After 30 years of beaming others up, Scotty has finally left the engine room and beamed to parts unknown. James Doohan has lost his battle with Alzheimer’s Disease, passing away early this morning at his house in Redmond with his wife Wende at his side. He was 85.

Last year I blogged about just missing Doohan’s last public appearance as he received his star on the Hollywood Walk Of Fame. I’m still kicking myself for that lost opportunity.

The universe seems a smaller and sadder place today.

So apparently there was a dearth of qualified women and minorities available and Shrub was forced to come up with a white guy for his nomination.

I never dared hope he’d pick someone who leaned toward the center, but I did sort of wish that he’d pick someone who would stand out a bit more amongst the white male faces.

I know some of our Portland streets can be narrow and rather steep… but really, driving a car down stairs just doesn’t work as well in real life as in the movies.

This is a short-cut that probably should not have been attempted.

The good news is that #1 Son is well on the way to recovery from tonsillitis.

The bad news is that, after knitting a bunch this weekend, finishing the feet of the Fixation socks, and actually turning the heel on one, I find that…

They don’t fit.

AARRRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!

Not believing the socks could be too narrow (I have skinny feet), I ripped out my oh-so-perfectly constructed short row heel and the entire band of stranded flowers below it and put in a standard gusset-and-flap heel while re-knitting the lovely flowers.

And now they are both too narrow and too long.

AAARRRRGGGGHHHH!!!!! #2

I vastly underestimated how much narrower the stranding would make the sock. It seems that I have no choice but to frog them out all the way down to the toes. Past the flowers. Past the lovely stranded zig-zags, past the three-color herringbone. Back to the toes. Which I had already frogged out earlier because they were too wide (oh, the irony of it all).

As penance, I’m going to finish E’s socks before I go back to Fixation.

But I will get a pair of Fixation socks if it kills me…

Er… maybe I’d better not say that.

Picture Mom, at her desk this morning, hard at work… The phone rings…

brinnnggg Good morning. How may I help you?

Mom? I’m really sick. I have tonsillitis. I need to see a doctor. Can you take me?

Like he had to ask? My “mom instinct,” quiescent for the last couple of weeks, went instantly into overdrive. I was at #1 Son’s front door in less than 20 minutes, and at the Urgent Care Clinic as quickly as I could drive there (our doctor had no available appointments).

At the clinic, we waited. We waited longer. We waited some more…

Mom I want to see the doctor! Now! They’ll get to us as soon as they can, kiddo.

The doctor said that it was definitely tonsillitis and she’d be right back with a prescription.

We waited. We waited longer. We waited some more…

Why is it taking so long? I want to go home. I feel lousy. I want to lie down and sleep. Where’s the doctor? I’m sure she’s hurrying as fast as she can.

When the doctor returned, #1 Son asked when he could go back to work. Not for a few days, but she’d write an excuse for him.

We waited. We waited longer. We waited some more…

I want to go home. I want to lie down. Why is it taking so long? It can’t take this long to write an excuse!

After 15 minutes of whining from #1 Son, I stuck my head out of the door and asked the nurse if the doctor was going to come back with the excuse. The nurse called down the hall, “Doctor, are you coming back to room 3?”

“Yes, yes… They wanted an excuse from work. I’m getting it.”

She returned with the explanation, “There’s no way to do this nicely on the computer so I have to write it out.”

This takes longer?

I left #1 Son at home (my home) with the instructions to go eat some ice cream or something else cold, and headed to the local Albertsons. Dropping the prescription off with the pharmacist, I shopped a bit: Ice cream, Popsicles, milk, yogurt, 7-Up. And I remembered kitty litter. That always pleases the furry kids. A lot.

At the check stand, the clerk tipped the litter in my cart on its side to scan the bottom, and then turned to ring up the rest of my purchases. When she turned back, she said, “uh oh! I’m going to need a clean up!”

The kitty litter box was slit. Box knifed, it looked like to me. 21 lbs of kitty litter were now on the floor under the cart in a pile. 21 lbs of kitty litter make a big pile.

“Maybe you could bring your cats in here?” The clerk suggested while we waited for cleanup and a new box of litter. I thought about the logistics of that suggestion…

Captain Kidd would whack out and hide under the counter. We wouldn’t be able to find him for days. He would neither eat nor use the litter.

Phoebe would start shedding like mad, meow loudly at everyone and then join Kidd under the counter. She would come out that night to use the litter, and might stay out if she found a cushy spot to nap — like maybe curled up on a loaf of bread or two. The chicken in the deli would be breakfast, lunch and dinner.

Moo Cow would curl up on top of the pile of litter and demand attention, petting and treats from every shopper and every employee. No one would be able to enter or exit the store without first kowtowing to Her Majesty. The chicken, beef and ham from the deli would be hand-fed to her by her adoring public.

I told the clerk that it would probably be better if I just took the litter home to the cats.

On the way home I gave up all thoughts of making it to Tangle for Thursday opening knitting night. It appears that the fates conspire against me. But I will make it one of these days!

I have to admit that I had a sneaking little mote of a feeling of satisfaction that my son, who has been oh so grown up the past few months, could still still need his mom every now and then.