Happy Monday, folks.

I had the most brow-knitting weekend. In true ping-pongy fashion, I experienced the following completely incongruous events and emotions:

Friday afternoon, my brother called me in his next-of-kin capacity from the Emergency Room at Porter Medical.

There are three alarm bells in that sentence: next of kin! Emergency Room! PORTER MEDICAL! Oh, my god, here we go.

Mom went in because of unexplained pain and found out she had a hernia. Because of EVERYTHING ELSE going on, they prepped her for near-immediate surgery to find out how serious it was. My first question was whether she shouldn’t go to Burlington rather than to the hospital that treated her for allergies and blood clots instead of lung cancer.

This is how I got an honors degree in journalism. I ask the deep and probing and totally obvious questions.

But ChemoDoc knew the surgical team on duty and calmed our fears. The ones about malpractice, anyway. Not so much the ones about what they might find (a gremlin! behind her spleen!) once they opened her up. As long as her platelets and white blood cells behaved, ChemoDoc said, there was no reason to worry too much.

The hernia was not serious and no mogwai were discovered. Mom was grouchy as hell and probably bit the head off an intern because they kept her for two nights. Which, hey, makes total sense to me, but I have health insurance.

Unfortunately, this totally blew my chance to cheer Mom up with the announcement that I’m going up there for the Fourth. I’m taking some days off around the holiday and heading north for a long weekend. But my next-of-kin kid brother got to tell her that instead. Wah.

Dinner with Alicia and drinks with her and Matt bucked up my spirits Friday night, as did learning that I? Can totally make real popcorn, in a pot, after a lot of wine, without lighting anything or anyone on fire. Go, me!

It was tasty, tasty popcorn.

Saturday began with realization that, geographically, I live in a freaking Disn3y movie. I took my eco-friendly grocery tote and walked down to the weekly neighborhood Farmer’s Market, where I met Alicia, Teddy, and 96 billion other yuppies with dogs and/or children under 8.

This is not to say that Alicia is a yuppie, or that, if she is, that I am not. Clearly, however, she blends in better because of the puppy. More likely, or course, is that our neighbors assumed we were just another happy couple out for a Saturday morning stroll. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Anyway, we picked up some locally grown, probably organic, definitely overpriced treats — for me, there were mini cucumbers (CHOMP!), a quart of cherries, and a loaf of cheese bread not long for this world — and then we were off to the local bakery for coffee and drippy breakfast sandwiches. We sat on the patio for some time, watching all manner of dogs introduce themselves to each other, as dogs do, and small children with ringlets and cherubic faces eating ice cream cones and blowing bubbles and shooting rainbows out of their butts.

I may be exaggerating a little. Obviously, it was too early in the morning for ice cream cones.

But, y’all, there was a little girl with long blonde hair and glasses scooting her little scooter around while wearing a white sundress with blue embroidery. I’m pretty sure there was lace on her socks, too. Tra la la. Her parents were probably selecting that night’s filets from the British butcher’s cooler, or arguing the merits of gruyere over cheddar for lunchtime grilled cheeses.

Crusts off.

I kid because I love. If all of my life looked like Saturday morning, what would I complain about?

Sundays, maybe. 🙂

I spoke with my mother on Sunday and heard first “Oh, I thought you would call yesterday,” then, regarding my upcoming trip, “By yourself?”

Yes, Mom. Just me, your first-born college graduate with retirement accounts invested and organic, locally grown, globally conscious bing cherries in the fridge. See? I’m not chopped liver.

I’m not actually bitter. But it does amuse me that she would be more delighted to see my friends. It’s my fault, clearly, for bringing them around and letting them be charming. They are good company.

So after a conversation that I hope can be blamed mostly on her pain meds from the surgery, I spent about 90 minutes up in the gym, sweating out worry, frustration, and cheese bread. I must have stretched really well, too, because I worked out harder than normal after taking two days off, and nothing is sore.

I did feel better afterwards. It’s amazing what a little physical exertion can do…which must be why my grandmother always kicked us out into the snow after school. The more snow forts we built, the less energy we had for being obnoxious.

I was in bed and asleep before 10, which, lately, is unusual. But I have not been sleeping well and thought, quite rightly, that an early night would be a good thing. This morning, I awoke rested, refreshed, and ready for what promises to be an…interesting week.

So, how’re you?