Apparently, Indiana has an evil new law. Even though Zachary has already finished driver's ed and had a driving permit which expired before he tested to get his license, he has to get a new permit and drive for six months with a licensed driver over 25 before he can get his driver's license. He will be 18 in November, but that still doesn't matter. I have mixed feelings about this. I feel badly for him, because he had his heart set on getting his license, and none of us knew about this new law affecting him. He's been working very hard and saving up for a car, and has a good chunk in the bank. However, on the bright side, he won't be getting his license immediately before the first snowfall and making me a nervous wreck (no pun intended) over the winter months. He'll also be able to keep working and save more money, hopefully getting a better and more reliable car than he would have gotten otherwise. He, of course, does not see this as a silver lining. I think his Facebook status says "Who cares anymore?", or something dramatic like that. I empathize. I do. But I'd rather see him mope for awhile and be alive than get a car right before winter and total it. Yes, I am paranoid. Deal with it.
This weekend should be a good one! We're going to the first high school football game tonight at Northridge, and Zachary's playing in the marching band so we'll get to see that. Tomorrow, Steve and I have plans to escape the house early and go yard-saling and to the Berrien County Youth Fair, then we have a birthday party to go to in the evening where I will be dealing blackjack for the Vegas Theme. (How perfect is THAT!?) Sunday will be church and a cookout at my brother and sister-in-law's house for a belated 40th birthday party for my old, old, old brother... with swimming if the weather stays nice. I'm looking forward to all of this! Did I mention my brother is old? Hehe. It's okay, though. My husband's pretty old, too. His is one month from today. I, on the other hand, will still be in my thirties for several years. (I realize that both of these kind gentlemen will be repaying me when I hit the big 4-0. And to that I say... you guys are pretty old, and you'll probably be dead by then. >:)
Fantasy world collided with reality today. One of my favorite books is "The Mirror" by Marilys Millheiser* (I will check the spelling on that later.) In it, one of the superstitious old ladies tells her young daughter-in-law about Piskies. Piskies are, according to her legend, a sort of mirage, or hallucination. You will see a person that you know extremely well, someone that is a part of your daily life, for just a moment, and then you'll turn your head and they'll be gone, or they will disappear right in front of your eyes. This occurs at the moment of that person's death. You will find out later, after thinking maybe you didn't really see the person after all, that they had died at the exact time that you thought you saw them.
So today at work, it was pretty busy for a little while, and I saw my friend Oz (Coach Tim Osbourne from Northridge, for those of you who might know him), sitting at one of the tables in the back, alone. I said to Julia, "I'll be right back, I have to get something out of my car." I ran out to the car, came back, and he was gone. I had gotten a crossword puzzle that he left at work earlier in the week, and I had finished it and told him I'd save it for him. In the 60 seconds it took for me to run to the car and back, he'd disappeared. I asked Julia if he was in the bathroom. She said she hadn't seen him at all. A slightly uncomfortable feeling crept over me, and I asked Steve if he'd seen Oz when he was here. He hadn't. Now, this was perplexing. Because I knew I had seen him. He's not someone you would mistake for someone else (and I don't mean that in a disparaging way at all - Oz is Oz, and there's no one else you could mistake for him.) So that left two conclusions in my head. The first and logical explanation was that he was there and needed to leave right away. The second, and of course the one that made the most sense to me, was that Oz was dead and I had seen a Piskie. Please do not ask me why this made more sense to me. But I called him on his cell phone, and he didn't answer. When it went to voice mail after five rings, I was on the verge of a coronary. I left some sort of rambling message, and didn't hear back from him.
For about an hour.
Then he called the Daily Grind phone. I answered, and I could hear his voice. I explained the Piskie story to him and he laughed at me. Typical Oz. I spend an hour tearing out my hair, second-guessing myself, wondering if I had some rotten psychic abilities or evil intuition... and he laughs at me. Gotta love him. I am definitely going to smack him upside the head with the crossword puzzle when I see him again. Oh, and the reason behind the sighting was, we were busy and he could see I didn't have time to talk, so he left. At least I wasn't crazy in thinking I saw him when I didn't. I've got that going for me. Which is nice.
After reading the back of the "Summer Crossing" by Truman Capote, I found out that it was actually a handwritten manuscript found in 2004 with a bunch of his papers that were being auctioned of at Sotheby's, 20 years after he died. That made it even more interesting to me. I'm on the last disc and have only about 40 minutes to go, which I probably won't get to until Monday.
"Old Yeller" is actually kind of annoying me. For those of you who haven't read it (like me) it's told from the point of view of a 14-year-old boy, and I don't much like this particular 14-year-old boy. He's the kind of boy who throws rocks at dogs because he doesn't want them around. I say that because it's exactly what he does. I know most people cry when Old Yeller dies, and I have to say that, anticipating the end of the book, I'll bet this little jerk probably shoots the dog himself and then throws a party. I'll let you know when I get there.
And your tip for today, folks, is: Please let your barista know, before she makes your entire ridiculously long drink order, whether you wanted your half decaf/half regular venti mocha with 1/3 the usual amount of chocolate soy latte with extra whip cream HOT or whether you wanted it ICED. Because they just come hot. That's what a latte is. If you wanted it iced, you should've said ICED. And she'll get pretty peeved when she has to throw out your $4.17 drink because YOU made a mistake. Just a little tip from me to you.
You have a nice day now, and thanks for coming in.
*Marlys Millhiser, by the way. I wasn't even close.