I’m Taking a Break

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Repeat after Me: Yes, Please. And Thank You

Just so you know, I went ahead and walked that dog yesterday morning. I did not wait for the rain to let up or for the sun to rise or for anything to change. We hit the dark cold rain and embraced it. We put my new resolve into practice—we greeted whatever the day has to offer with gratitude. Thanks for the rain and for this sweet sweet dog and for two good legs and for such beautiful places to walk and for warm clothes and reflective vests and for hats. And for every reader who passes by here.

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The Now-Familiar Refrain Spoken While Looking Out the Front-Door Window

Do I have to walk that dog in this crappy rain? I think that I do not. I think it will be okay if I wait until this afternoon to walk him in this afternoon’s rain.

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Delete Delete Delete

I’m not sure what’s wrong with me lately. I delete a lot of words. Yesterday I wrote an entire blog post, then I posted it, then I went back and deleted it. You probably thought I didn’t write anything. But I did. I thought it was boring. I didn’t enjoy re-reading it to myself. I don’t like to be dull when I write. Yes, I can be dull in real life. Hard to believe, but true. Most of the time I prefer you to be dull, too, Reader. I like to ride along in silence…in the car and on the bike and on the plane and on a train. I like people to work quietly around me. Yes, of course I enjoy a good sense of humor, and I’m working with a woman now who is kick-ass witty. Finally! What I like most about her, though, is that she keeps it to herself until she senses that either I or the situation needs it. Then, whammo. Hilarity. At first I thought she would be dull, but she’s not. She’s quiet.

How did I get way over here? I have no idea.

Back to deletions. Yes, on Facebook I post status updates and delete them. Who would want to read that shit?, I ask myself. Who cares? I make comments on others’ walls. Then I go back and delete them. What a dork, I say to myself. Delete. Maybe this is born from a hyper sense of audience. That’s a big part of what I’ve studied. I don’t know. It’s getting worse. It’s a bit debilitating.

On a different note: Yesterday my sweet honey bees stung me about 5 or 6 times in the head and on my face and…yes…somewhere else. I am one big welt today. You should have seen me as this was happening (and it was 100% my own stupidity that caused them to zing me like that)…I looked like a lunatic. I’ve got to get my shit together about these bees. It’s good for me. They sort of demand that you pay close attention to body language and behavior. If you zone out and do things automatically, you pay, sucker.

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Good Bye to the Jello-Mold Museum

Holy cow, can we paint. I swear, Reader, the kitchen on that farm looks like a whole new room.

Sometimes painting is simply an excuse to rid the wall of the jello-mold museum. You know the jello molds I’m talking about—the ones shaped like fish. And the plastic turkey platter that hung above that stove since before I ever stepped foot in the place 23 years ago? Good bye, plastic turkey platter. Really, we cleaned the place out. It’s a delicate procedure, though, with aunts and uncles hovering nearby. These are the jello-mold and turkey-platter decorations they’ve resolutely nailed to those walls over the course of a lifetime. I’ll bet I removed a thousand nails.

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Look Out, Town

So, we’re making some waves in Irvine, Kentucky. Those old boys who eat at dawn at the Lunch Box couldn’t leave us alone…you know how it is when there are two new women in a roomful of small-town old timers. They asked enough questions to figure out what we do for a living, and that sent ripples all through town. When I went back to our little table to pick up the Irvine Citizen Voice & Times, I caught them asking, “Do you think them girls is married, or…?”. It’s that “or…” that makes this so much fun these days.

And then we went to the hardware store. You know how I love pocket knives, Reader, and I found myself standing before a huge display of Case knives. The guy who owned the place said he just got in a bunch of pink knives. “The ladies all love them,” he said, and then he went to get one. I looked at him. “Look at me,” I said. “Do I look like I’d want a pink knife?” He looked me over. “Well, do you want to buy a couple of draft horses?,” he asked.

Now we’re talkin’.

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A Girl on Her Farm

Rain calls for muck boots.

A Girl on her Farm

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F*cking Rain Post

Agggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

No. More. Rain!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ve just about decided to stop using the f*cking umbrella and just let it rain right smack on me all day every day forever until the end of eternity wet.

Goodbye.

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Updates 10/8/09

Updates:

1. Karen called to say our stone was being delivered to her studio yesterday. I’ll get over there very soon.
2. Did I tell you that my friend Alex (with dementia) was moved to his hometown of Washington, PA to be nearer his brother and his brother’s family? Yes, Alex is no longer brightening our town or punctuating our days with his finger jabs into the air.
3. Maria is now home. I don’t know how to describe where she is in her recovery…she smiles a lot. She laughs when she can’t swing that left leg and get it to walk. I’m like, “Tell it to go, Maria.” She laughs when she stumbles over and over again in speech….says “basketball” rather than “bathroom.” “Spit it out, Maria,” I say. She laughs and gives it another go. She thinks we are wonderful. And let me tell you that Deb is wonderful. She goes over and takes care of Maria when Jim can’t be there; and afterward Maria can’t remember Deb was there. Deb has spent many hours and uncomfortable nights in an old recliner away from home, and Maria can’t remember it the next time we see her. But she sure has a soft spot for Deb, so I think she knows on some deeper level. Better yet…I know, Honey.
4. Speaking of honey…the bees are still flying around, but they aren’t making honey for us. They’re preparing themselves for winter. They look at me as if to say, “Hey. Back off. You’ll get your honey when we’re all settled in over here and not a minute before.” Cool. I can understand that. I think I’ll start treating them to sugar water again to lessen their work a bit.
5. Yesterday we did a little research from the office into Christopher R*ll. We are good researchers. I’m sorry to report that he is apparently married. Shit. Sorry, Mary. And he does have a daughter named R*cken.
6. I am on some losing streaks.
7. We’re off to the farm this weekend. Gotta paint the kitchen down there. I hate painting kitchens. I love eating breakfast at the Lunch Box, though.
8. The gathering last night was really a lot of fun.
9. I make a very delicious blueberry pie.
10. Lots of people went home smiling with blue teeth.

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Smells Like Pine Sol and Pie

We’ll have a house full of people for a few hours tonight, Reader, and you know how I love that. Not. Well, I complain, but I usually have fun once the party starts. It’s not really a party. It’s a gathering. I’ll be baking a few blueberry pies at the last minute, Deb is in charge of something chocolate, and we’ll have coffee and tea, etc., etc. 

Yesterday, because we’ve got a few more gatherings on the horizon, I got out my bucket, my ladder, my rubber gloves, and the Pine Sol, and I scrubbed our front porch (in the rain). Every inch of it—ceiling, walls, posts, windows, shutters, porch swing, trellis, railing, steps, floor, door. Now it is free of dirt and bug gunk and cobwebs, and it smells a little bit like Pine Sol as you walk to the door (all my clothes and my hair and my glasses smell like Pine Sol, too). Nice. And then I put some mums on the steps. It looks good.

 

P.S. I’m adding Desk Tales to my blogroll. I think this blog is wonderfully fun in a mundane sort of way…my favorite kind of fun; so, if you want more fun in your days, Reader, check into Desk Tales every once in a while.

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