Not so tonight.
That said, the day ends much better than it began. My ancient (120 years old) bed frame collapsed in the night. No, it was not as fun and dramatic as the great James Thurber story The Night the Bed Fell. (Keith Olberman's reading is not as good as reading it yourself.) Cooder barely stirred from her place near the "epicenter." Emmylou came up to vaguely investigate, but we soon all settled down.
Now, the thought of not having a bed is right up there with not having my mom. Very disturbing to my psyche. As I don't have a couch in this railroad apartment, the bed and the bathtub are the only places to lie down. And the bed is better for sleeping and pulling up the covers. The bed being so old and pretty much nailed together in a non-scientifically engineered manner (I think it started out with maybe having ropes) by moi, I was despondent that I would be left sleeping on a mattress on the floor with the remnants of the bed frame adding to the clutter and chaos.
However! Never underestimate your good friends, especially when they are handy! John, rose from his sick couch, came down with a bottle of Laphroig, no less, and nailed and otherwise compelled the bed to adhere together. Voila! Emmy, Cooder, and I can cuddle in comfort once again.
In other good news, we hope, at least, Pammie was released from the hospital this evening. Her friend Janet brought her home this evening and will visit her again in the morning. I have no recent prognosis about anything. We pray, as we do, that she was well enough to leave and not tossed out as she does not have proper insurance. Janet will update tomorrow.
Meanwhile, here's a photo from Hussong's back in the day. There's Don on the far left with Pam's arm around his neck, the next blond guy I don't know. The fellow with the smile and the glasses is Eddie, and I don't know who the rest of the people are until you get to the right blond with the beer, and that is Roberta.
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