peppermint mocha

We finished the last of the Christmas shopping. I found a card with a pie on it! I was overjoyed by such a small thing. Sometimes I wish my handwriting was cleaner, more elegant and precise so that I could buy one of those hideously expensive leather journals to carry in my pocket. But between Russian, journalism and my own foibles. Shaky hands, aching joints, too much time typing these days. I have a haphazard half cursive, half print style as well. It's legible, but not pretty.

My key lime pie is chilling in the fridge. It was surprisingly easy, except for juicing ten tiny limes. Tonight I'll watch Sopranos and make the lemon meringue, my crowning masterpiece of Christmas pies. Tomorrow we rise early to see ROTK with my mother, and after work we're driving to Bryan. We have a little surround sound setup for Alan's parents, gameboy accessories for the nephews, a huge book on motorcycles for his sister, and pies. I'll give my mother her presents tomorrow, soundtracks to the Fellowship and Two Towers. For my sister, I picked up a selection of soaps from Bath & Bodyworks, and some lipgloss. I don't know when I'll see my father, but I bought him some books. I have little presents for Alan and Melynda too.

Strange how close the holiday is.

Charlie

We had an impromtu meeting and we shuffled nervously by Cowboy's cubicle. Our supervisors looked grim and quiet, out of place with all the dayshift's giant decorating. Someone cracked a joke about pink slips and bad news.

Charlie left work early last night, because he felt like he was getting the flu. On the way home he stopped at an Exxon station because he thought he was having a heart attack, and asked someone to call 911. He passed out before the ambulance arrived. They took him to a Round Rock hospital, and some hours later transferred him to St David's to get a neurosurgeon. They had to perform surgery, and he is in ICU now. He's heavily sedated to keep him unconscious and prevent his blood pressure from rising. You see, he had a four to five inch blood clot in his skull and suffered a massive stroke. They're going to keep us updated, but no one knows anything right now. It all depends what kind of clot, where, how long and a thousand other intangible variables.

I've always liked Charlie. He's about my father's age, and grew up in Amarillo and Lubbock, my hometowns. His nose has been broken a few times, and he has that certain look I've only ever seen in my father and his friends. Hard to explain, but it's perhaps the idealized image of a man you get growing up here. In passing he always nodded to me, or winked and smiled, and I felt an odd sort of kinship with the man. He's from a world I understand, dust, heat and hard work, trucks and fast cars and long hours, bars and cigarettes and something very uniquely Texas. He may be a bit slower these days, but I would pick him to back me up in a bar fight. It's killing me that I didn't stop by his desk yesterday when I came back from my honeymoon week.

Charlie's a tough son of a bitch, as we say. God help me, I want to cry.