Last weekend turned out rather swimmingly, methinks. You don’t get to drive around downtown Atlanta every day. That is, if you don’t live in downtown Atlanta . . . and if you do, please accept my sincere deriding laughter. “Ha ha!”
We arrived in Atlanta for the symphony a little after one o’clock despite our initial confusement between Peachtree Street and West Peachtree Street, which were posted on really small road signs.
While waiting to be seated, I observed the menagerie of people about us. Some, like us, were rather well dressed. Others were slightly more casual, then some were really casual . . . as in nasty blue jeans and tattoos. Still others were dressed up in the latest of elvish fashion, complete with garland of sparkly twigs in hair and flowing robes. Always interesting to see how music can pull such a group together.
The music itself was incredible, of course. Howard Shore was quite entertaining to watch; very bouncy for an older gentleman. Steven and I also had fantastic seats; we were very close to the cellos. Someday, when I’m a bit richer and in a bigger city, I’d like to take violin lessons. I’ve already got the violin; might as well not let it go to waste. It does look like fun.
After the symphony it was off to dinner, which turned out to be mighty fine indeed. Now we all want a fondue pot to create our own (much less expensive) fondue experience. We also had a lovely bottle of wine, which was amusing to me since I’ve never ordered wine by the bottle before. Only two of us at the table drank any, though. Steven took over driving duties on the way home.
__________________________
Unfortunately, my trips between here and Auburn on the weekend were not so pleasant. I was headed down to Auburn on Friday with Renton and Hermione when a foul smell hit my nostrils.
“Hermione, did you fart?” She’s well-known for her global killers.
“Meow,” said Hermione.
It was reeking. I was hoping against hope that I had just driven by a cow pasture exactly when fifty bovines had a colon-cleaning orgy. That was a better thought than the possibility of cat poop in my car.
I was wrong, though. Hermione, who had been crying for over an hour, had released her spoils. When I got a chance to pull into a gas station to clean ‘er up, it got worse: my poor baby had tapeworms! Lord, no wonder she hasn’t been gaining any weight.
When we reached Auburn I went by a vet first thing. Thankfully, all she needed was one pill and some time for all the critters to vacate her colon. Apparently she felt better after that poop in Piedmont: she slept peacefully for the rest of the trip.
Heading back home after the weekend, however, her bowels struck again; this time in Roanoke. Sadly, she didn’t go to sleep afterward that time and wailed all the way to Fort Payne. At one point we came upon a thunderstorm, which had Renton crying along with her as I hydroplaned onto the interstate.
I told Hermione she’s banned from the car for life, though that remains to be seen. Places to go, people to marry.
However, I’m debating whether I should board them both at the vet’s this weekend to maintain my sanity and my nasal passages.