Tales from the Shark Tank

I did get lost a lot when we first moved here.  I didn’t know how county roads were numbered, and hadn’t anything resembling a mental map of the area.  Being one who generally navigates fairly easily even in places I’ve never been, that was a bit disconcerting.

I have, however, come to realize that it isn’t just me.  No one can find us, not our friends nor the local deliverymen.  It shouldn’t be that tough, really; the road numbering system is entirely intuitive.  County Rd. 600 South is 1 mile south of County Rd. 500 South; County Rd. 550 South is halfway between them.  If you know the house number and the street number, you can head in generally the right direction and get there.

That it foxes my friends is no surprise; they don’t know any more about county roads than I did when we moved here.  But the FedEx delivery man from the northeast part of the county?  He should know how to unsnarl the numbering system.  It isn’t rocket science, after all.

Fourth of July weekend, with one exception, was lovely.  We went down to Indy, staying with my in-laws.  Our son got to see his grandparents and spend most of a day playing with his cousins.  I saw several friends, if not everybody I wanted to, and spent an afternoon watching “Pirates of the Caribbean” with my daughter and some others while boychick and I caught up with the kitten who no longer lives with us.  He’s grown tremendously, but is still sweet and cuddly.  I was amused to walk into their house to find him being bathed in the kitchen sink, fleas having been discovered on him.  (His belly is cream, so they’re at least visible.  It’s not so easy with Tornado.)

So no sooner did we get home than we put J. to bed, as he’d fallen asleep spontaneously twice in the course of the day, and there would be fireworks for him Wednesday night in Hebron.  We’d had plans to do the fireworks in Valpo with his best friend’s family (all the adults and all the kids together), and my husband was kind enough to send me alone.  It was absolutely wonderful.

Which was a good thing, because just as the fireworks ended I started sounding as though I was trying to cough up a lung.  Once I’d figured out it wasn’t asthma gone abruptly nuts, I betook myself to the doctor, pushing at the receptionist until she got me an appointment that same day.  This turned out to be a smart move on my part, as I have a mild case of pneumonia, which hopefully won’t get worse now I have antibiotics started.  All I can say is that if this is a mild case, I’d hate to see anything worse, because it has totally yanked my plug.  And before anyone else asks me how I managed to catch pneumonia in July, all I can say is that if I knew, I wouldn’t have.