There are no words

Or at least there weren't many yesterday. Did you miss me? But here's a few for today.

The family drama is firing up again, from a different angle this time. I just want to run away sometimes. Thank goodness for Tuesdays, when I get to go to jail. Heh. (For anyone new here, I volunteer at a federal women's prison every Tuesday evening, where I am privileged to learn so very much from the inmates I work with.)

Besides, running away doesn't solve the problem, it just creates new ones. Like where's Debbi? And why isn't she here making dinner?


Moving on …

As I was leaving the house yesterday to go to jail, the phone rang. It was my son, with the unhappy news that my little granddaughter had broken her right arm. She's not quite five and it happened at preschool. It could have been much worse, as she fell from one of those tall climbing things. She's quite scraped up and some of her front teeth are loose, so she'll be going to the dentist today instead of back to school.

She chose a purple cast (purple and pink are her favorite colors, but the pink was neon and that's not her pink, so purple it was) and she sounds amazingly chirpy on the phone. She relayed to me the information that both her mommy and her daddy have had casts before (how well I know!), and now all three of them have! Like she's joined a special club.

I'm not a member, but I've always secretly wanted a broken bone. Not so much now that I'm older and, um, more mature, but I can remember feeling pure envy when a classmate showed up with an arm in a cast, or had to get around on crutches. She or he got lots of attention and didn't have to carry their own books and were just, oh, I don't know, different and special in a way those of us with intact bones could never be.

I know. Crazy, right? At least I've outgrown it.

And I would totally want a white cast, so everyone could sign it.