At work, I answer the phone.

This morning when I got to work, there was a message on the office phone. The message was from a woman who gave her phone number but no name. She was asking that someone pick her up. I returned the call prepared to give the woman the phone number for the county transportation department, who could send out a bus to her.
The person who answered the phone was the caller's sister, who said she had her sister staying with her, and . . . "She isn't feeling well . . . mental health wise. She thinks she's well enough to ride the bus. And she isn't. She's getting almost too bad to live with."
I know how the woman feels. "I understand," I said. "My mother..."
"...was like that?" the woman asked.
"Yes. And nobody helps you unless they're a danger to themselves or others."
But mentally unbalanced people can do a lot of damage without being called "dangerous."
As we hung up, I think that woman felt better. I felt worse, having been sucked back into The Bad Times With My Mother.

A few weeks ago, a woman called, having seen an ad for a business advertising "cash for houses." She phoned the number in the ad, and the receptionist didn't know how it worked and said she'd have a representative call back. She and her sister were trying to sell their deceased mother's home, and what did I think about it, did I know anything about that particular "cash for houses" business? The woman wasn't computer savvy, so I  Googled the outfit and read a little about it. I counseled her to expect to get a lowball offer on her mother's house, if she just wants to dump the house, it would be a way to go. I hung up and said to Jane, "I feel like Dear Abby."

On October 21 and again on October 31, I picked up the phone at work to speak with a woman who was inquiring whether or not the Village would be having Halloween on the 31st. I'm not actually positive it was the same woman both times, but the voice was similar. On the 21st she explained that the weather forecast called for rain, and she didn't want to send her child out to trick or treat in the rain. On the 31st, the caller didn't offer any explanation for her concern. Both times, I think I said something like, "Halloween is Halloween. It happens on October 31st. It isn't something the Village schedules."

I suppose there are community groups that have Halloween gatherings, but they aren't affiliated with Village government. I won't be surprised if someone phones about when the Village will be holding Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's Eve. The Halloween woman, or possibly, the Halloween women, has apparently grown up in a world in which she looks to the government for answers to her every question, and probably complains that the government tells her what to do every moment of each day.

Bye, kitty

MiMau passed away on November 5 at 7:30 in the evening, lying on the bed with Angus and Husband, and Husband petting her head. November 5 is now significant not only as the day that, thirty-four years ago, I met Husband, but also as the day MiMau died.

Random observations

A day before we were touched (barely, thanks be!) by Hurricane Sandy I counted eighty-two crows flying southward over the house. There were more after I stopped counting . . . maybe a hundred of them in all. All of them flying directly south, which seemed counter-intuitive to me. If I were a bird, no doubt the reasoning would have been clear to me.

Two days ago I saw a deer in a field as I drove by. It was mostly in its fall/winter dun coat, but with brush strokes of black on its face and elsewhere on its body. I've never seen a deer so darkly colored. It was beautiful. I slowed the car and the deer and I stared at each other. I do love moments of eye contact with wild critters. I always hope to soak up some of their wisdom.

The morning after the worst of the storm, the southern sky was filled with sharp-edged soft gray and taupe dove feathers of clouds, all separate from each other, with blue sky behind them. It was a sweetly peaceful and comforting sky.

I turned all the clocks back last night, early in the evening. I couldn't make my body believe the hour, and I went to bed very early . . . and woke up at 3am. Maybe if I pay no attention to the clock but sleep and wake at will all day today, I'll be able to be adjusted by the time I begin getting ready for work on Monday.