This time last year
There were boxes
At the Center
of every room
Being filled with
Fifteen years of life.
On every street and
At every corner
A flurry of hellos
And Goodbyes
Flew into the air
Hungry magpies of the inevitable.
The days marched along
As good soldiers
Delivering us to a New Life
600 miles South.
For months everything was
New!
Shiny!
and
Assertive!
in its
Novelty.
Nearly twelve months gone by
The newness has faded like
Chintz left in the sun.
Pleasant
Nice
But slowly becoming invisible
And in this way
The Past reappears
In stark and devastating relief.
An impossible mirage.
Extant
And Unattainable.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Monday, November 12, 2012
A little of this and that...
It's the week before Thanksgiving and all of the Shiny Red Pets are shedding. I don't know why they feel that this is the time to rid themselves of all of their fur, but they have. There are clumps of fur which roll by gently with any disturbance or movement of air in the house. I feel compelled to sweep them or pick them up, but I can assure you that I am the only one here who feels that way.
Now that fall is solidly here I am reminded that I love cool crisp weather. The temperature drops and I feel energized and lively. I take longer walks in the woods with the dogs and come home to a crackling fire in the living room.
I am hosting Thanksgiving for the first time in at least a decade. I'm trying to remember what I cooked the last time. A turkey surely, but what else must be on the table? Do my readers have tried and true recipes that they love and would like to share? I'd love to be the beneficiary of your wisdom.
Usually in the fall I like to read the very beginning of Moby Dick, as well as The Headless Horsemen. I didn't seem to get to it this year. Rebecca and I are reading Tom Sawyer. I don't think that I appreciated the humor of this story as a child when I read it last. Now I am so much more aware of the adult narrator and the amused and gentle kindness of his portrayal of Tom.
Finally, I will share a private victory of adulthood with you. When I was in my teens and at the dentist for a check-up, the dentist remarked that I had been doing a fantastic job flossing. My teeth looked great- no plague and cavity free.
Reader, I had never flossed in my life. After that comment I decided that flossing was for fools with nothing better to do than thread bits of waxy string through their teeth. This was a strategy that worked for a number of years, but over the last decade or so I have been getting nagged by dentists and hygienists to floss.
I finally found a new dentist down here in The South. The hygienist looked at my teeth and informed me that the plaque was so bad that it would take two treatments to clean them. One that day and another in four weeks.
I was horrified by the sight of my poor sore gums and so I vowed to floss. And I have. Every day, even when I am tired. When I went back last week for part two the hygienist was appropriately impressed. I got an A+ in flossing and in adulthood as well.
Now that fall is solidly here I am reminded that I love cool crisp weather. The temperature drops and I feel energized and lively. I take longer walks in the woods with the dogs and come home to a crackling fire in the living room.
I am hosting Thanksgiving for the first time in at least a decade. I'm trying to remember what I cooked the last time. A turkey surely, but what else must be on the table? Do my readers have tried and true recipes that they love and would like to share? I'd love to be the beneficiary of your wisdom.
Usually in the fall I like to read the very beginning of Moby Dick, as well as The Headless Horsemen. I didn't seem to get to it this year. Rebecca and I are reading Tom Sawyer. I don't think that I appreciated the humor of this story as a child when I read it last. Now I am so much more aware of the adult narrator and the amused and gentle kindness of his portrayal of Tom.
Finally, I will share a private victory of adulthood with you. When I was in my teens and at the dentist for a check-up, the dentist remarked that I had been doing a fantastic job flossing. My teeth looked great- no plague and cavity free.
Reader, I had never flossed in my life. After that comment I decided that flossing was for fools with nothing better to do than thread bits of waxy string through their teeth. This was a strategy that worked for a number of years, but over the last decade or so I have been getting nagged by dentists and hygienists to floss.
I finally found a new dentist down here in The South. The hygienist looked at my teeth and informed me that the plaque was so bad that it would take two treatments to clean them. One that day and another in four weeks.
I was horrified by the sight of my poor sore gums and so I vowed to floss. And I have. Every day, even when I am tired. When I went back last week for part two the hygienist was appropriately impressed. I got an A+ in flossing and in adulthood as well.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Selected Shorts...
About a million years ago when I was fifteen I had a job in Pompton Lakes, New Jersey.
I worked at the sort of shop that still existed back then. It was a sort of clothing shop and sports shop all rolled into one. The floors creaked a bit and it smelled like new shoes, but it was a wonderful store. It was owned by the Wecht family and was in fact, family run. The brothers were managers and their father ran the place. I was a cashier, a job I was ill-suited for due to my natural fear of numbers, but I managed. I would have been better in sales I think, though I don't suppose grown-up ladies would be particularly moved by the fashion advice of a fifteen year old girl in braces and a new wave hair cut.
This was my job though, and I worked several afternoons a week and the weekends. When I look back at that time, getting up before five every morning to get ready for school, working on the weekends I am not surprised that I was so often sick. I think I was exhausted for four years straight and I had the mono to prove it.
Anyway, the story I want to tell you isn't about being sick all the time and my horribly awkward adolescence. The story I want to tell is about my dad. My dad often drove me to school and drove me home from work. He'd listen to NPR which seemed an endless stream of boring talk about the news and traffic. I hated it. I hated almost everything back then. I would plug my Walkman into my ears and listen to whatever music was getting me through the misery of being young. There were mornings that I am sure I never spoke a word to my father. I was sullen most of those mornings and now that I know how it is to be on the other end of a child's sullenness, I regret it.
Sunday afternoons were different. NPR played Selected Shorts and the confident voice of Isaiah Sheffer would introduce a story read aloud by famous actors. My father would put on the radio and together we would be quiet in each others company listening to stories. I am sure that I first heard the work of John Updike and Raymond Carver in that car because when I later read their books I thought for sure that I already knew these stories, though I knew I had not read them. On those trips home I came to love a different kind of radio, so different from the commercial radio of screeching ballads. Of all the gifts I ever received from my father, I think that introducing me to NPR and Selected Shorts may be the one for which I am most grateful and the one which I use every day.
When I heard that Isaiah Sheffer had died this week I thought about those afternoons in the car. I remember each curve of the long twisting roads to our house in rural New Jersey. I can see the dry leaves skittering across the road and the long shadows pulling against the distant mountains and I can still hear the stories being told while my father and I listened together, quietly, unexpectedly and carefully to each word of the tale.
Rest In Peace Mr. Sheffer.
I worked at the sort of shop that still existed back then. It was a sort of clothing shop and sports shop all rolled into one. The floors creaked a bit and it smelled like new shoes, but it was a wonderful store. It was owned by the Wecht family and was in fact, family run. The brothers were managers and their father ran the place. I was a cashier, a job I was ill-suited for due to my natural fear of numbers, but I managed. I would have been better in sales I think, though I don't suppose grown-up ladies would be particularly moved by the fashion advice of a fifteen year old girl in braces and a new wave hair cut.
This was my job though, and I worked several afternoons a week and the weekends. When I look back at that time, getting up before five every morning to get ready for school, working on the weekends I am not surprised that I was so often sick. I think I was exhausted for four years straight and I had the mono to prove it.
Anyway, the story I want to tell you isn't about being sick all the time and my horribly awkward adolescence. The story I want to tell is about my dad. My dad often drove me to school and drove me home from work. He'd listen to NPR which seemed an endless stream of boring talk about the news and traffic. I hated it. I hated almost everything back then. I would plug my Walkman into my ears and listen to whatever music was getting me through the misery of being young. There were mornings that I am sure I never spoke a word to my father. I was sullen most of those mornings and now that I know how it is to be on the other end of a child's sullenness, I regret it.
Sunday afternoons were different. NPR played Selected Shorts and the confident voice of Isaiah Sheffer would introduce a story read aloud by famous actors. My father would put on the radio and together we would be quiet in each others company listening to stories. I am sure that I first heard the work of John Updike and Raymond Carver in that car because when I later read their books I thought for sure that I already knew these stories, though I knew I had not read them. On those trips home I came to love a different kind of radio, so different from the commercial radio of screeching ballads. Of all the gifts I ever received from my father, I think that introducing me to NPR and Selected Shorts may be the one for which I am most grateful and the one which I use every day.
When I heard that Isaiah Sheffer had died this week I thought about those afternoons in the car. I remember each curve of the long twisting roads to our house in rural New Jersey. I can see the dry leaves skittering across the road and the long shadows pulling against the distant mountains and I can still hear the stories being told while my father and I listened together, quietly, unexpectedly and carefully to each word of the tale.
Rest In Peace Mr. Sheffer.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
It's been a long time since I had a junkie housie post...
I am enjoying decorating this house. It is so very different from my old house, and yet I find that many of my old pieces still work really well.
I also made my way to the junk store yesterday and found some little lovelies who needed new homes.
This bread box has all of my favorite things. Vintage font, great color, and it was 3.99.
It is possible that I audibly yelped when I spotted this beauty for 1.99. Jadite sugar bowl? Be still my heart!
I try to avoid baskets because they tend to breed in my basement and suddenly I am overrun with them. I made an exception for this groovy shaped picnic basket though.
What are you doing to get ready for fall?
Monday, September 3, 2012
Time it was and what a time it was, it was...
Suddenly it is September and all I can do is wait for fall. I keep checking the weather channel, anxiously waiting for the temperatures here in Maryland to dip, for the leaves to flame and dry, and for my nose to turn cold in the air.
This summer felt like the crossing of a border of some sort. This was the summer we got to properly know our neighbors, when we all made friends, and stopped feeling so new and raw all the time. We spent a long time on the road this summer. We visited our old home town where the kids went to camp at their old dance studio and saw their old friends. We slipped right into our former life and yet it felt a little unreal. I would drive down the road meaning to head to Amy's house, only to find myself on the path to our old home.
Mostly though, the summer was wonderful. We saw nearly everyone we love and it was impossible not to feel grateful for these people, near and far who welcome us into their lives and homes.
You are probably wondering if the ants are gone. When we arrived back home in mid-August I discovered that the ants had infested the cupboard where I keep my coffee mugs and wine glasses and this violation was one which I could not stand. An exterminator was called and he brought with him an arsenal of poison which the little vermin gobbled up, only to die. I enjoyed watching them suffer, and felt only satisfaction when I swept their desiccated little bodies into the trash.
We started school last week and I have only had to threaten Lily once. We've all been waking up early, early enough in fact for Lily to want to walk the dogs with me. We head to the woods, minding the dogs, and watching for birds. She's become very curious about the birds we see and so we've been doing some bird research. I will be an old woman some day and I will look back on those days where Lily and I studied the birds and know that I never wanted for joy or love.
While Lily and I have been studying birds, Rebecca has been transitioning into a barn kid. She takes riding lessons, and has begun working in the barn for extra horse time. She works hard and long and when she comes home she stinks of labor and equine exertions. I have never seen her so satisfied with anything in her life.
We are all ready I think, for the next season, for the structure that the school year imposes, for the shortening of the day, for the end of the beginning.
This summer felt like the crossing of a border of some sort. This was the summer we got to properly know our neighbors, when we all made friends, and stopped feeling so new and raw all the time. We spent a long time on the road this summer. We visited our old home town where the kids went to camp at their old dance studio and saw their old friends. We slipped right into our former life and yet it felt a little unreal. I would drive down the road meaning to head to Amy's house, only to find myself on the path to our old home.
Mostly though, the summer was wonderful. We saw nearly everyone we love and it was impossible not to feel grateful for these people, near and far who welcome us into their lives and homes.
You are probably wondering if the ants are gone. When we arrived back home in mid-August I discovered that the ants had infested the cupboard where I keep my coffee mugs and wine glasses and this violation was one which I could not stand. An exterminator was called and he brought with him an arsenal of poison which the little vermin gobbled up, only to die. I enjoyed watching them suffer, and felt only satisfaction when I swept their desiccated little bodies into the trash.
We started school last week and I have only had to threaten Lily once. We've all been waking up early, early enough in fact for Lily to want to walk the dogs with me. We head to the woods, minding the dogs, and watching for birds. She's become very curious about the birds we see and so we've been doing some bird research. I will be an old woman some day and I will look back on those days where Lily and I studied the birds and know that I never wanted for joy or love.
While Lily and I have been studying birds, Rebecca has been transitioning into a barn kid. She takes riding lessons, and has begun working in the barn for extra horse time. She works hard and long and when she comes home she stinks of labor and equine exertions. I have never seen her so satisfied with anything in her life.
We are all ready I think, for the next season, for the structure that the school year imposes, for the shortening of the day, for the end of the beginning.
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Sigh. The Ants Came Back...
You guys? I don't understand.
I gave up my Keurig to the ants. They won. They made me and my Keurig their bitch. No more fancy coffee maker for me. In fact, I have been so traumatized by my Keurig ant farm that most mornings I use a Starbucks Via.
That's right ants. I DRINK INSTANT COFFEE AND STILL YOU COME BACK FOR MORE?!!
Last night as I wassecretly getting ice cream tidying the kitchen I noticed an ant. Then I blacked out. When I came to I realized that I was not looking at one little ant, but rather at least twenty.
I may have freaked out. Freaking out may have included swearing and unleashing the unholy powers of Raid on the kitchen. I figured that wiping everything down, removing the tasty stink big carcasses from the window sill, and spraying Raid everywhere would be enough, and yet this morning there were ants.
Mocking ants. Douche bag ants. The worst ants on the planet.
I removed everything from the counter and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until my finger ached from the chemical devastation.
So far there have been no more ants, but I know their tactics. They like to lure me into a false sense of security and then BLAMMO- the ants have taken over a major appliance.
Not this time people. This time I am waging full scale war. I will spray every ant which comes near my house. I will take no prisoners and as god is my witness, I will never drink ant coffee again.
I gave up my Keurig to the ants. They won. They made me and my Keurig their bitch. No more fancy coffee maker for me. In fact, I have been so traumatized by my Keurig ant farm that most mornings I use a Starbucks Via.
That's right ants. I DRINK INSTANT COFFEE AND STILL YOU COME BACK FOR MORE?!!
Last night as I was
I may have freaked out. Freaking out may have included swearing and unleashing the unholy powers of Raid on the kitchen. I figured that wiping everything down, removing the tasty stink big carcasses from the window sill, and spraying Raid everywhere would be enough, and yet this morning there were ants.
Mocking ants. Douche bag ants. The worst ants on the planet.
I removed everything from the counter and sprayed and sprayed and sprayed until my finger ached from the chemical devastation.
So far there have been no more ants, but I know their tactics. They like to lure me into a false sense of security and then BLAMMO- the ants have taken over a major appliance.
Not this time people. This time I am waging full scale war. I will spray every ant which comes near my house. I will take no prisoners and as god is my witness, I will never drink ant coffee again.
Saturday, July 21, 2012
On turning 40...
For many months I have known that turning forty would be rough. It's a silly thing, age, and yet forty has always seemed like the beginning of the end, an age when even venturing into the juniors department would become off limits, when I could no longer pretend to be a young woman. I think that turning forty, in combination with the stress of our move and with having to start a new life felt very big indeed.
Amy's arrival brought comfort, but I still felt shaky. We got our toes done and went to the pool, but I could not ignore the feeling of being overexcited and a little too keyed up, of the day feeling too big- too important. At dinner I could not eat, though I thoroughly enjoyed opening my mother's birthday gift to me- a box filled with forty surprises, one for each year of my life. Some were silly, like the musical "birthday hat" and others were just perfect, like the turquoise Fiestaware salt and pepper shakers.
By the time the day ended I was exhausted, but I did not sleep well and by the morning I could no longer deny that I was a complete wreck. Amy and I had planned a day of junking and nachos, but instead I spent the morning with a half a Valium and some rest. In the afternoon we made it out to a junk store, but I felt sick and exhausted.
"What if I never feel better? What if I never feel hungry again?" I asked Amy.
"You'll be okay." She reassured me.
Last night we ordered in some chicken and watched 30 Rock in bed and slowly I started to relax. By the time I went to bed, this time with a full Valium, I could feel my appetite coming back which was a relief. I slept well, though I dreamed of sharks, but woke up feeling hungry and measurably better.
For breakfast I cut a slice of thick crusty whole wheat bread. I put the pieces of bread into the toaster and waited. The edges browned and the slices steamed and toasted. I took them out and spread them with butter. The butter melted into the bread, and when I finally bit into them I knew I would be okay. The toast was perfect, crisp, and buttery. My birthday was over and I was eating toast.
Today Amy and I went to a different junk store, ate some nachos, and then we all went out to dinner and I can say that I have recovered and for that I am very grateful. I am most especially grateful for Amy who flew here expecting fun and mostly spent the time talking me out of a very brief 24 hour mid life crisis. How wonderful is Amy? This is the gift she made me for my birthday.
Amy's arrival brought comfort, but I still felt shaky. We got our toes done and went to the pool, but I could not ignore the feeling of being overexcited and a little too keyed up, of the day feeling too big- too important. At dinner I could not eat, though I thoroughly enjoyed opening my mother's birthday gift to me- a box filled with forty surprises, one for each year of my life. Some were silly, like the musical "birthday hat" and others were just perfect, like the turquoise Fiestaware salt and pepper shakers.
By the time the day ended I was exhausted, but I did not sleep well and by the morning I could no longer deny that I was a complete wreck. Amy and I had planned a day of junking and nachos, but instead I spent the morning with a half a Valium and some rest. In the afternoon we made it out to a junk store, but I felt sick and exhausted.
"What if I never feel better? What if I never feel hungry again?" I asked Amy.
"You'll be okay." She reassured me.
Last night we ordered in some chicken and watched 30 Rock in bed and slowly I started to relax. By the time I went to bed, this time with a full Valium, I could feel my appetite coming back which was a relief. I slept well, though I dreamed of sharks, but woke up feeling hungry and measurably better.
For breakfast I cut a slice of thick crusty whole wheat bread. I put the pieces of bread into the toaster and waited. The edges browned and the slices steamed and toasted. I took them out and spread them with butter. The butter melted into the bread, and when I finally bit into them I knew I would be okay. The toast was perfect, crisp, and buttery. My birthday was over and I was eating toast.
Today Amy and I went to a different junk store, ate some nachos, and then we all went out to dinner and I can say that I have recovered and for that I am very grateful. I am most especially grateful for Amy who flew here expecting fun and mostly spent the time talking me out of a very brief 24 hour mid life crisis. How wonderful is Amy? This is the gift she made me for my birthday.
I think forty is going to be okay.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Beer and Cheezits- Friend Bait
As some of you may know tomorrow is my 40th birthday.
I've been feeling kind of sad about this, mostly because I have been missing Amy so much. We've spent the past bunch of birthday's together and when David told me earlier in the week that she couldn't come visit I didn't want to believe him.
I kept hoping that it was all a ruse and that she would in fact be coming. As today went on I searched for clues as to what David might have planned, and as nothing seemed to be happening I got very very depressed.
All week I have been secretly preparing for Amy. I bought beer and cheezits, put fresh pillowcases on the guest bed, and quietly hoped that come Thursday Amy would arrive. It got to be so that I could picture her walking into the house and in every imagining I burst into tears at the sight of her.
By this afternoon I gave up hope. It seemed like the cheezits were not going to be enough to make Amy magically appear and I became despondent. I would turn forty without nachos, without junking, and without my best friend.
This may be why when David suggested that I go junking tomorrow by myself I began to weep and he was forced to perform a noble act of mercy and ruin the surprise that my dear sweet Amy is coming tomorrow.
Thank fucking god, because man, it was looking bad over here.
Watch out Potomac- we'll be getting our freak on!
I've been feeling kind of sad about this, mostly because I have been missing Amy so much. We've spent the past bunch of birthday's together and when David told me earlier in the week that she couldn't come visit I didn't want to believe him.
I kept hoping that it was all a ruse and that she would in fact be coming. As today went on I searched for clues as to what David might have planned, and as nothing seemed to be happening I got very very depressed.
All week I have been secretly preparing for Amy. I bought beer and cheezits, put fresh pillowcases on the guest bed, and quietly hoped that come Thursday Amy would arrive. It got to be so that I could picture her walking into the house and in every imagining I burst into tears at the sight of her.
By this afternoon I gave up hope. It seemed like the cheezits were not going to be enough to make Amy magically appear and I became despondent. I would turn forty without nachos, without junking, and without my best friend.
This may be why when David suggested that I go junking tomorrow by myself I began to weep and he was forced to perform a noble act of mercy and ruin the surprise that my dear sweet Amy is coming tomorrow.
Thank fucking god, because man, it was looking bad over here.
Watch out Potomac- we'll be getting our freak on!
Tuesday, July 17, 2012
When the Glass Broke
When the call came
That the shelf broke
And that the jars
Of buttons
Crashed to the floor
No one panicked.
You called to let me know
That the buttons
Were scattered
And mixed with the glass
A jumbled and dangerous field
Of color
Round and Sharp.
When you both offered
To separate the glass from the prize
And told me gently
And sadly
That my favorite pitcher
Was shattered
It was as much
An act of love
And maturity
As any kiss or word
Ever
Bestowed.
That the shelf broke
And that the jars
Of buttons
Crashed to the floor
No one panicked.
You called to let me know
That the buttons
Were scattered
And mixed with the glass
A jumbled and dangerous field
Of color
Round and Sharp.
When you both offered
To separate the glass from the prize
And told me gently
And sadly
That my favorite pitcher
Was shattered
It was as much
An act of love
And maturity
As any kiss or word
Ever
Bestowed.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Lame, boring housewife nonsense...
I think that I may have mentioned once or five times that one of the top five reasons that I like to homeschool is because I do not have to wake up early to do it. Waking up early just feels, well, unnatural. Unpleasant. Just plain old wrong. Left to our own devices the children go to bed at about 11pm and I fall asleep around 1:30am. Then we all sleep until about 9:30 and honestly, it just feels so damn good.
This week however Rebecca and I are living like normal Americans and getting up early so that I can have her at horseback riding camp at 9am. Look, I know that it's not actually that early, but it is to us so you can just shut up.
Anyway, I woke up at 7:30 this morning so that I could get Rebecca to camp on time. This meant that I took the dogs along with me to camp where they had the thrill of barking at horses, growling at bicyclists, and shedding all over the car. I am just grateful that they are no longer covered in dead deer. After I dropped Rebecca off at camp I headed straight for the dog walk where, strangely enough, the deer bits were gone.
Where did they go? Where they eaten by a bigger dog? Hauled off by a psychopath?
I may never know.
The point of this is that by 10am I had finished the dog walk and had nothing but time and housewife chores to occupy my day.
Isn't this the most fascinating post you have ever read? Can you believe I don't have a book deal by now?
I did laundry, swept, and most importantly, cleaned out Rebecca's room which was, well, a horror.
Now it is 7:45 and I am properly exhausted. I still have some very important scrabble games to deal with and maybe I'll clean out the dryer filter.
Let's just all hope that something legitimately exciting happens tomorrow or I may have to resort to posting my grocery list.
This week however Rebecca and I are living like normal Americans and getting up early so that I can have her at horseback riding camp at 9am. Look, I know that it's not actually that early, but it is to us so you can just shut up.
Anyway, I woke up at 7:30 this morning so that I could get Rebecca to camp on time. This meant that I took the dogs along with me to camp where they had the thrill of barking at horses, growling at bicyclists, and shedding all over the car. I am just grateful that they are no longer covered in dead deer. After I dropped Rebecca off at camp I headed straight for the dog walk where, strangely enough, the deer bits were gone.
Where did they go? Where they eaten by a bigger dog? Hauled off by a psychopath?
I may never know.
The point of this is that by 10am I had finished the dog walk and had nothing but time and housewife chores to occupy my day.
Isn't this the most fascinating post you have ever read? Can you believe I don't have a book deal by now?
I did laundry, swept, and most importantly, cleaned out Rebecca's room which was, well, a horror.
Now it is 7:45 and I am properly exhausted. I still have some very important scrabble games to deal with and maybe I'll clean out the dryer filter.
Let's just all hope that something legitimately exciting happens tomorrow or I may have to resort to posting my grocery list.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
A letter to the dogs...
Dear Dogs,
I understand that death is a mysterious and exhilarating event for you. It provides an olfactory playground second only to the smell of a particularly fragrant and gaseous canine anus. I am not unsympathetic to your desire to inspect and sniff that which is deceased. I will even be so generous as to allow for some discreet nibbling.
However, when you roll, repeatedly onto the decaying bones of what I strongly suspect had formerly been one odocoileus virginianus, I become upset. As I bellow for all of Potomac to hear that you must not roll in carrion, you ignore me, and this too upsets me.
It upsets me to put your putrid bodies into my car and it upsets me that you attempt to sit on my lap while covered in what is most surely scrub typhus or even, dare I say it, the black death.
You see, you have sinned twice. You have sinned by being a filthy beast and you have sinned by ignoring me and as such you must be punished, for both of our sakes. If you roll in death, then you must be made clean.
Once the sink is being filled with warm sudsy water, it is simply too late too seek a pardon. The simple fact is that you smell rank. Your mournful eyes will only make me scrub harder, for I know that this is an event which will repeat itself again and again and again.
It is our fate. Yours is to be disgusting and mine is to be disgusted and we will continue on this way until our deaths, which will most assuredly be caused by something you rolled in.
Sincerely,
Your Owner
I understand that death is a mysterious and exhilarating event for you. It provides an olfactory playground second only to the smell of a particularly fragrant and gaseous canine anus. I am not unsympathetic to your desire to inspect and sniff that which is deceased. I will even be so generous as to allow for some discreet nibbling.
However, when you roll, repeatedly onto the decaying bones of what I strongly suspect had formerly been one odocoileus virginianus, I become upset. As I bellow for all of Potomac to hear that you must not roll in carrion, you ignore me, and this too upsets me.
It upsets me to put your putrid bodies into my car and it upsets me that you attempt to sit on my lap while covered in what is most surely scrub typhus or even, dare I say it, the black death.
You see, you have sinned twice. You have sinned by being a filthy beast and you have sinned by ignoring me and as such you must be punished, for both of our sakes. If you roll in death, then you must be made clean.
Once the sink is being filled with warm sudsy water, it is simply too late too seek a pardon. The simple fact is that you smell rank. Your mournful eyes will only make me scrub harder, for I know that this is an event which will repeat itself again and again and again.
It is our fate. Yours is to be disgusting and mine is to be disgusted and we will continue on this way until our deaths, which will most assuredly be caused by something you rolled in.
Sincerely,
Your Owner
Friday, July 13, 2012
I learn a hard truth about the French...
I had fully intended to continue my blog streak and write yesterday and in fact had gotten as far as starting a post when my computer choked on itself and I lost what I had written. What I had written was not very interesting as I spent most of Friday laying in bed, contemplating life, and reading a detective novel.
Basically, I was living the housewife cliche, sans bon bons which I was out of. Sure, I washed the floors and did the laundry, but that paled in comparison to the sloth in which I indulged. I wish I had spent time with an actual sloth, but that is a story for another time.
Last night we attended both Happy Hour at the pool and later a going away party for some neighbors who I had met once and David had never met at all. This is what happens when you are married to an extrovert- you get invited to farewell parties for strangers.
It was at this party that I learned something very interesting about the French. When we first moved here I met a lovely couple. He is French and she is German. They are beautiful and fun and Mr. Frenchman was very tolerant when I pulled out my wee (not oui) bit of french on him.
We were standing by the pool when it began to rain. Excitedly, I turned to him and said, "Mr. Frenchman! Il pleu!" He agreed and then complimented me on my accent which I can assure you no one has ever done in my entire life. I was tickled.
"David!" I called, "Mr. Frenchman approved of my accent!"
"Mr. Frenchman is being kind." He said.
We had an unpleasant conversation about this and agreed to disagree.
Last night at the party I met another frenchman. He was young and handsome and so naturally I needed to show off my french.
"C'est dommage! Pauvre chou!" I trilled.
Reader, he said in a gorgeous french accent, "Your accent is quite good."
And that was when I knew that the french lie.
I went back to Mr. Frenchman and asked for the truth. "Well," he said, "vee are taught zat ven ahn american attampts to speek ze language, vee compliment zem for trying."
The truth was not as bitter to swallow as it might have been. As a parent I know a thing or two about humoring children, and it is often an act of kindness. If the french wish to lie to me about my accent, I will accept it with grace, wine, and a very loud, "Oui! Oui!".
Basically, I was living the housewife cliche, sans bon bons which I was out of. Sure, I washed the floors and did the laundry, but that paled in comparison to the sloth in which I indulged. I wish I had spent time with an actual sloth, but that is a story for another time.
Last night we attended both Happy Hour at the pool and later a going away party for some neighbors who I had met once and David had never met at all. This is what happens when you are married to an extrovert- you get invited to farewell parties for strangers.
It was at this party that I learned something very interesting about the French. When we first moved here I met a lovely couple. He is French and she is German. They are beautiful and fun and Mr. Frenchman was very tolerant when I pulled out my wee (not oui) bit of french on him.
We were standing by the pool when it began to rain. Excitedly, I turned to him and said, "Mr. Frenchman! Il pleu!" He agreed and then complimented me on my accent which I can assure you no one has ever done in my entire life. I was tickled.
"David!" I called, "Mr. Frenchman approved of my accent!"
"Mr. Frenchman is being kind." He said.
We had an unpleasant conversation about this and agreed to disagree.
Last night at the party I met another frenchman. He was young and handsome and so naturally I needed to show off my french.
"C'est dommage! Pauvre chou!" I trilled.
Reader, he said in a gorgeous french accent, "Your accent is quite good."
And that was when I knew that the french lie.
I went back to Mr. Frenchman and asked for the truth. "Well," he said, "vee are taught zat ven ahn american attampts to speek ze language, vee compliment zem for trying."
The truth was not as bitter to swallow as it might have been. As a parent I know a thing or two about humoring children, and it is often an act of kindness. If the french wish to lie to me about my accent, I will accept it with grace, wine, and a very loud, "Oui! Oui!".
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Victory!
Today the children and I left the house to go to a homeschool meet-up at a park, but it was hot and the kids didn't really click so we left kind of early. On the way home we needed to make a stop at that most wonderful of all suburban middle class places- Target.
It's July, so as far as the retail world is concerned summer is over and "back to school" is right around the corner. This used to aggravate the hell out of me because Target and Staples would be selling markers for .57 in July, but inevitably we would not have a list of school supplies until the second week of September when the Halloween things were being put on clearance to make room for Christmas decorations.
Now that I homeschool I can buy my supplies whenever the hell I want and laugh in the faces of people who will have to fight over the picked over sub-prime notebooks come fall. When your child comes home with a supply list which demands that the notebooks be in the colors mauve, chartreuse, and peach because those are the only colors that Mrs. Mifflebottom will accept, well, at the moment I will enjoy my victory. That's right, people. I am with my kids 100% of the time, but I get first pick of school supplies and sometimes that's got to be enough.
It's July, so as far as the retail world is concerned summer is over and "back to school" is right around the corner. This used to aggravate the hell out of me because Target and Staples would be selling markers for .57 in July, but inevitably we would not have a list of school supplies until the second week of September when the Halloween things were being put on clearance to make room for Christmas decorations.
Now that I homeschool I can buy my supplies whenever the hell I want and laugh in the faces of people who will have to fight over the picked over sub-prime notebooks come fall. When your child comes home with a supply list which demands that the notebooks be in the colors mauve, chartreuse, and peach because those are the only colors that Mrs. Mifflebottom will accept, well, at the moment I will enjoy my victory. That's right, people. I am with my kids 100% of the time, but I get first pick of school supplies and sometimes that's got to be enough.
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Six Months...
On July 7th, we arrived at the six month anniversary of our move to Maryland, or as I like to call it, The South. People like to correct me all the time that Maryland is not The South, but since I most definitely used to live in The North, I will continue to say it. Plus, it amuses me.
Now that we have been here for six months I thought it might be a good idea to write a post move status report on Chez Shiny.
Professional Lives of the Adults:
David's job is great, though he eats out at so many swanky restaurants he has become a food snob. I continue to have a revenue stream of exactly zero, though I have devised a plan for making money someday when the children are off leaving their dirty clothes on their own floors and not mine.
The Children:
The children seem to be very happy.
Lily is always wandering the neighborhood like a young thug with her best pal A. They coordinate their outfits for maximum effect and scheme of ways to get ice cream money from me at the pool. (They have figured it out. They wait till I am enjoying myself and nag me until I throw money at them just to get them to go away.)
Rebecca also seems to be enjoying her new life. She gets to ride horses and work in the barn which fulfills many of her dreams all at once. She's made a good friend, enjoys the neighborhood kids, and delights in the autonomy of being a 13 year old with the overdeveloped sense of responsibility one usually finds in a 65 year old pensioner.
The Dogs:
Reliably idiotic. Less eating of feces from Sophie (Good). More peeing on Lily's bed from Pugsley (Bad).
The House:
We have now lived here long enough that I know exactly what should be done to it, but it is not my house so I stick to rearranging furniture and puttering about with my things. The owners did give me permission to paint the kitchen, but I am desperately trying to resist the urge.
The Junk:
The junk is a freaking dream come true. I could junk everyday here. It's abundant and cheap and glorious.
Home School:
After a rough start to the year I feel like we are really figuring it out. I've been teaching Lily by using The Phantom Tollbooth as a cornerstone and I can honestly say that it has changed everything. Similarly, I am using my AP English Poetry book with Rebecca and we are both loving it. This year we'll add some French and an online science curriculum.
Beasts, Vermin, and Carrion:
The ants in the Keurig incident of 2012 will always be remembered as the moment which reminded me why it's a good idea to always have wine in the house. There have been no other incidents in the house, for which I am grateful. In the neighborhood we have seen deer, woodpeckers, bunnies, groundhogs, and an egret- all alive. There was a mouse which insisted upon entering its death throws in the garage so that I could drive over it, but David disposed of it before any actual decomposition occurred. I was not so lucky with the deer carcass on the dog walk which smelled so foul and was so bloated, that I, an aspiring private detective could only gag, retch and hold my breath as I went past.
Speeding and Parking Tickets:
Some things are best left unsaid.
Medical Maladies:
Two cases of vertigo
One ear infection
Three sinus infections
One pulled hamstring
One wrenched neck
Many bug bites
Weather:
Overall very nice, with the exception of the Derecho, which was an unmitigated bully.
Potomac:
No one has any tattoos and almost everyone is a lawyer. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
Conclusion:
Maryland is a great place which is mostly living up to its potential. Improvements would include friends and family moving here, fewer traffic cameras, and a corner bacon shop. A few tattoos would be okay too.
Now that we have been here for six months I thought it might be a good idea to write a post move status report on Chez Shiny.
Professional Lives of the Adults:
David's job is great, though he eats out at so many swanky restaurants he has become a food snob. I continue to have a revenue stream of exactly zero, though I have devised a plan for making money someday when the children are off leaving their dirty clothes on their own floors and not mine.
The Children:
The children seem to be very happy.
Lily is always wandering the neighborhood like a young thug with her best pal A. They coordinate their outfits for maximum effect and scheme of ways to get ice cream money from me at the pool. (They have figured it out. They wait till I am enjoying myself and nag me until I throw money at them just to get them to go away.)
Rebecca also seems to be enjoying her new life. She gets to ride horses and work in the barn which fulfills many of her dreams all at once. She's made a good friend, enjoys the neighborhood kids, and delights in the autonomy of being a 13 year old with the overdeveloped sense of responsibility one usually finds in a 65 year old pensioner.
The Dogs:
Reliably idiotic. Less eating of feces from Sophie (Good). More peeing on Lily's bed from Pugsley (Bad).
The House:
We have now lived here long enough that I know exactly what should be done to it, but it is not my house so I stick to rearranging furniture and puttering about with my things. The owners did give me permission to paint the kitchen, but I am desperately trying to resist the urge.
The Junk:
The junk is a freaking dream come true. I could junk everyday here. It's abundant and cheap and glorious.
Home School:
After a rough start to the year I feel like we are really figuring it out. I've been teaching Lily by using The Phantom Tollbooth as a cornerstone and I can honestly say that it has changed everything. Similarly, I am using my AP English Poetry book with Rebecca and we are both loving it. This year we'll add some French and an online science curriculum.
Beasts, Vermin, and Carrion:
The ants in the Keurig incident of 2012 will always be remembered as the moment which reminded me why it's a good idea to always have wine in the house. There have been no other incidents in the house, for which I am grateful. In the neighborhood we have seen deer, woodpeckers, bunnies, groundhogs, and an egret- all alive. There was a mouse which insisted upon entering its death throws in the garage so that I could drive over it, but David disposed of it before any actual decomposition occurred. I was not so lucky with the deer carcass on the dog walk which smelled so foul and was so bloated, that I, an aspiring private detective could only gag, retch and hold my breath as I went past.
Speeding and Parking Tickets:
Some things are best left unsaid.
Medical Maladies:
Two cases of vertigo
One ear infection
Three sinus infections
One pulled hamstring
One wrenched neck
Many bug bites
Weather:
Overall very nice, with the exception of the Derecho, which was an unmitigated bully.
Potomac:
No one has any tattoos and almost everyone is a lawyer. I'm not sure how I feel about this.
Conclusion:
Maryland is a great place which is mostly living up to its potential. Improvements would include friends and family moving here, fewer traffic cameras, and a corner bacon shop. A few tattoos would be okay too.
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Playing with Matches or The Week I was a Baptist...
When I was about ten years old I attended Vacation Bible School at a local Baptist church with my friend Heather. Vacation Bible School was nothing at all like Catholic school. For one thing, the Baptists seemed really happy. For another, they let us play with matches.
Yes, the Baptists gave us matches.
The year must have been around 1982, and perhaps the Baptist's belief that God would protect us from harm put their mind at ease as they explained the week's art project. They handed each of us a box of 500 matches, instructed us to light each one, blow it out, and then glue it to a cardboard cross.
No one had ever let me use matches before. They were strictly the purview of smokers, sinners, and psychopaths. I had no idea they were also the tools of Baptists!
I bet that right now you are thinking to yourself, "Hey! I would like to make a match cross for Jesus too!". All you need to do is get someinstruments of Satan matches, some glue and follow the directions on this site. You'll notice that the author emphasizes that this is not a craft for children. She is clearly not a Baptist.
Anyway, all week I lit matches and blew them out, thrilled with the feeling of responsibility which was never bestowed upon me by the nuns, whose idea of fun learning was a film strip about lepers. I glued them into place and still found the time to memorize all of the books of the Bible so that I could win a Snickers Bar. The nuns never ever gave me a Snickers bar, just a boat load of guilt and self loathing.
Matches and candy. A lesson for us all.
Yes, the Baptists gave us matches.
The year must have been around 1982, and perhaps the Baptist's belief that God would protect us from harm put their mind at ease as they explained the week's art project. They handed each of us a box of 500 matches, instructed us to light each one, blow it out, and then glue it to a cardboard cross.
No one had ever let me use matches before. They were strictly the purview of smokers, sinners, and psychopaths. I had no idea they were also the tools of Baptists!
I bet that right now you are thinking to yourself, "Hey! I would like to make a match cross for Jesus too!". All you need to do is get some
Anyway, all week I lit matches and blew them out, thrilled with the feeling of responsibility which was never bestowed upon me by the nuns, whose idea of fun learning was a film strip about lepers. I glued them into place and still found the time to memorize all of the books of the Bible so that I could win a Snickers Bar. The nuns never ever gave me a Snickers bar, just a boat load of guilt and self loathing.
Matches and candy. A lesson for us all.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Riding the pharmaceutical rollercoaster ...
When the doctor prescribed a heavy dose of steroids for David's neck injury, I was concerned.
Deeply concerned.
I have been a witness to my husband on steroids before. There was the Great Poison Ivy Infection of 2006 and the even Greater Poison Oak infection of 2011. Both of the ailments were cured with steroids which brought out an aspect of my husbands personality that can best be described as
OHMYGODWHYISEVERYONESOSTUPIDANDANNOYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The doctor assured me that the equally heavy dose of Valium would keep him in lower case letters and I was comforted, though not convinced. For the most part it's been okay. David has generally been nice and mellow, and his neck muscles are definitely relaxing.
He's all like, "You are so pretty. Do you know how pretty you are?"
It's all great until the moment when the steroids have kicked in and but Valium has not.
Suddenly we are back to, "OHMYGODWHYDOYOUHATEME?????"
It's given me some perspective into what it is like to live with someone with acute PMS, but that is another story entirely. The point of this story is that there have been several times over the course of the day when my sweet husband went all crazy town capital letters on me and I just stepped away from the nuttiness.
Tonight I found refuge while sitting outside with the neighbors drinking wine. In turns out that wine is the perfect antidote to your spouses roid rage. It may also be the antidote to PMS. I'll have to do some experimenting to be sure, but hey, someone has to do it.
Deeply concerned.
I have been a witness to my husband on steroids before. There was the Great Poison Ivy Infection of 2006 and the even Greater Poison Oak infection of 2011. Both of the ailments were cured with steroids which brought out an aspect of my husbands personality that can best be described as
OHMYGODWHYISEVERYONESOSTUPIDANDANNOYING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The doctor assured me that the equally heavy dose of Valium would keep him in lower case letters and I was comforted, though not convinced. For the most part it's been okay. David has generally been nice and mellow, and his neck muscles are definitely relaxing.
He's all like, "You are so pretty. Do you know how pretty you are?"
It's all great until the moment when the steroids have kicked in and but Valium has not.
Suddenly we are back to, "OHMYGODWHYDOYOUHATEME?????"
It's given me some perspective into what it is like to live with someone with acute PMS, but that is another story entirely. The point of this story is that there have been several times over the course of the day when my sweet husband went all crazy town capital letters on me and I just stepped away from the nuttiness.
Tonight I found refuge while sitting outside with the neighbors drinking wine. In turns out that wine is the perfect antidote to your spouses roid rage. It may also be the antidote to PMS. I'll have to do some experimenting to be sure, but hey, someone has to do it.
Sunday, July 8, 2012
A complete list of maladies...
People who know me, and who know my husband know that he is the kind of guy who gives 110% all the time. He doesn't do anything half-assed which explains how he so often finds himself injured.
A few days before Derecho 2012, David played in the company soft ball game. Please allow those words to sink in "company soft ball game". Not major league baseball, not even the minors. When he told me he would be playing I begged him, "Please, please, please, do not hurt yourself."
It's not that I doubt his athleticism. It's exactly the opposite. David spent his entire childhood and a chunk of his adult life both playing competitive sports and dancing and his body is more than a little injury prone as a result. This is the daily battle of his life- wanting to push his body to its limits and his body refusing to play along.
About halfway into David's game I got a call. "Sara, I popped my hamstring. I think I can drive home, but you may have to come get me." Somehow he got himself home and once there he heated, iced and cursed his hamstring. It's not important how the injury happened (sprinted to catch a fly ball), what's important in this story is that he was already injured when he went body surfing at the Jersey Shore.
The Jersey Shore is a fantastic place filled with tattoos, Yankees fans, and funnel cake. It is also the place of David's youth which is probably why he could not resist revisiting his formative years in Jersey's warm waters. It started out great. I sat on the beach while David and the girls rode the waves into the shore. After the previous few days of heat, blackouts, and general chaos I was happy for a chance to relax and ignore my family, which is exactly what I was doing when I heard David yell.
He had just ridden a wave into shore and experienced a serious collision between the planet and his head. He sat up, shook his head a bit and then headed over to me to check for a blood. "Just enough to attract sharks." I assured him and he was back into the water.
The real pain did not come until the next day when in spite of the popped hamstring and having slammed his head into the sand, he decided to swim some laps at the pool, and that my friends is what lead to him waking me up on Saturday morning asking me to take him to the doctor. The laps seemed to have been the final straw, the indignity which caused David's body to completely revolt. His neck muscles went into a complete and unholy spasm.
The doctor examined David and pronounced the neck unbroken (yay!), but the muscles seriously strained. David was prescribed steroids, valium, and vicodin.
"Will the steroids give him roid rage?" I asked.
"Oh no" said the doctor, "the valium will smooth that right out."
And it pretty much has. Now David has to be still and let his muscles heal and make peace with a body which demands more gentle treatment. And valium, lots of valium.
A few days before Derecho 2012, David played in the company soft ball game. Please allow those words to sink in "company soft ball game". Not major league baseball, not even the minors. When he told me he would be playing I begged him, "Please, please, please, do not hurt yourself."
It's not that I doubt his athleticism. It's exactly the opposite. David spent his entire childhood and a chunk of his adult life both playing competitive sports and dancing and his body is more than a little injury prone as a result. This is the daily battle of his life- wanting to push his body to its limits and his body refusing to play along.
About halfway into David's game I got a call. "Sara, I popped my hamstring. I think I can drive home, but you may have to come get me." Somehow he got himself home and once there he heated, iced and cursed his hamstring. It's not important how the injury happened (sprinted to catch a fly ball), what's important in this story is that he was already injured when he went body surfing at the Jersey Shore.
The Jersey Shore is a fantastic place filled with tattoos, Yankees fans, and funnel cake. It is also the place of David's youth which is probably why he could not resist revisiting his formative years in Jersey's warm waters. It started out great. I sat on the beach while David and the girls rode the waves into the shore. After the previous few days of heat, blackouts, and general chaos I was happy for a chance to relax and ignore my family, which is exactly what I was doing when I heard David yell.
He had just ridden a wave into shore and experienced a serious collision between the planet and his head. He sat up, shook his head a bit and then headed over to me to check for a blood. "Just enough to attract sharks." I assured him and he was back into the water.
The real pain did not come until the next day when in spite of the popped hamstring and having slammed his head into the sand, he decided to swim some laps at the pool, and that my friends is what lead to him waking me up on Saturday morning asking me to take him to the doctor. The laps seemed to have been the final straw, the indignity which caused David's body to completely revolt. His neck muscles went into a complete and unholy spasm.
The doctor examined David and pronounced the neck unbroken (yay!), but the muscles seriously strained. David was prescribed steroids, valium, and vicodin.
"Will the steroids give him roid rage?" I asked.
"Oh no" said the doctor, "the valium will smooth that right out."
And it pretty much has. Now David has to be still and let his muscles heal and make peace with a body which demands more gentle treatment. And valium, lots of valium.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Derecho Part Two...
By the time we got home from the mall on Saturday the news from Pepco was grim. The estimated power restoration would be a week. A week without power in May would have been inconvenient, but not impossible. A power outage coupled with 100 degree July days is another story entirely. We began to formulate a plan to get out of town until the power came back on.
We are very fortunate to have three sets of parents who all in their own ways have come to our rescue over the years. Our saviors this time were my dear in-laws who welcomed us into their house in NJ. They weren't in town, but they made arrangements for us to get into their home where we could wait out the black out in air conditioned comfort.
As we made preparations to leave we realized that we had to deal with the rapidly defrosting freezer. It was stocked up with steaks, chicken, hot dogs, pork chops, and spare ribs. The wine and beer in the fridge was still cold so we did the only thing which could be done. We invited the neighbors over for an "All the Meat You Can Eat Party".
It was difficult to say this and not feel like I was making a dirty joke. Okay, maybe I made some dirty jokes on purpose.
It turned into a super fun party. We ate outside on the deck by candlelight. David grilled meat for about an hour and nearly everything was eaten. After everyone left we dragged the mattresses downstairs in an attempt to find some relief from the heat. The children were exhausted from sleeping poorly the night before, the day at the mall, and our meat party in the darkness, so into sweaty heaps they collapsed and slept. David and I slept a few hours, waking frequently from the heat and quiet.
When morning came we emptied the contents of the freezer and refrigerator in bags and got them on the curb for the trash. We tidied up as best we could, packed up some things and hit the road towards a salvation manifested in the most unlikely of forms- New Jersey.
We are very fortunate to have three sets of parents who all in their own ways have come to our rescue over the years. Our saviors this time were my dear in-laws who welcomed us into their house in NJ. They weren't in town, but they made arrangements for us to get into their home where we could wait out the black out in air conditioned comfort.
As we made preparations to leave we realized that we had to deal with the rapidly defrosting freezer. It was stocked up with steaks, chicken, hot dogs, pork chops, and spare ribs. The wine and beer in the fridge was still cold so we did the only thing which could be done. We invited the neighbors over for an "All the Meat You Can Eat Party".
It was difficult to say this and not feel like I was making a dirty joke. Okay, maybe I made some dirty jokes on purpose.
It turned into a super fun party. We ate outside on the deck by candlelight. David grilled meat for about an hour and nearly everything was eaten. After everyone left we dragged the mattresses downstairs in an attempt to find some relief from the heat. The children were exhausted from sleeping poorly the night before, the day at the mall, and our meat party in the darkness, so into sweaty heaps they collapsed and slept. David and I slept a few hours, waking frequently from the heat and quiet.
When morning came we emptied the contents of the freezer and refrigerator in bags and got them on the curb for the trash. We tidied up as best we could, packed up some things and hit the road towards a salvation manifested in the most unlikely of forms- New Jersey.
Friday, July 6, 2012
Say it with me, "Derecho"...
Last Friday night began like every other Friday night here in the fair shire of Potomac, which is to say it began with wine at the pool at 6pm. It was lovely. The children splashed about happily while the adults mused about the meaning of life while eating chips and sipping wine. After the pool we came home and sat on the lawn with the neighbors watching the fireflies flicker across the lawn and the kids scooter along in the dark.
In was in this near bliss that Brian, Lily's friend A's dad said, "Hey! There's a storm coming in! 70 mile an hour winds!" We could see the lightning in the distance. It was beautiful. The lights flashed, too far away to be a danger, but close enough to portend something big.
We chatted for a few more minutes, but as the storm drew closer we went inside. As I was putting batteries into the flashlight the power went out. And stayed out.
The storm hit. The rain fell sideways, though fell is not really accurate. It threw itself against the house while the wind tore down trees and the sky, no longer beautiful, appeared to be on fire. Being liberal arts majors with almost no good sense, we watched from the windows as the world ended outside.
Finally, the storm quieted but the power did not come back on. The temperature in the house was cool from the air conditioning which was a blessing, but with each hour that the power was out I could feel the temperature rising. We all slept badly that night. I slept with Lily in her room because she was scared and David had to sleep without his sleep apnea mask.
In the morning Lily and Rebecca decided that if the American Girl store in Virginia was open we should go there and I was too tired and bewildered by the storm to come up with a better plan. We piled into the car, charging our electronics as we went. The mall was opened and blissfully cool. We were not the only ones who thought to seek refuge at the mall. By the afternoon the mall was packed with storm refuges staking out outlets to charge phones, standing on long lines for food, and generally trying to make plans to get through something for which no one was prepared.
TO BE CONTINUED...
In was in this near bliss that Brian, Lily's friend A's dad said, "Hey! There's a storm coming in! 70 mile an hour winds!" We could see the lightning in the distance. It was beautiful. The lights flashed, too far away to be a danger, but close enough to portend something big.
We chatted for a few more minutes, but as the storm drew closer we went inside. As I was putting batteries into the flashlight the power went out. And stayed out.
The storm hit. The rain fell sideways, though fell is not really accurate. It threw itself against the house while the wind tore down trees and the sky, no longer beautiful, appeared to be on fire. Being liberal arts majors with almost no good sense, we watched from the windows as the world ended outside.
Finally, the storm quieted but the power did not come back on. The temperature in the house was cool from the air conditioning which was a blessing, but with each hour that the power was out I could feel the temperature rising. We all slept badly that night. I slept with Lily in her room because she was scared and David had to sleep without his sleep apnea mask.
In the morning Lily and Rebecca decided that if the American Girl store in Virginia was open we should go there and I was too tired and bewildered by the storm to come up with a better plan. We piled into the car, charging our electronics as we went. The mall was opened and blissfully cool. We were not the only ones who thought to seek refuge at the mall. By the afternoon the mall was packed with storm refuges staking out outlets to charge phones, standing on long lines for food, and generally trying to make plans to get through something for which no one was prepared.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
A junk post!
Today Lily's best friend A got back into town for a week so I decided that instead of arguing with her about getting work done we'd take the week off from school.
This put me in a very, very, good mood.
I decided to celebrate by doing a little junking. Lately I've been going on the weekends, but it's always too crowded to properly relax and browse. Today the shop was perfect and I took my time working my way up and down the aisles.
When I saw this beautiful little table for 14.99 I knew it could be awesome.
I also grabbed the pyrex casserole dish for 4.99 because they come in so handy.
Did I mention that I also had a 25% off coupon?
The weather was 76 degrees and dry. You know what that means, right?
Perfect spray paint weather!
Look at how beautifully this table came out!
I used a high gloss paint to give it a rich coat. Once it's completely dried I'll find a spot for it. Since I already had the paint out I thought I'd give my dress form a makeover.
At the old house it's previous apple green color was perfect, but here a glossy coat of black will make it really pop in the living room.
Know what's great about spray paint? It dries super fast!
This put me in a very, very, good mood.
I decided to celebrate by doing a little junking. Lately I've been going on the weekends, but it's always too crowded to properly relax and browse. Today the shop was perfect and I took my time working my way up and down the aisles.
When I saw this beautiful little table for 14.99 I knew it could be awesome.
I also grabbed the pyrex casserole dish for 4.99 because they come in so handy.
Did I mention that I also had a 25% off coupon?
The weather was 76 degrees and dry. You know what that means, right?
Perfect spray paint weather!
Look at how beautifully this table came out!
I used a high gloss paint to give it a rich coat. Once it's completely dried I'll find a spot for it. Since I already had the paint out I thought I'd give my dress form a makeover.
At the old house it's previous apple green color was perfect, but here a glossy coat of black will make it really pop in the living room.
Know what's great about spray paint? It dries super fast!
Not too shabby, eh?
Meanwhile my dress form is making herself comfy in the living room. She needs a hat though and maybe some jewels. Will be sure to find her something fabulous!
