I think I jumped ten feet when Maricel...

touched me on the shoulder. "What's up?" She asked as she sat down beside me on the couch.
"I think I'm brooding." I said.
"Can I brood with you?" She asked.
"I was going to stop it." I said.
"All right." Maricel said. "What would you like to do instead?"
"Don't you have to get up early to aid autistic children?" I asked.
"Not unless Mrs. Shriver's poodle has taken a turn for the worse. She was taking the day off for his surgery."
"Let's pray he pulls through."
"Oh, I am." Maricel said.
"When Danny gets back, I think I owe him a field trip." I said.
"I can't wait to meet him." She said.
"He's really a fun guy." I said. "Could be awhile, I have to make sure Brian's up to running the store. At least physically. I'll lock up the sharp objects and unplug the microwave."
She laughed.
"I've often wondered." I said. "What Danny thinks about Brian prancing around abusing his perfectly good body. The lungs are a little iffy, but the rest of it works or it used to. Danny's smart. He's really smart. And somebody has to get him get a glass of water."
"Life is often not fair." She said.
Then she gave me a back rub.
"Sometimes we get a lot more than we deserve." I said.

I always knew Weezer would end up in the hospital...

I was up ruminating in a post-martini funk. So I pulled out some photo albums. I always knew he's hurt himself or get in an accident. That's why I've been compelled to watch him since I was five. Danny was a shock to the system. He always did the right thing. But not so right that he annoyed people. Seeing him with his body broken made a fundamental change in me. I don't know if you'd call it growing up, but the fragility of the human body never hit home to me until them. It was apparent now. Weezer being done in by the air sacs in his lungs (as well as his refusal to treat his asthma with respect) and Danny freaking trapped in a chair by the chance of being injured in a particular place on his spin. He'd handled it well (as well as can be expected)
And when they finally outfitted him with his super-dooper deluxe wheelchair, there had been no stopping him. I pitied his poor caretaker hanging in the store as we talked comics. He sent her home, but she was afraid to leave. I promised I'd look after him.
"You sure you can handle it?" She asked with a gentle warning in her voice.
I jerked my head towards Weezer who was having difficulty figuring out the complexities of a large sandwich at the time. "I look after him."
"Fine." She said.
Then I pulled out an album I should have burned. I am none of the things SWSNBN says I am. I am ambitious. My ambitions are just not her ambitions. I want this store and it's sister the on-line store. I want to go to comic conventions and talk to other dorks about Wolverine's origins. And I've found a way to make money at it. Decent money in a business it's not easy to make decent money in. Do doctors make more money? Hell yeah and they should. I can't save you if your lungs decide to close up.

Speaking of old pictures: Here's one of the corner by my store back when the 4-lane road was a part of the Miami and Erie Canal. Kudos to the Toledo Library for the picture collection. I'm all about the Miami Erie Canal. I think I'll take Maricel out to look at the old locks in the metro parks over the weekend. It's picnic time! With an authentic historical experience! (Hold the cholera)

There's a cute girl sleeping in my bed. Guess I'll join her.

See you in the funny papers...
Simon