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Week 43

Careeening through the rain, I'm careening through the rain!

OK, by now you know the drill: 43 weeks since Penny died, emo alert, blablabla.

I'm coping. I don't need to have someone at church telling me that it never gets better and never goes away. I don't need to have them tell me this in a voice of gleeful martyrdom. I already know that it won't ever stop. 25 years won't go away without severe brain trauma and I'm utterly not interested in going that route.

I mentioned in an earlier post; Grandma died last Friday - a week after her 92nd birthday. Mom, who was her sole caregiver, is ... coping. She's going through papers and stuff. I don't know how much of the urgency in getting Grandma's stuff dealt with is the need to shampoo the carpet in her room, how much is finding the insurance stuff that Grandma HID some time back. Among the papers, Mom found the will she made back in ... 1966? Yeah, 40 years ago. She gave it to Grandma for safekeeping. She'd been getting death threats from her second husband.

Hm. Time is not behaving correctly. I was born in 1956. The Monkees debuted the summer when I was living in that house in Ronan, I thought? but I was in 5th grade... does that work right? No, it doesn't, I was in 6th grade in Ronan, because we moved to Polson at the end of that school year, and I started 7th grade (Jr Hi!) in Polson, at Lincoln Jr. High.

OK, I'll have to rework that timeline later. I suspect that we visited someone who lived in that area, and moved there later.

Wednesday morning, I went over and found out from the manager of this place that they want me to 'clear out boxes' ... I have a lot of boxes, many of them things I dread opening and going through, because when we moved here, it wasn't our intention that Penny would die within nine months of the move, thanks so much, and I haven't had the time, desire, or focus to do more. So. I'll recruit a friend to come over and sit with me Saturday for a while so I can go through the kitchen stuff, and get rid of some of the kitchen things that I hate, or don't ever use, or need. (NOT through Goodwill, tyvm, as they have become jerks). Once I've made the kitchen ->dining room -> living room path traversable, and tidied the living room boxes some more, I'll see if that's enough, or if they're going to demand that I make the storage room "perfect" ... in which case, I may end up saying 'bugger this' and move, even if it does cost too much.

Then again, Wednesday was All Saints. I did a private prayer, went through the service for all-saints-day from oremus.org, and (naughty per Episcopal canon law, but I believe that the restriction to ordained priests on celebration of communion is baloney) I also went through one of their more non-traditional liturgical masses.
Because, it was All Saints Day, and the service invited all the saints to be there with me.

Afterwards, I needed to play on CoH for a bit, but then I had to race to the Doll Club Meeting. A member is back who was gone for a long time, but she didn't really speak to me. She left, just over a decade ago, because her husband had died suddenly (at 52 or so?!) and she reorganized her life to raise her sister's daughter (adopted, as said sister is or was an unrepentant druggie) and she ended up living more on the coast than in town. The club was still fun, I still like the other members, but I stick out as the only male even more without Penny there.

I mentioned in my earlier post today that I was driving home through some nasty rain. Didn't mention that I was listening to Bookends on the SK3... which of course set me thinking about growing old together, and ... we didn't really manage that. Will you still need me, will you still feed me, when I'm 64? ... no, we used to sing that at each other, in our never mellifluous honking flat-toned voices. Sometimes punk style. Penny could sing OK when she didn't feel self-conscious. However, when she was listening to music on her headset and singing along, and I'd look over to see whether that odd noise meant something, she'd see me look and smile at her, and feel all self-conscious and stop. Wish she hadn't done that.

The roads were still nasty by the time I got to 217, so I pulled off at the Greenburg Road exit (Washington Square)... At one point, I was retracing the routes we used to take, and this was one we took a lot over the years. Greenburg, to Hall, and left. Right onto Scholls Ferry Rd, then howling for about a minute at the top of my lungs from all the years we would do this together, then eventually left onto Allen Blvd, and right onto Lee and around the corner to 13th, past Allen Swingle's place - or, it used to be. (Huh. Whitepages.com says he's still there. Allen was a friend from work back in the day, but when he became deeply hooked in the hang-gliding community he disappeared off everyone's social calendars. Weird how people disappear from social circles.) Right to Lombard, left to Farmington where the lanes are invisible from the wet and poor marking, right to Cedar Hills Blvd, left to Jenkins which turns into Baseline, and by the time I get past Tektronix, wondering if I'll be interviewed for that one, or if I'll be considered at the rate I want at GE, which is a ridiculous commute daily (come ON, south Salem from Aloha, and back, every day?! Ridikkulus! It's 1.5 hours each way! I'd have to live down there, part time!) Or maybe another year at Intel, in durance medium-vile.
It's good to have options, certainly.

I'm increasingly astonished by the number of corporate people who want software testers, can't find one, but won't hire one full-time, and absolutely won't pay more than $23 an hour because the majority of the contracting firms charge 40% overhead, and they don't want to pay more than 67K per year... well, hire someone full-time, genius people, and you'll be able to afford them. No, don't even THINK about shipping it overseas, because you'll lose your IP and deserve to do so.
$23 an hour is, frankly, the entry level rate for software testing.

Still need to get my WriMo done for the day... since I didn't take my computer with me into Mom's house of cigarette-smoke coated doom. Yeah, I'm going to try it. I'm behind, so far, but I had to spend the first day thinking about what to write.

Miss you, Penny. Please help Grandma to get over the hump.