The Queen's Rambles

This afternoon Erik and I went on a quest for a new water filter for the fridge. I knew exactly where they were at Home Depot, so off we jaunted. We got to the aisle and all I could find were dryer ducts and lint filters. No fridge water filters.

Eventually I found them, but they didn’t have the kind I needed.

I asked the worker girl and she managed to dig some out from underneath the display. No way would I have ever found them. I thought about buying two just to have one on hand, but they are so expensive I decided against it.

I got up to the self-check line and ran into a problem. The item wasn’t in their database.

Erik and I spent over 45 minutes dealing with six different customer service people and managers and they finally figured out a way to sell it to me, though no one had any clue on the price. At one point I went back and got another one just because I didn’t want to go through this song and dance again for a long time. I should have cleaned them out. The guy who decided on the final price gave them to me for $9.99 each. I expected to pay at least $40. I’m not complaining! I can stand around with sore feet and an impatient preschooler all day if it means I’m going to save that kind of money.

Erik was pretty good even though he did get restless and run around in circles for quite a while. We were in the back and there was no one to disturb, so I let him. I normally wouldn’t, but you have to make concessions sometimes.

I was really planning on this being an in and out sort of mission, so I didn’t clean the child properly and that was sort of embarrassing. Earlier in the afternoon he decided to paint. I got him all set up with paper and washable paints, which he smeared around for about three minutes before deciding the inside of his ears made a better canvas. I gave him a quick once over with a warm cloth, but he still looked like a rebel grave digger.

Speaking of grave diggers. What a nice segue into my next topic. Or morbid. Or just plain inappropriate.

My dad is probably on his death bed right now. The doctors just come in, look at him and shake their heads. They tell him he should have been taking care of himself, there is not much they can do. The swelling hasn’t gone down at all. His body is just tired of taking abuse, I guess.

It is easy for me to feel disconnected since I’m not there. I’m sure if I was there I would be more emotional. Wouldn’t I? But he’s done this to himself. He’s spent the last 40 years systematically killing himself with alcohol and other abuses. He has had a much more supportive family than one could imagine. He’s had supportive employers. He’s had state mandated therapies. He never cared. For whatever reason, he didn’t have the strength to kick the habit. I know he suffers from depression and that’s a big part of it. His childhood was a nightmare. But his adult life was pretty damned good.

My sister is terribly upset. She wants to know what to do because he refuses to accept Jesus into his heart and gets angry when she mentions it. I understand her pain. I spent years upon years praying for his soul. At this point I don’t even believe in any of that, but if I did it would be very upsetting to believe he was on his way to eternal torture.

I hope he manages to make a miraculous recovery like he has so many times before. Bladder cancer? Can’t find it on the x-rays anymore. Diabetes? Huh. Seems to have disappeared. Raging alcoholism? Oh yeah. Still there.

Aren’t these some nice, cheery thoughts for your Friday morning?