TITLE: The Trouble With Harold
AUTHOR: Miesque
RATING: PG-13 (mild language)
SETTING: Season Seven (aka "Season of the Pod People") into Season
Eight.  Luka has long since broken up with Droopy McHangdog (a.k.a.,
Abby Lockhart) and is Alone Again (naturally...)
CATEGORY: Luka Kovac/cast.  Romantic/comedy/drama, vague spoof of
'Bridget Jones's Diary'...may be rather humorous, may be angsty, may
end with a nuclear bomb wiping out all of Chicago...who knows?
DISCLAIMER: Luka Kovac is the property of Warner Bros., Amblin
Entertainment and NBC.  I am borrowing him for entertainment purposes
only and if TPTB want to sue me for copyright infringement, they
aren't going to have much luck getting money out of me, because I am
as poor as Job's turkey. <G>  Dr. Alexandra Morgan is my invention.
ARCHIVE: If you must, but please inform author. :)

SPOILERS: For Season Seven and Wishful Thinking for Season Eight
PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS: Starter Pistols and Sex Diaries; Fishin' for
the Runnin'; Heat Stroke; Grocery Store Cowboy; Cheesecake and Whine;
Times Of Your Life; I Want A Cave Man, I Want A Brave Man!; A Bigger
Mousetrap; Bless Me, Father; For I Am About to Sin; Out On A Ledge;
Have An Egg Instead; Charity; The Devil Cuts Loose; Toads and
Falsehoods; Ready to Go; Saying Goodbye; Crazy From the Heart; Danger;
Forty Black Balloons; Partied Out; Young Men Coming Aus; Price Check;
Going Once...; Check, Please; Eighteen Patients and a Dozen Roses;
Life Is Good; A Handful of Pebbles; The Horror...the Horror; Gumballs
and Gurneys; It's Not the Flu; Thud; Hvratska and Cymru Celebrate
Christmas; Snow Business; New Year's Dissolutions; Into Sisters;
Sometimes You're the Windshield; Kovac Pride; Nuptuality
AUTHOR&#8217;S NOTE: Thanks to Ellen Hursh for editing and several 2AM
brain-storming sessions.



22 January 2002

9:15AM  Ugh.  Yesterday was snow (with lightning!), today is sleet, w/
slick streets and dreadful driving conditions, tomorrow most likely
will involve four men on red, black, white and pale horses.  Has been
grey and dreary and yechy outside for past week.  Worse, Luka has
started taking night shifts, so I'm back to sleeping alone.  We only
see each other coming and going.  V. depressing.  Get out CDs and
begin attempt (per New Year's Resolution) to get favourite songs on
tapes for cruising in car.  Not that I can cruise in car in January,
but at least I can have them ready for springtime.  By then, of
course, I will be too huge to drive any more and Luka doesn't
generally like Depeche Mode or U2.  Complained yesterday to me about
U2.  "How the hell would they know about what life is like in Harlem?
They're from Ireland.  That'd be like me writing a song about what
it's like to live in Seattle.  The only life they've seen in Harlem
has been through their limo windows."

Luka has been in a foul mood lately.  I have hired a wedding
consultant, a Frenchman named Louis who fussed because our wedding
will be in February.  We went to his opulent business office yesterday
(more bloody flowers than Kew Gardens) and Luka looked horrified at
the prices for wedding cakes.  "My first car cost less than that!" he
gasped when he read the tag on a giant six-tiered thing fit for the
wedding of the Duke of Kent.

"Why not a June wedding?" Louis asked ("Whai nout ah zhoon wayding?").

Luka glared at him for a moment, then replied, in that clipped voice
of his that he only uses with misbehaving children and idiots,
"Because we decided on February."

"Shall we haf flao-airz?" Louis asked.

"Most waydings tend to haf zem," Luka muttered. 

"And briidsmaayds?"

"Yes."

"And do you haf plans for ze reception?"

"Yes."

"Whaat sort of plans, monsieur?"

"Waill, somezing inexpensif..."  Luka attempting French accent on top
of his own Croatian accent quite hard on my bladder.

"Ah!  Mai oui!  We haf ze Port-Royal plan, whish is vairy inexpensif."
 He handed Luka a little booklet and I peered down at it.  Seafood
buffet.  A reception hall that could seat at *least* two hundred.
Crystal wine glasses.  Luka's suggestion of Dixie cups and paper
plates has great appeal.  Suddenly have moment of great clarity, and
bless Luka's heart because he seems to have had the same sort of
moment.  He drags me to my feet and scuttles me to a private corner of
the room, a hopeful expression on his face.

"First, we stuff Louis through a keyhole with a broom.  Then...we
could have a pot-luck reception.  Just have everyone bring stuff they
prepared.  We'll rent a good-sized hall with a dancefloor and buy up
some regular plates and glasses.  Nothing expensive.  We'll let
Monsieur le Terrible arrange the wedding, but we'll take care of the
reception ourselves.  How 'bout it?"

Couldn't have been happier with the idea.  But Mum on her way to
Chicago (am currently humming along with whoever sang "Leavin' On A
Jet Plane"...at least I'm not humming John Lennon's "Mother", which is
inapprop., as my own Mum never abandoned me or anything, but still a
good tune, like most Lennon songs).  Have not yet informed Luka that
Mum is coming.  Will inform him tonight, because she arrives tomorrow
evening.  She will, no doubt, have her own opinions on how the wedding
should be handled.  Luka quite tired of my family.  Seeing Alice and
Max and the boys off was excruciating.  Piles of luggage, sleeping
children draped over seats at airport, Luka guzzling coffee and
muttering under his breath about flight delays, and now...gah, phone!

10:15AM  Was Mum.  She is v. excited about upcoming visit to Chicago
and meeting Luka.  She questioned me at length about the wedding
planner and then asked me horrifying question: "Have you had a bridal
shower yet?"

Oh, dear God.  Why can't I ever think about these kinds of things? 

"Umm...not yet.  I...uh..."

"Alexandra Marie ferch Thomas Morgan, are you telling me you haven't
had a bridal shower yet?!"

"Uh..."

"You know, you get that forgetfulness from your father's side of the
family."

Don't remind her of the time she left me and Johnny at the grocery
store.  Or the time she lost her bloody car in the parking lot and had
fifteen people helping her look for it until she realised she'd driven
the *other* car.  Or the time she arrived at a fancy dress dinner
party wearing a bunny suit (this was back in 1970 or so), having mixed
up dates.  It's not a Morgan disease at all.  It's a Fraser family
disease!

"Mum, a bridal shower is almost moot.  I'm pregnant, we're getting
married in less than a month, and I really don't need..."

"Of course you do, darling!  Free gifts for the taking..."

"And a huge mess to clean up afterwards!"

"Alexandra.  Please.  You're going to be a bride.  Enjoy it."

Ugh.  I do enjoy it.  But would be so much better if I had a memory.
Luka has told me many times that he loves my forgetfulness and that
he's getting used to it, but I frankly hate it.  Sometimes I wish he'd
yell at me for being such a ditz.  Know I'm not perfect.  Know I'm not
the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree.  But dammit, I do try.  That
counts for something.  Read somewhere that my sense of self should
come from...myself?  No, that can't be right.  I should have a better
sense of myself, but I'm afraid I'd forget where I put myself and then
where would I be?  Forgotten, that's where.  Like me and Johnny in
that shopping cart twenty-eight years ago.

Am hopeless.  New Year's resolutions broken thus far: 


Have broken vow to refrain from profanity

Have seen little improvement in memory capacity

Temper is no better

Am still forgetting things

Am still not an attending (though I am getting there)

Threw something at Dr. Carter yesterday, but at least it wasn't a
sharp implement (was instead a snowball, packed with rocks, twigs and
dirt for greatest impact and damage...hit him right in the back of the
head; Chuny told me that they could really have used me on the
softball team last year)

Flipped bird at a cab driver who wouldn't pick me up (a pregnant woman
floundering in a foot of snow!)

Ugh...forgot what else I've not done.  See 2nd broken resolution,
above.


Mum blithered for a while about what sort of bridal shower I should
have, colors schemes, and that she *hoped* at least one of my female
cousins could be shipped in to stand as a bridesmaid.  "Must keep
Morgan family traditions going, dear."  Okay, so how about the Morgan
family tradition of getting drunk on Christmas Eve and passing out in
the bloody punch bowl?

Which makes me wonder...who will Luka's groomsmen be?



Luka wasn't thinking about groomsmen.  He was instead thinking of ways
to treat a man for third-degree burns.  Luka thought the burns rather
interesting-there were several of them, in spots all over his back and
chest.  It took Luka a couple of minutes to realize what had happened
to the man-the man had been burned with hot candle wax.  The woman
pacing around outside the exam room had a strangely guilty look on her
face, and Luka wasn't entirely sure how to approach her.  She didn't
*look* a lot like Madonna...

"Ma'am?  You brought him in?"

"Yes."  She fumbled in her purse for a moment, then gave up searching
for whatever she was trying to find and looked up at him.
"I...uh...I'm his...girlfriend."

"Okay."

"Is he gonna be okay?"

"Yes."

She fumbled in her purse again, then looked up at Luka, eyes burning
with rage.  "The little bastard didn't pay me!"

"Pay you?"

"Right!  I mean..."

Then it dawned on Luka.  He cleared his throat.  "I'm sure he can pay
you later, ma'am.  Meanwhile, I need to know what happened."

"He wanted candle wax...you know...S&M."

"Ah."

"He's a regular, okay?  Into that kind of thing.  Last time it was
bond-..."

"I don't need to know about that.  They were just regular wax
candles?"

"Yeah."

"He's not done this before?"

"No.  Tonight was the first."

Oookay, Luka thought, putting on a fresh pair of latex gloves.  People
can be so weird.  Luka wasn't into stuff like that at all.  The idea
of being tied up scared the hell out of him-he had endured that in
Bosnia.  And frankly, it appalled him.  Why would anyone, after a
long, hard day at work, come home and ask to be tied up and whipped?
To each his own, Luka mused.  But I think I'll pass.

"Luka!"  Kerry was crutching toward him.  "Can I talk to you for a
moment?"

"Sure."  He nodded to Haleh, who headed back into the exam room,
shaking her head.

She grabbed his elbow and moved him to the end of the front desk,
where they could have a moment of privacy.  "I just got your wedding
invitation.  I wanted to tell you that I appreciate the gesture but
I'm gonna be out of town for a conference that week...so I won't be
able to make it."  She said this as if it were a carefully-prepared
speech.  When she finished talking, she exhaled, as if relieved to be
done with it.

"Oh."  He mechanically peeled off his gloves and studied her, trying
to figure out what was being said between the lines.  "That's too bad,
Kerry.  Alexandra and I really wanted you to be there."

"Yes.  I...uh...would have loved to come.  But..."

"What's the conference about?"

Uh-oh, she thought.  She had made numerous frantic phone calls to find
a conference-any conference!-taking place around February 23.  She was
*determined* to be out of town that day.  When the invitation had
arrived at her house two days ago, she had sat down and poured herself
a stiff drink-but at least she hadn't cried; dammit, she wasn't going
to cry.  Until that invitation had arrived, she had closed that part
of the situation *out*, almost in an effort to make it *not real*.
She had forced herself to not think about the reality of Luka's love
for Alexandra.  He was marrying a wonderful, sweet, crazy woman who
would love him forever.  He was *happy*.  But meanwhile, Kerry felt
miserable.  Well, at least I *like* Alexandra, Kerry thought.  Carol
wasn't so bad-at least she had given a damn about Luka in some small
capacity; Abby had been a complete horror, but at least Dr. Morgan
loves Luka.

"Umm...it's about...uh..."

"Emergency Room Management, maybe?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!"

"Hardly necessary, Kerry.  You do a great job already." 

She ignored the compliment, just like any compliment she might
receive-even though she had allowed Luka to lead her right into it-and
shrugged.  "It's in...uh...Reno."

"Reno?  Ah.  Well, then, write the conference off and gamble to your
heart's content, then get married and divorced all in the span of one
day."  He spread his arms, grinning down at her.

"Very funny."  Her beeper went off.  "Damn!"

"Heading upstairs?"

"Yes!"

"Okay.  G'bye."

Kerry fled and Luka watched her leave, wondering what the hell was
wrong with her.



10:45AM  Bloody hell and various other foul words that can't be
printed.

Toilet *exploded*.  Water everywhere.  Called building super' and he
informed me that he had no time to come and work on2 it as he's about
to leave for New York to visit family and so basically I'm screwed.
Mum coming tomorrow night.  Am waddling around pregnant and miserable
and weepy.  Then as I was cleaning window found mummified body of
Gigantic Spider.  At least I didn't find it in one of my shoes.  Have
real phobia about spiders.  Can handle poisonous snakes, charging
lions (happened to me once in Kenya and I barely blinked as I vaulted
back into LandRover), screaming patients, vomit, even pregnancy with
twins...but the sight of even a dead spider causes me to get severe
case of the shakes.

With dead toilet and mummified spider, I am really in no condition to
deal with my mother.  Mum is an American who has almost forgotten she
is an American.  Her accent always intrigued our neighbours, as she
still has a strong Southern drawl.  She is v. beautiful and elegant in
Jennie Jerome Churchill fashion (Mum also has a bit of Cherokee
blood), looks marvelous in hunting attire (rides to hounds in
sidesaddle, looks smashing).  Even at fifty-six, she looks about
thirty and is capable of throwing successful garden party and cooking
gourmet meal for fifteen, mowing the yard, negotiating battle between
angry children, killing a spider (no fear), keeping husband happy,
applying makeup perfectly, arranging bouquet of fresh-cut flowers, and
organising Red Cross blood drive, all while talking to best friend
Nina Colby on 'phone.  Meanwhile, I *cannot* cook, can never start a
lawnmower to save my life, would simply tie children up and throw them
in a closet, would run screaming from spider, and worry that I will
not be able to keep husband happy, much less *locate* the bloody
'phone.  Painful Moments of Inadequacy by Comparison to SuperMum.
Ugh.  Have to pee again!

11:15AM  Sat on living room couch, and had shocking realisation.
Conceived twins just *three* days into Sexual Relationship with Luka.
Three bloody days.  In a *linen closet*.  How am I going to tell this
to Mum?  Perhaps it would be best not to tell Mum.  Have yet another
compulsion to go hide under the bed.

1:15PM  Luka called, telling me Dr. Weaver not coming to wedding.  Am
both relieved and upset.  Relieved because she is in love with Luka
and upset because I like her and she's a lonely woman.  Ugh.
Doorbell.

1:25PM  Flowers from Luka.  Pretty pink roses.  Card reads 'Te volim'.
 Had a moment of panic when he called me 'draga' one morning, until I
realised it was a term of endearment and it had nothing to do with
fact that at six in the morning I look like Godzilla.  Put on "Learn
Croatian" tape and walked around house repeating words that suffer
from vowel depletion.

2:15PM  Call Luka, unable to hide fact that Mum is coming to Chicago
tomorrow night.  "Uh...well, I have some very important news."

"Triplets?"

"No.  Uh...are you sitting down?"

"Quadruplets?"

"No!"

"I can't sit, Alexandra.  What's going on?"

"Well...my mother is coming to Chicago."

"Really?  For the wedding?"

"Uh.  Yes."

"When?"

"T-tomorrow night."

Long silence.  Hear a brief clatter, then mumbling and a loud curse,
then, "Tomorrow?!?!"

"Yes."

"Alexandra," he says, using that Patient Daddy voice that he uses only
when I've really gone and f****ed up.  "Why didn't you tell me
sooner?"

"I-I don't know...Dad will be coming a few days before the wedding, as
he has lots of business up until the twentieth..."

"And I assume your brother and sister will also be coming in
February?"

"Yes."

"I'm gonna need a sedative."

"Luka, I'm sorry..."

"She's coming tomorrow...okay...and what else happened?"

"The toilet *died*, Luka.  Water is everywhere...the place is a mess
and how'm I gonna explain it to Jane?"

"It's not like it's your fault, beba."

"Bloody hell!"

"What now?"

"Doorbell...I think maybe the plumber arrived."

Hung up on Luka-accidentally.

12:09PM  Plumber informs me that toilet is irreparable...that I'll
need to turn water off in bathroom.  Burst into tears in middle of
living room, and plumber looked v. embarrassed.  "I'm getting married
in just a few weeks!  My mother is coming tomorrow, I'm five months
pregnant with twins, my favourite dress is stained, I have a
bridal-baby shower to arrange, there's a dead spider in the window
and...waaaahhhh!"  Alice is the dramatic one, but sometimes I can give
a soap opera diva a run for her money.

1:22PM  Frantic call to Luka.  Inform him of bathroom situation.  He
sighs and then tells me to pack up and move to his place.  "Just get
over there.  Now.  No, I mean it, Alexandra.  Call Jane and tell her
about the toilet.  If she's anywhere near being a decent person she'll
understand that it's not your fault...no, dammit, Alexandra!  *Get
over there!*  Yes.  I have to get back to work.  Bye!" <click>

1:38PM  Bill from plumber $205.  For WHAT?!  Was the bill upped
because I cried in front of him?  I think he said perhaps 39 words the
entire time he was here (did rough count) and I think that comes down
to $5.26 per word, plus the effort of walking from my door to the loo
and back again, having spent perhaps 25 seconds looking at toilet.
Gah, phone!

1:44PM  Was Johnny calling from Namibia or Nairobi or some place
starting with 'N', informing me that Julia is having a boy and a girl.
 "We decided it'd be best to find out here and now instead of waiting.
 How about you?  Do you know yet?"

Begin wailing about toilet and Mum coming.  Johnny v. alarmed and
tells me to calm down and move back in w/ Luka.  "That's what he told
me!" I sob.

"Well, you can bloody well listen, then," Johnny snaps.  "Get your ass
in order, Alex!"

He spent too much time in California.

"I can't even get my hair in order!  I'm trying to get stuff ready to
move out...I really am.  But right now I can't even locate Jane's
number in London..."

"I have it.  I'll call you back in a few minutes with the number, but
in the meantime sit down and try to think Pleasant Thoughts."

2:18PM  Am writing Pleasant Thoughts:

Luka

Babies (once they're born, that is)

Twiglets

Chocolate-covered ice cream bonbons

Entenmann's chocolate chip cookies and other pastry products (Luka
brought me a box last night and am thinking of investing in
Entenmann's stock)

Food in general

A dozen pink roses from sweet fiance

Hot bubble bath (where I am now, diary propped up on tray)

telephone unplugged

Simple Wedding

Shagging

Spending rest of life w/ gorgeous Croatian


Ugh...sleepy.

3:45PM  All wrinkly from nap in tub.  This is what I'll look like at
eighty, I suppose.  Am packing stuff to move back to Luka's.  Will be
so nice to be living with competent adult male with whom I am having
functioning, mature relationship.  Will not be so nice to have Mum
staying in Chicago 'til the wedding.  Will definitely advise her to
stay at a hotel.  Know she will offer.  "Oh, perhaps I should stay at
a hotel, dear."  I will try to be something between nonchalant and
desperate.  "Oh, that'd be all right, Mum.  You know Luka only has two
bedrooms and the guest bedroom is very cluttered up with boxes and
books and paper...so perhaps it would be best for you to stay at the
Drake, though I shall find it very inconvenient..."  Freeze when I
realise I shall have to inform her that I'm living with Luka.  It was
hard enough informing her I'm pregnant.

3:50PM  Alice called asking what color scheme I have.  Color scheme?
What the bloody hell?  Really ought to call Louis and discuss this.
Damn, can't find his number in rolodex.  Luka *told* me to get better
arranged, but I forgot.  I have the organisational skills of a drunken
chimpanzee.

4:27PM  Cousin Frances called informing me that she saw a v. nice ice
blue maternity dress in a discount shop in London that would look v.
good on me.  'Accidentally' hung up on her.  This is woman who threw
up on minister during her wedding.  Do not need bad vibes.

4:48PM  Am ready to go.  Have all my clothes, all my Important Stuff.
Am waiting for cab.

5:03PM  Jane called.  Miserably informed her that her toilet has
exploded.  She only laughed.  "Again?"

"What do you mean *again*?!" I shriek.  "This has happened before?!"

"Of course.  Why do you think the building super fled to New York?
Whenever he knows the pipes are freezing, he packs up his family and
flies off to spend the rest of the winter with the tribe of
freeloaders that spawned him.  Don't worry about it, Alex."

"You mean he *knew* they were freezing?"

"Of course he knew."

"And he did nothing about it?"

"Never does."

"Oh, dear God."

"Well, don't worry.  I hear you're getting married."

"Yes!"  I dive into that eagerly, as is more cheerful subject than
Dead Toilet.

"And expecting twins, no less."  Jane is a Sloan Ranger type, though
raised in America, father American, mother from old Sussex family,
related to Duke of Devonshire somehow, grandmother was a friend of
Queen Mum's.  Jane used to terrify me.  Wears cashmere sweaters,
pearls and Look of Complete Confidence and Stability, bears striking
resemblance to Justine Waddell.  But still a v. nice girl when she's
in her cups.

"Yes.  Everyone's very excited."

"I hope so.  Have you picked godparents?" 

Ugh. 

5:38PM  Am installed back in Luka's flat.  Always liked this place.
Jakko jumping up and down, v. excited to see me again.  Jack and Diane
couldn't have cared less.  Sat down on couch and flipped through
'National Geographic'.  Story about meerkats v. interesting.  Johnny
once studied meerkats.  Claimed they had various sounds for different
situations.  "Eeeek!" for when eagle attacking, "Aaeeeee!" for when
snake in general vicinity, and "Breeeee!' when out of cheese, etc.

5:45APM  Ack!  I looked in Harold's cage...he's dead!

6:19PM  Finished sobbing.  My canary is dead.  Must find some place to
put him...must be calm and rational and sensible and...

6:35PM  Luka home, found me in puddle of tears on couch.  Wailed that
my canary is dead and then began interrogation.  "How did he die?  You
did feed him, didn't you?  Water and so forth?  You let him out
sometimes to fly around?"

Luka gives me a *look* that tells me that of *course* he fed my bird
*and* my bloody turtles so I'd better quit while I'm ahead.  Harold
was six years old, after all.  Not like he was a bloody parrot that'd
outlive us all.  But he was still my bird and I loved him.  Began
crying again and attribute that to v. deep emotion and possible
hormonal situation.  Luka left me alone to ruminate and took Jakko for
walkies, muttering about 'damned color schemes' and 'mother of the
bride'.

7:09PM  Luka returns w/ Jakko, in foul mood because dog tried to hump
a poodle.  "Really have to get him fixed...are you through crying or
should I take him around the block again?"

7:15PM  Loud argument over.  Our first *serious* fight.  Luka fuming
in living room, I'm here in the kitchen, scribbling away.  Am so angry
w/ him.  He was not v. nice regarding my canary and now he's being
sarcastic and horrible.  I'm the one who's bloody pregnant with twins
and he's sitting there reading the newspaper and never having to worry
about calorie intake or 27 hours of labour or plucking ugly black
hairs out of chin, and no matter how much he denies it, if Jakko died
tomorrow he'd be depressed for a week.

7:28PM  Luka comes into kitchen and pours himself cup of coffee.  Sits
down opposite me and asks me to participate in experiment.  "Write
down everything you're feeling right now and I'll do the same and then
we'll read each other's lists."  Hands me a piece of paper and I
immediately began writing.


You were very mean about Harold
You don't understand my feelings
You were sarcastic
You were grouchy
You don't like my family
You won't let me work regular shifts
You treated me v. unfairly
You didn't sympathise with me about Harold
You are being overprotective
You won't let me [edited, in case children should ever read this
diary] in bed while pregnant
You don't always listen to me
You made Harold's death seem inconsequential


Handed him my list, and he handed me his.  Got weepy when I read it:


I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk
I love you and I'm sorry for acting like a jerk


"I'm sorry!" I wailed.  He just shrugged, laughing a little. 

"It's all right.  We're both tired.  Too much stress.  The toilet
thing must have been traumatic, huh?"

"Yes!  It was awful!  I felt like I was in 'Poseidon Adventure'."

"Finding out your mother is coming tomorrow was a bit traumatic for
me, too.  But we'll be okay."

"Really?"

"Yes.  Just ask Luka 'Pollyanna' Kovac.  I've been through worse...I
was tortured in a prisoner-of-war camp, so I don't think your mother
could be much worse...ouch!"  He winced and rubbed his hand.  "Anyway,
have you eaten today?"

"Of course.  I ate up all those cookies you brought me yesterday.
Have you got any more?"

"First things first.  We'll...uh...send Harold off properly.  Which do
you prefer?  Burial at sea or...?"

"It'll be hard to dig a hole outside, huh?"

"Yes."

"It wouldn't be safe to flush him?"

"I don't think so, now that I consider it.  Last thing you need is two
exploding toilets in one day.  Hmm...I guess we could wrap him up and
put him in the trash.  That's sort of like how I want to go, anyway.
When I die, just put me out in the trash."

"Oh, silly!"

"Actually, I want to be cremated."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I know!  We'll burn him."

"Burn him?"

"Yes!  I had a friend who was Scandinavian.  When he died, he wanted a
traditional Viking funeral, so he insisted his friends burn him up in
a small fishing boat off the coast of Scotland.  But...uh...the Coast
Guard kept putting out the fire..."

"I rather doubt that Harold is a Viking canary.  But we could always
pluck his feathers and have a canary fricassee..."

I roll my eyes at him and he looks around.  "Okay.  We'll...uh...what
do you do with a dead bird in January?"

"If it was a chicken, the answer would be more obvious.  But this is a
canary.  And I really don't know.  Maybe we really should just bury
him.  There has to be soft ground out there somewhere."

"Okay.  Get your coat and your *hat* and let's go."

"I hate wearing hats!"

"I know.  But you're going to wear a hat just the same.  I'll see if I
can find a shovel.  Be sure and bring your prayer book, too."  Then
he's off to the little utility closet to get the shovel and I'm left
in the kitchen, contemplating a dead canary.

9:03PM  Back in from freezing cold, having buried canary behind
apartment building.  Got strange looks from passersby.  Luka had
difficult time digging hole-ground v. hard-and it took several
minutes.  He had to stop a few times to blow on hands, and by the time
the hole was dug his teeth were chattering and he was mumbling (he has
tendency to do this when frustrated).  We then had V. Respectful
Graveside Service for Harold.  Luka made sign of the cross and said,
"To you, O Lord, we commit Harold.  A very nice bird.  Who tended to
sing the same tune over and over and over until I was sure I'd go
insane...ow!...but otherwise a very nice bird.  Thank you, O Lord, for
the fact that Harold didn't like Gilbert and Sullivan or I'm fairly
sure I would currently be in a strait-jacket...ow!"

Walking back inside, I told Luka I wanted to get a rabbit next time.
Luka glanced back at the freshly dug grave (which is being covered
with snow) and said, v. wearily, "That's a bigger hole."

Made hot chocolate w/ marshmallows for Luka, who shivered on the
couch.  His hands were *cold* and he insisted on warming them on
my...ooh, v. nice.  V. true that people often have sex after funerals,
as Confirmation of Life.

10:15PM  Luka suggested a goldfish, rather than a rabbit.  But I got
on internet and looked up various kinds of rabbits and decided
Netherland dwarf rabbits, which are v. cute, would be good pets.  Luka
looked at website about English angora rabbits and made this "gasp!"
sound and tried to think of what they reminded him of.  Finally
stumped him.  Agreed that the dwarf rabbits are 'cute', but muttered
that he has little use for 'cute'.  "You're cute 'til you're about
twelve.  If you're still cute at thirty, there's something wrong with
you."

10:58PM  "The Dark Crystal!"

11:05PM  Was editing diary (so many things spelled wrong today).
Strange to have fiance sit up in bed and shout "The Dark Crystal!"

"What?"

"Those rabbits remind me of those things in "The Dark Crystal."

"What things?"

"Those...those...*things*.  I don't know how to describe them.  It was
an interesting movie, anyway.  There were these creatures with long
white hair that were obsessed with three suns and crystals...like
Shirley Maclaine in another twenty years."

"Oh.  That explains it."

He rolled over and went back to sleep.  V. long day and some bits
quite trying.  Gave Luka kiss on the cheek (he mumbled something about
rabbits) and am signing off.  V. tired.  Shall sleep late and slum
tomorrow until Mum arrives.  No, can't slum.  Must clean flat, make
things v. clear to Jakko re: leg humping and general behaviour in
Company, and prepare self mentally for Invasion of the Perfect Wife
and Mother.

Ugh.

To be continued


NOTE: English Angora rabbits are, quite frankly, the ugliest creatures
I have ever seen.

http://www.showbunny.com/enangora.asp

One photo actually frightened me.  <shudder>