Here’s what’s going on in my world (because I know you care):
I have to renew my driver’s license. It expires on my birthday (next week). This used to be a pretty routine thing, but now requires a whole lot of preparation and documentation. No kidding. Like a SS card, and some mortgage/rental docs and some credit card or utilities bill. I was recently in the DLD (Which is different from the DMV, except not everywhere) and the Driver’s License Division peeps actually sent a guy home TWICE while I waited there because the birth certificate documents her brought in were only certified copies, not originals. Did I mention that this guy was on a couple of canes, and had a wicked hard time leaving the building, only to come back and be sent away again? I have anxiety. BUT. Did you know that you can make an appointment for renewal? YOU CAN. I got online and typed in “driverlicense.utah.gov” (and I’m willing to bet that you can put your state in there and get an appointment, too, but if I’m wrong, that’s too bad and maybe you live in the wrong state, I’m just saying) and filled out the application and made an appointment, and I’ll let you know if that cuts a few hours off the wait time. Stay tuned.
Also my license plate expired last week. I’m on it. Let’s not get pulled over today on my way to pay for that, right? Because today? Irony is something I can do without.
Then we have what may be the last of the “back to school” parent meetings this evening. Oh, if only. My kids are in 3 different schools (in the same school district) and we seem to collide, schedulewise, where parent meetings are concerned. But, no matter. I’ve mastered the art of being in two or three places at one time. It doesn’t take much, just a rudimentary understanding of particle physics and a flux capacitor. And there you go.
My squash plants froze a little this weekend. Just the leaves, which are now these big ugly blackened elephant ears over my little yellow crooknecks. But I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that I covered my tomatoes, so they are just fine. I know. *Whew*
Kid 1 did two days worth of homework yesterday, because the high school has odd day/even day scheduling craziness, which means that if your kid is “busy” Friday night, she can do Friday’s homework and also Thursday’s all on the Monday holiday. Provided there is a Monday holiday. It took her (and I am not making this up) eight hours. Of reading and response. Eight. Hours. We’re in the second week of school. Eight. Oy vey.
Reminder: Rosemary potatoes = happiness.
I have a yellow sticky note full (really, really full) of all the good things I need to do today. Nowhere on that list is the word “blog.” I’m sneaking it in because I like you.
Is anyone interested in having a recipe for really tasty, very basic marinara sauce that simmers on the stove all day and makes your house smell like a corner of heaven? Just wondering, because I am in possession of such a thing. And it is Good.
Kids 3 and 4 helped Husband clean the barbecue grill yesterday. Can I say, “Eww”? Wow. Gross. Those were some greasy, dirty kids. We threw away some clothes to protect the washing machine. But hey, Husband makes a mean Hamburger, so I don’t normally care what the bottom of the grill looks like. Except now, I can enjoy the cleanliness thereof. Exceedingly and stuff.
I am ready for a grocery store Case Lot sale, because our smoothie consumption has outgunned our canned pineapple storage. (Best smoothie: 8 ounces lemon yogurt, 1 can pineapple chunks, with the juice, 1/2 cup frozen raspberries, and an orange. Feeds us all, just enough for breakfast when you’re also having toast or bagels.)
It appears that I could continue to tell you random pieces of my world for much, much longer. But I will now get back to my sticky note, and slash through many, many To-Do items. Don’t you love it when Monday falls on a Tuesday?
So I take a bit of pride in the fact that most of my fears are rational ones. You know, going bald, death by skiing, creaking doors in dark basements. But I have discovered a new fear.
I’m afraid of spiderwebs.
Specifically, these:
Do you know these spiderwebs? Funnel Webs. They are made by Grass spiders. Pretty harmless, unless you happen to come across one in Australia. (Yes, I have been researching. You don’t think I actually took these photos, do you? Thank you, Google.)
Note: I am not afraid of spiders. I have no problem with bugs in general. If a spider is inside my house, I feel free to either remove it or squish it, depending on my mood. I can handle spiders of all sizes up to about the size of my big fat thumb. Above that, I might scream like a girl and start hurling shoes. Mice? Well, those are a different story. Please don’t ask me to kill or dispose of any animal that nurses its young. But I digress. Back to the spiderwebs.
For some reason, these funnel webs give me the wicked shivers. My fingers tingle. I want to hide. From the spiderwebs. Have I been clear? I’m not afraid of the spiders that build these things. Just of the webs. They fill my blood with pinpricks and induce full-body twitching. And what I’m discovering about myself is that I can have an irrational fear of SOMETHING THAT CANNOT POSSIBLY HURT ME. It’s a spiderweb. I’m not going to fall down it and wind up on some freakish alien world. But somehow, there is a piece of me that worries that I might. That funnel shape is sinister, I tell you. Sinister.
If these webs were like Charlotte’s web, what would they be telling me?
“Beware.”
“Something Wicked This Way Comes.”
“Come and See.”
“Will you step into my parlor?” (said the spider to the fly…)*
Did I mention that I saw about a zillion of these babies this morning on my walk? I think I burned more calories from anxiety than from aerobic respiration.
* Would I love the Tony DiTerlizzi picture book version of “The Spider and the Fly” if there was a funnel web anywhere in the pictures? I think not. But there isn’t. So I do. (Borrowed this image from Amazon, can you tell? But I have the book. And it’s delicious.)
Whew. September. I love it. Bring it on. School’s in. Trees still have leaves*. Tomatoes and peaches. Mmmm.
Remember how all 4 Kids are in school all day? (Insert giddy giggle here.) I have learned a few delightful truths these past few days. For instance, nothing coats your house in a blanket of Wholesome better than baking up some brown bread. Everyone who came in yesterday sniffed the air and said, “Mmmmm.” And at the risk of offending the low-carb holdouts among us, I’ll tell you that today I made those baguettes I’ve talked about. And they are gorgeous. Not too pretty to eat, because I have yet to meet that loaf of bread. But very pretty. Also a crusty, crunchy rosemary loaf. Oh, baby. And did you know that bread sings? I’m not being metaphorical. When I took these loaves out of the oven, they did this fabulous crackling thing in the chilly kitchen. For several minutes, on the counter behind me, they sang the “I’m becoming the perfect crust of bread” song. I love that song, did you know?
Another thing: Writing a thousand words is bliss.
Also, reaching the word-count goal? Bliss again. If I’m being unclear, let me restate. Today, I hit the magic 50,000 word mark, so I have the meat of The New Book all there. I can go longer (and I will, because you know, I like to fill in those gaping holes) but I have reached the lower-limit number, and I am delighted. Truly.
And when the writing part is done and the bread is made and the produce is harvested and the laundry is folded and the lawn is mown (mowed?) and the floor is swept and the bills are sent? I have a heavy and dense copy of “Gone With the Wind” to keep me from school-day-induced loneliness. Oh, Scarlett, you nasty. I love you. I’ve never actually liked such an unlikable heroine. Except Emma Woodhouse. She’s a piece of work, too. But I love Scarlett.
And what does September bring to you?
*So I have this thing. I love fall. I grew up in a place where fall was a season, like one that lasted three months, with chilly mornings and warmer afternoons and magical tree-color changes and smells of burning things. I love it. It’s maybe my favorite (when it’s happening – but really? Once it’s spring, I really neeeeeed spring.) But here in the FMs** fall is less a season and more a condition, for a week or maybe two. And I mourn once the leaves have fallen.
**(FMs = Frozen Mountaintops)
Oh. Did you notice? School is back in. At least around here. And today, although not exactly being on schedule, I had all my kids in school. All the time. All four.
Oh, yeah.
So besides the quick-and-early trip over the mountain to pick up Husband’s car (which has a very nice new water pump to match its very nice new brakes), I had a writing day.
Here’s what happens, apparently, when I have a writing day: I write. I revise. I write a little more. I make bread dough with which I will make pretty baguettes at some future time. I drink many glasses of water. With lime. I finish re-reading THE THIEF by Megan Whalen Turner. (I love this, Have I told you? Try it.) I do laundry. I eat sauteed yellow squash with kosher salt for lunch. I stretch out on the couch, because frankly it is too cold to stretch out outside.
Shall I explain that? It is too cold. In August. Outside. This morning, driving over the aforementioned mountain, I saw s^*%. Get your mind out of the gutter. Yes, you. I wasn’t being vulgar. Just shocked and unprepared. That secret code means the cold white stuff that comes down at higher altitudes when it is raining and 38 degrees on the ground. (It warmed up. To 64. But not right away.)
So what I’m saying is that I am trying to get back into my writing mojo (and that part is going to take some practice to get into the groove) and I am mourning summer (that part will come back, maybe for many weeks) and I am in a new piece of my life, a piece that almost BEGS me to be selfish and do MY THING. So I get to remember what MY THING is, and figure out how to make the most of it.
Apparently by making bread.
Oh, yeah – and writing.
 Oh. There you are, Perry.
 You can call him “Agent P.”
I know. It’s almost unfair cuteness. You can visit more unintentional unfairness any time at Husband’s photo blog.
Today at 9:06 a.m. when I was leaving my little grocery market, I swear I saw Morgan Freeman driving a white van. He smiled at me.
Morgan, are you here in my town? Want to come over for pie? (We picked many fine strawberries this morning. Also, we are lovely company.)
Me: Hey, Dude, I need some napkins to take to church.
Kid 4 (age 6): How many?
Me: I don’t want to take the nice ones. I want those other ones.
Kid 4: What do they look like?
Me: I don’t know how to explain. I’ll go look in the basement.
Kid 4: I’ll go. You just want me to look for trashy napkins?
Me: Yeah, pretty much.
You know when there’s that thing that falls into the Doing The Right Thing category? I wish I were more gracious about it. But I’m trying. And I’m doing – and even with a smile. I have a very small original family (Dad has one brother, Mom’s an only child) and a very large current family (nine siblings for me, all married with kids, five for Husband). And when the large-family opportunities and obligations loom, I feel okay about ducking out, saying no thanks. But when the small-family ones come up, I need I need to make an appearance, even if it’s several states away.
So what I’m saying is, my sweet Great-Uncle passed away, and I’m off to Oregon for a funeral. Because it’s the Right Thing to do. Kids will be fine together during the day and with their awesome Dad in the evenings. And I will hang with my parents for many, many car-hours. And that can be fun, too. And doing the Right Thing is always right.
See you on the other side.
« Older posts
|
Thanks again BTW! Love ya!
4 comments