Neanderpundit

I’ve had rough weeks, but good lord.

Saturday: Arrive in hinterlands to begin programming for customer runoff. Find equipment lacking, spend day and evening modifying equipment, set self on fire welding, strike forehead and cause self bleeding headwound. Sunday, finally, programming in preparation for a customer runoff. Fly home during super bowl. Sleep on plane ruined by pilot perpetually coming on intercom to inform uninterested passengers of score.
Monday: Drive 420 miles to bury uncle. Stand in pouring rain in Batesville, Indiana, watching Legion honor guard give 21 gun salute. (You guys rock. Spitshined boots, polished chrome helmets, crisp, pressed uniforms in the pouring rain, God love you and keep you. God put the day of your honor guard far in the future.) Cry. Watch the coffin lower into the vault, and the vault into the ground. Cry some more. Visit with family. Drive home. Sleep three hours.
Tuesday, fly back to hinterlands to continue programming, work into the wee hours of the morning. Repeat wednesday. Fail to finish. Call Big Boss to inform him of the impending failure of the project.
Thursday: Greet customer. Apologize to customer for being unprepared. Customer responds by informing me the criteria has changed, and gives me new programming criteria, at least four orders of magnitude less complex. Finish new programming in 3 hours. Friday: Sucessful runoff. Ruin diet by eating $23 worth of junk food in celebration. Wait four hours for delayed airplane. Land at Midway and wait for baggage, including damaged toolkit. Force my way into Exploder, whose electric door locks have ceased to function properly. Stop at Long John Silver’s for lent-friendly dinner. Back perfect-condition explorer into concrete parking block in lot, damaging bumper.

Home again, home again, jiggity jig.

My wife and daughter are happy to see me, but not as happy as I am to see them.

no posting till the weekend at least

Today I bury my sole remaining maternal uncle.

Not personally, mind you, I will not be tamping down the dirt with a spade. Just figuratively. I loved Uncle Frank, but after the other deaths I’ve endured recently I’m kind of numb to the pain.

Here’s the good news: Frank had a long healthy retirement. He got to enjoy his grandchildren. He had alzheimers toward the end and finally, his body failed him. He had no awareness of what was happening. I hope I have that much luck.

God hold Frank Fairchild in the palm of his hand.