Let the record show
that the clocks around the Mansion are a mess. Not just the fancy Farmer H
cuckoo and collectible clocks. Each one shows a different time. Thing is, one
gets used to each clock’s idiosyncrasies. The one on my nightstand, for
instance, is a radio alarm clock, most likely from the ‘80s. Every time the power
goes off, or even flickers, this clock takes its own sweet time getting started
again. I’m sure there are battery backups in it. With batteries most likely
from the ‘80s. I’m afraid to open it. But I know what time I go to bed, and I
look at this clock, and I know when its digits will show me my get-up
time. We never set the alarm on my clock. Never.
The alarm is set on
Farmer H’s clock, on his nightstand, which is also a radio alarm clock, most
likely from the ‘80s. He whacks me lovingly across the torso with his ham-arm when
his alarm starts playing a country song at 4:50, when my clock shows
9:46, and says, “You up?” Then he goes back to sleep until I get out of the
shower and wake him.
This morning, I turned
over and looked at my clock. Sometimes I wake up and have ten minutes left to
sleep. Sometimes an hour! But his morning, I looked at the clock. Squinted.
IT SAID 10:58!!!
Of course I figured
the power must have flickered in the night. That couldn’t be right. The alarm
hadn’t gone off. I went into the bathroom to investigate. The ticking wall
clock showed 6:02! I was an hour and 12 minutes late! Farmer H leaves the house
for work at 6:00! I hollered at him.
“The alarm didn’t go
off! It’s after 6:00! I’ve got to get in the shower! Get what you need out of
the bathroom!”
Farmer H had not much
of a response, besides stating that he could do without a shower. He takes one
morning and night. Good thing he’s management, and doesn’t punch a time clock.
Let’s just consider this credit for all those times he has been called out of
bed at 3:00 a.m. for an alarm at the plant. Which is 30 minutes away.
I rushed to the
kitchen and downed my first pill. The one for my missing thyroid, which decrees
that I do not eat anything for an hour after taking it. Which meant no breakfast
today, since I had to be on the road in 20 minutes, what with a parking lot
issue at Newmentia and slots at a premium for two days. I threw The Pony’s
lunch in his bag, made some ice water in his metal bottle. Grabbed some leftover
pizza and wrapped it in a piece of foil that was laying on the cutting block.
Put that in my bag.
Huh. Best laid plans.
The Pony and I had already prepared ourselves to leave 15 minutes early this
morning. And by prepared, had planned in our heads to get dressed earlier and
make time to get the trash dumpster up the driveway and get to school while
parking was still available.
I hollered several
times to get The Pony moving. Farmer H came out of the bathroom. I dashed in.
The Pony was ready when I came out. He had the trash bagged. I wrapped my other
medicine in a Puffs With Lotion and stuffed it in my pocket. I grabbed a slice
of leftover Thanksgiving ham and dropped it in a baggie for my breakfast. We
were out the door 25 minutes after I got up. Not too shabby for a routine that
usually takes an hour and forty minutes. My hair dried quite nicely in the
32-degree air and gushing vents of T-Hoe. We snared a parking spot on the end,
way down past my best ol’ ex teaching buddy Mabel’s former classroom.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has
not been having much luck with her routine. Her old back-up plan was her mom,
who called her every morning at 6:00 if Mrs. HM did not call her first.
It’s times like these
that I really miss Mom.
2 comments:
Soon--beginning in June--you can throw all your alarm clocks away.
What a delight that will.
Sioux,
Throw them away? What's WRONG with you, Madam? Those clocks would sell at the auction. People even buy statues of Thomas Jefferson sitting on a boot taking a crap!
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