I mean 'fun house' in the sense of greatly distorted, the way the mirrors are in fun houses at carnivals . . .

Emil's back in Youngstown tonight. He and Kathy went back for a few days, mostly to try to hold things together over at The House, where by all accounts, Carl and Betty are hanging on by a thread. Tonight, Emil says, Uncle Joe seems to be doing just fine, so everyone is cheerful. The prognosis for his condition, according to Kathy's research on the internet, is not good: Expected survival time from diagnosis to death is about 45 days. Of course, people with this condition have been known to live as long as a year. And if anyone would do that, it would be Uncle Joe . . .

But still. Carl and Betty seem to be in denial, according to the social worker. And hey. Why wouldn't they be? Uncle Carl is 85 years old and has never so much as paid an electric bill; Joe and Emil, Sr., did everything, and he has been a perpetual child. Aunt Betty, god love her, came from nothing and has lived in the Bauman household as an outsider for upwards of 60 years. The social worker was of the opinion that Carl and Betty seemed like kids, and Joe like their father . . . well, yes. He's about 8 years older than they are, and has been, for all of their lives . . . Nobody outside the family can really understand this, I don't think; they're even more entangled than the Lassotas (where Uncle Gene owned and took care of everything). But what pretty much is clear is that there's no walking away from this situation. In for a penny, in for a pound. We can't leave them to founder, for many reasons - first and foremost of which is, it would not be kind.

Which of course complicates our lives enormously. I thought Emil would be here to [a] clean and organize the house in preparation for moving and [b] deal with the workers who will come to do things like replace panes of glass and trim the trees, and [c] keep tabs on Emma, whom we've pretty much turned loose . . . not really, but clearly, there's so much uncertainty in our household right now that it would be unrealistic to expect it not to be affecting her. Pulling her close in times like this usually results in calamity.

Now admittedly Emil's only going to be gone for a few days. But I'm guessing we can expect these trips to be frequent and regular for as long as necessary . . . and who knows how long that will be?

So I'm trying to pick up the slack, here. I spent a lot of time cleaning and straightening today, and have made an appointment for a realtor to come next week. We'll just have to do what we can do, and move on the time schedule that we can manage, and see what happens. I'm sure our house will sell quickly, and we'll get the money we expect to get from it. (Ah, if only we had Rob cleaning the kitchen and my brother cleaning the bathroom . . . then I'd be absolutely sure of it! Nobody on the planet cleans better than those guys.)

And I'm looking forward to better times. Apparently I will be able to get funding for both the C's and Computers and Writing, which means I'll go to Chicago next month and Texas in May. (The only sour note is that I can't make Inkshed in Winnipeg, a week before our semester ends . . . if I could find the money, I might try, but the timing is not very good.) And my friend Brenda wants to go to Mackinac for my birthday again, so I've reserved a room in anticipation.

I have to keep remembering, as Rob notes, that the Lansing area is not without considerable charms. I'm feeling queasy about all of this because I like to make changes on my terms, but really. In the grand scheme of things, trading Ann Arbor for Lansing is nothing. I should get a real problem . . .

Ah, well. What I should really get is some sleep . . .