Un-cranky

Ok, I'm still displeased about the pollution and the traffic and the screaming fighter jets over my house, but - Enrico is coming home tomorrow, and all in all it's been a satisfying week. I got all my runs in despite the bleachers and port-o-potties strewn in my way; I talked to some people about some work; I recaulked and resealed my bathtub; and I even managed to do dishes and walk dogs and cut grass and put out the trash and all those other quotidien things that my fine hubby normally takes care of. Plus, I managed to have some fun. My parents arrive next week for a trip to the Oregon coast. Life is good.

And you know - having fighter jets over one's house is a good source of perspective. When I say "over my house," I mean that the FA-18 pilots are supposed to stay at least 1,000 feet above the residential areas, but nobody I know believes they really do - those things are right overhead. The booms and zooms are jarring, but it's the deafening, high-pitched screaming of the engines immediately over your home that truly starts the adrenalin pumping, the brain frantically searching for some means of escape. And yet around the world, there are people who hear that sound all the time, for real, waiting for a bomb to drop or holding their breath as the sound recedes to see whether it's gone for real or simply preparing for another pass. There are almost certainly people in this very city, veterans and refugees, for whom these few days of "festival" trigger horrific memories or an episode of PTSD. I'm baffled as to how anyone can experience it as entertainment, but as lessons in perspective go, it's one of the best. My life, it is very, very good.