Suburban nights

Son of a hash-slinging sea cook, I stayed over at my mother's house lastnight and I could not sleep.

It was too dark and quiet!

It made me think: Those boom cars and 24-hour fire sirens and honking We Care vans and oiks yelling, "OMIGOD YOUR BUTT IS HANGING OUT," I have grown accustomed to them!

Here I am on this quiet suburban street and my mind is uneasy.

Adding to my unrest, my little nieces had slept in that room two nights before and they had lined up this long row of dolls along the wall. All these old dolls with matted hair and wide open eyes. They looked spooky!

Not only that but I worry about my car alarm going off. Because it did that other time earlier this year when I stayed over at my mother's and now I am afraid it will do that again.

The suburban stillness shattered by my urban car alarm. That was a moment to remember, I will tell you that.

I was at my mom's because she had to go into the emergency room. Her situation was not bad next to the other ones there, I learned that in a hurry. The woman the next bed over, she had managed to fall and break her hip, and her leg, and her shoulder! Zut alors! My mom was napping at the time and I could not stand overhearing that conversation over the curtain. So I put on my earbuds and listened to Leonard Pennario playing the Rachmaninoff Third. Which, I never go anywhere without that. You would not believe the times when you need it.

All in all it was not a bad day. And everything worked out fine.

I just could have done with a little more sleep.

They are strange, those suburban nights!