Jesus Christ.  She couldn't find her sweater.  She couldn't find her purse.  I went outside to let the steam off.  This was not what I wanted to do with my day but it was what was required.  

When we got into the office, the receptionist said not to sit down, they were ready for her.  She took her back to one of the dental rooms.  I followed, but when they put her in the chair, it was obvious that I was not invited.  I wan't sure what to do, but when the dentist walked in and asked my mother how she was doing, she yelled out in her best hillbilly way, "I can't wear this shittin' thing!"  Oh. . . I knew what I was doing now.  I went back to the lobby.   

We were back at my mother's house before five.  It was early, but what else was there to do?  I made a cocktail. 

My mother made a scotch and coke.  Hillbillies, man.  Just saying.  

We sat in the garage porch and enjoyed the gentle afternoon without speaking.  When my cocktail was finished, I thought it too early to start another.  

When I woke up, it was after five.  The once pretty lady with the two big dogs was walking by.  My mother told her about a week ago that she couldn't pet her dogs anymore.  They make her itch, she said.  So the once pretty lady walked up to say hi but kept her distance.  She asked my mother how she was doing.  

"I'm not good. I just came from the doctor, honey," dropping and shaking her head in the negative.  Pretty soon, nobody will want to stop to say hi, I fear.  

But the once pretty lady still talks to me, not as before with that cocksure confidence but as two people who have suffered the old ravages of time.  She spoke of her own medical issues.  She turned fifty a few months ago.  She has autoimmune disease.  She has some gut issues and hopes it is not Crones.  I'm certain that her hormones are doing their worst, too.  She has put on a lot of weight this year.  Even my mother noticed.  I hold my breath hoping she does not say it out loud, but I can hear her in my head.  

"You've put on a lot of weight recently, haven't you?"

My mother's clan is not subtle.   Theirs is not a quiet sophistication.  

After dinner, my mother was complaining about pain in her shoulder and arm.

"I think that dentist did something to me."

What to do?  She already takes enough Percocet to knock a horse down.  I decided to give her an Advil and a Tylenol, too.  But the Advil I got out was a PM, so I put it on the table and got a regular Advil.  Then, not wanting to watch television any longer, I went to read.  I was thinking that after my previous horrible night, I would take the PM to help me sleep.  

When I went out to tell her goodnight, the PM was gone.  

"Did you take the pill that was on the table?"

"Yes."

Jesus Christ--she was wired.  There is no amount of drugs that will touch her, I think.  

I took a PM and slept the whole night through.  My mother--not so much.  

Nothing is scheduled for today.  I'll try to take an autumn picture, perhaps, some bucolic pastoral scene.  

Let's end with an autumn song.  You've heard this one before.  It is one of my favorites.