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captainsblogThe phone rang around 7:30 this morning. (Yes, it still "rings," or at least that one does.) Eleanor, from work, reporting that Emily was in severe stomach distress, possibly related to her experimentation the previous night with her newly-legal alcohol tolerance, and that Eleanor had advised a trip to the ER. Ultimately, I saw a missed call from La Child on my cell, but that does not ring at that hour.
Em checked in with me a little while ago. She's home, never left, and this, too, has passed. The culprit is believed to be, not the grape, but some skeevy pasta that got left out too long. She's working her way to crackers and then back to normalcy.
I consider myself blessed, because, while I no longer have the cast-iron stomach of my youth when it comes to speecy-spicy meata-balls and such (and have evolved into the wussiest spice-consumer among the three of us), I can't remember the last time I felt the need to embrace the porcelain altar. Good thing, too, because when I do talk to Ralph on the Big White Phone, it wakes the neighbors and scares the pets. On one binge in college, my roommates insisted on taking me to the ER just because I was keeping the whole damn house awake.
----
The early call wasn't a biggie, since I had to leave for a workout within the hour anyway. I wound up getting to it a few minutes late, thanks to someone else who was having a clearly worse day than even Emily.
The intersection of Main and Transit is one of the biggest in the county, ten medianed lanes from the north and south spilling at crazy angles across and into the ten easter-westers that meet it there. It took two full cycles to get through, because a car on the Amherst side of Main was blocking three of the five eastbound lanes, as a cop and a tow truck navigated it onto the back of a flatbed.
In theory, this could have just been a dead battery, or blowout, or other such misfortune, but the car's flashers were flashing, the tires looked to all be there, and it was, on the surface, a bigger and nicer car than any of ours. No, more likely this was the very late end of someone's all-night bender, with the car being impounded rather than rescued. Still over the limit at close to 9 a.m. when the bars here close at 4. That takes effort.
None of us here will ever be mistaken for Carrie Nation, but that's just too much.
Em checked in with me a little while ago. She's home, never left, and this, too, has passed. The culprit is believed to be, not the grape, but some skeevy pasta that got left out too long. She's working her way to crackers and then back to normalcy.
I consider myself blessed, because, while I no longer have the cast-iron stomach of my youth when it comes to speecy-spicy meata-balls and such (and have evolved into the wussiest spice-consumer among the three of us), I can't remember the last time I felt the need to embrace the porcelain altar. Good thing, too, because when I do talk to Ralph on the Big White Phone, it wakes the neighbors and scares the pets. On one binge in college, my roommates insisted on taking me to the ER just because I was keeping the whole damn house awake.
----
The early call wasn't a biggie, since I had to leave for a workout within the hour anyway. I wound up getting to it a few minutes late, thanks to someone else who was having a clearly worse day than even Emily.
The intersection of Main and Transit is one of the biggest in the county, ten medianed lanes from the north and south spilling at crazy angles across and into the ten easter-westers that meet it there. It took two full cycles to get through, because a car on the Amherst side of Main was blocking three of the five eastbound lanes, as a cop and a tow truck navigated it onto the back of a flatbed.
In theory, this could have just been a dead battery, or blowout, or other such misfortune, but the car's flashers were flashing, the tires looked to all be there, and it was, on the surface, a bigger and nicer car than any of ours. No, more likely this was the very late end of someone's all-night bender, with the car being impounded rather than rescued. Still over the limit at close to 9 a.m. when the bars here close at 4. That takes effort.
None of us here will ever be mistaken for Carrie Nation, but that's just too much.