where the writers are
Day 139: Macresarf1's Year of the Apocalypse 2012 -- Memories of an Illustrated Booklet

Up VERY late, last night. Troubled sleep over my failings as a father and grandfather.   Feeling the effects this morning. 

   Perhaps that's why my dreams cast me as a helpless, frustrated, frightened policeman, racing down a Freeway, chasing a paucky housewife in a flowered house dress, who was driving an old Mustang.  I could not figure why I was chasing her, but kept coming along side her, shouting, as she shouted back.  Just before waking, I came abreast of her again.  Suddenly her driver-side door fell off, and I saw that she had a three month-old naked baby crawling around on her lap.  The baby tumbled off her knee, falling to the pavement, but without interrupting her tirade against me, she casually reached down, caught  the child's hand, pulled it back on her lap, gave me the finger, and headed for  an exit! [Perhaps I imagined the finger . . . well, I imagined everything else, too!]

    The day was hectic.  

    Wayne K. Mathias had written that he would come by at 5:30 to deliver his finished script, MRS. SMITH, MR. SHAW, which he has been researching, writing, and revising for months.  He was going to bring some Talisker, the Single Malt fired on Isle of Skye, where my Mother was born.

    Then, Son Guy was going to take our camera to Walgreen's, to finally free a hundred photos we've taken in the last year.

    Around three o'clock, The Lady with the Dog tapped on our door.  Her good news was that perhaps Bud E. Pup will not be put down for biting an SPCA Officer's hand.  And in emphasis, she set to work, as if to make penance, cleaning up the kitchen and hallway.  Then, she and Guy went off to Walgreen's to get the pictures.

   Son Jason arrived unexpectedly, asking to watch the Channel 11 News.  Shortly, Guy and the lady returned.  The pictures turned out to be large copies, and they did not have enough money to pay for them.  Back they went with more of my dwindling funds.  

   At that point, Jason went out with "the card," got me more money and bought some cheddar cheese to refresh Wayne when he arrived.

  Guy and the lady came back once more to say the pictures would be ready at nine o'clock, which meant I wouldn't be able to show Wayne his photo op with Nellie McKay at Yoshi's.  They retired to the kitchen  to work on Guy's laptop.

  Wayne the K. arrived, and I believe, we had the most people in the apartment since we showed the Laser Disc "Road Show Version" of Hemingway's FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS," with Gary Cooper and Ingrid Bergman.

  Wayne was in fine form, discussing Jason's old girlfriend, his script, my  health, producing a couple of dollops of Talisker from a new stainless steel hip flask he'd purchased for our occasion. Munching on the cheddar Jason bought, we watched some of Brian Cox's BBC performance in Fiona Banner's art installation for Orson Welles' first Hollywood script, HEART OF DARKNESS (1939), atop the Queen Elizabeth's Hall in London, looking out on the Thames from a replica of Le Roy de Belges, Conrad's Congo River command.

  In the middle of this friendly turmoil, Mother Bunty phoned to say that Laversa's Birthday  cheque, which had sailed out a car window had been found  by a true good samaritan South of Market and returned to her by mail.

   Late in the evening, I began to think of the first book of pictures I can remember impressing me, a World Book promotional pamphlet of color plates, covering many of the wonders of the World in 1938.

   Guy made another trip to Walgreen's, but the pictures now would not be ready until tomorrow.

   William (or "Cornfed") came in late in the evening with a card for Guy's laptop, and a two-third bottle of Canadian Whiskey for me.  [As if I needed it; it should last me six months at the rate I drink alcohol now!]

    I had another bite to eat and prepared to go to bed.  There's even a busier day ahead tomorrow.

    Macresarf1 would write no more this day.