Okay, so a little time has past since I blogged. I'm ready to go again.
Today begins the project, beginning with the Abbey. It's so obviously the right way to start, with all the stars in alignment around it -- like, when I went to a web-site to learn about how to become a vegan (I couldn't just DO it, I had to read about it first), there was Paul McCartney's video, his face oh so soulful, him telling me to just stop eating meat. So THAT's how you become a vegan!! Glad I read up on it. Anyway, back to the Abbey -- well, Paul, Abbey Road, all that. I can find cosmic justification for anything, anywhere. Stick with me.
Along with the days other errands, I'll be adding a stop at the local package store for gin and orange bitters. The Abbey contains orange juice, and if I hustle I can sneak it in before noon and call it breakfast!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Friday, October 9, 2009
Whew! When Mary Beth says 'let's make some changes around here', she means it, and now. They're good changes, though, and now is the time.
I wonder how to post the essay that I wrote for last night's writing group. The prompt was "How to ..."; people wrote how to make winter soup, bake an apple pie, have a lousy morning, throw a party. I was more generic, and wrote "How to Do Almost Anything". Anyone could benefit from that, couldn't they? That is, they could if I could figure out how to get it on here.
I wonder how to post the essay that I wrote for last night's writing group. The prompt was "How to ..."; people wrote how to make winter soup, bake an apple pie, have a lousy morning, throw a party. I was more generic, and wrote "How to Do Almost Anything". Anyone could benefit from that, couldn't they? That is, they could if I could figure out how to get it on here.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Sigh. Enjoying a nice Oregon Gewertzemeiner (whatever) on the deck of the most luscious doily-free B&B overlooking the Willammette Valley that I could ask for, wondering how it is that I'm two miles away from Chloe and neither of us has contacted the other all day -- could it be that she's doing fine, living her life? That is my fondest wish.
Did the happy dance on the deck earlier -- what is that? three times this week? Life is lush. Of course, I'm ripping off Roz Chast again, to whom I probably owe my life. Perhaps I should bake her a cake, or a babka, or some nice rugelach. Only Roz and I (and maybe a few million other people) understand that 'life is lush' is a momentary feeling, which can be shattered just so easily. So. Enjoy.
Bill's hair is growing in nicely -- three days into the shave it's very soft to the touch, a nice shadow on his head. I hope he keeps it this way - sort of almost shaved, or non-shaved -- the anti-shave, or the soft shave. It suits him. He suits me. Although, yesterday, when all I wanted was to be alone, even if meant drowning everyone else (even Bill, in the hot tub there next to me) ... thank goodness he's more easy going than I am. Actually, he's most easy going than almost anyone.
Should I? Shouldn't I? go to a Nia class here in Eugene? It would mean getting up ...
Stay tuned
Did the happy dance on the deck earlier -- what is that? three times this week? Life is lush. Of course, I'm ripping off Roz Chast again, to whom I probably owe my life. Perhaps I should bake her a cake, or a babka, or some nice rugelach. Only Roz and I (and maybe a few million other people) understand that 'life is lush' is a momentary feeling, which can be shattered just so easily. So. Enjoy.
Bill's hair is growing in nicely -- three days into the shave it's very soft to the touch, a nice shadow on his head. I hope he keeps it this way - sort of almost shaved, or non-shaved -- the anti-shave, or the soft shave. It suits him. He suits me. Although, yesterday, when all I wanted was to be alone, even if meant drowning everyone else (even Bill, in the hot tub there next to me) ... thank goodness he's more easy going than I am. Actually, he's most easy going than almost anyone.
Should I? Shouldn't I? go to a Nia class here in Eugene? It would mean getting up ...
Stay tuned
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Being in Portland and taking Carlos' Nia class last night brought back good memories from my week here almost two years ago -- walking into the building on Yamhill and meeting Rone' there by the elevator, seeing Debbie (still the fashionista), dining after class at the bar in the Paramount, walking quickly through damp evening weather. Good stuff. It also reminded me how much of a Nia misfit I am -- I don't really growl or howl (well, some), and I'm not the yakker, despite having been told by another instructor not to talk so much. Still, I love it because it makes me smile.
People ask me if I'm doing okay having left Chloe at school, and I'd have to say I'm doing a lot better than I was during the preparation for it. Of course, knowing that I'll see her again at the end of the week makes it a little easier. That and having every little indulgence I want along the coast, through wine country and now here in Portland -- hot and cold running food and drink, an attendant husband, naps and more naps, scenery, gorgeous hotels -- it would be hard to call this suffering. There's just that tiny nagging feeling that the phone hasn't beeped or buzzed, and wondering if that's good news or bad, when it fact it's simply no news, which I've chosen to define as good, however unnatural a choice that is for me.
Hey, anyone who knows my penchant for color, if you're reading this: there's a key hidden beneath our grill on the back patio -- would you mind letting yourself in and taking a peek around -- reporting back on what you think of the entryway, living room and kitchen? Thanks!
People ask me if I'm doing okay having left Chloe at school, and I'd have to say I'm doing a lot better than I was during the preparation for it. Of course, knowing that I'll see her again at the end of the week makes it a little easier. That and having every little indulgence I want along the coast, through wine country and now here in Portland -- hot and cold running food and drink, an attendant husband, naps and more naps, scenery, gorgeous hotels -- it would be hard to call this suffering. There's just that tiny nagging feeling that the phone hasn't beeped or buzzed, and wondering if that's good news or bad, when it fact it's simply no news, which I've chosen to define as good, however unnatural a choice that is for me.
Hey, anyone who knows my penchant for color, if you're reading this: there's a key hidden beneath our grill on the back patio -- would you mind letting yourself in and taking a peek around -- reporting back on what you think of the entryway, living room and kitchen? Thanks!
Sunday, September 27, 2009
So there, the deed is done. We had lunch on the lawn with Chloe with the big Berkeley/UO football game on in the background (UO kicked major booty, and I found myself actually caring), and then took off for the coast, according to plan. We were the only parents on the lawn, and we were both pretty moved that Chloe had invited us to join her -- still, at a certain point it felt right to go, get out of the way and stop cramping her style. She was gracious. Grace is the single clearest signal of Chloe's growing maturity, and it's lovely.
The first place we stopped to stay on the recommendation of some folks we met in Cottage Grove stunk, literally, so I got online and found a place further up the coast that's pretty much perfect-o. Bill just started singing "Heaven, I'm in heaven ...", and yesterday I was doing a happy dance on the stairs leading down (and back up!) from the beach. Like minds and hearts -- Bill just did a little Fred Astaire dance sideways up and down the stairs that lead from the bedroom down to the living area -- the one with the wall of windows that overlook the coast -- and back up! He's a dancer!
The other day we were on each other's last nerve and right there in a splendid restaurant, both of us having had (perhaps?) too much wine, had an argument about table setting and I actually heard myself saying that it shouldn't be that hard to remember that the fork goes on the left and blah blah blah, with Bill telling me that most of his life table settings consisted of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin and sealed in a plastic bag, and the other couple in the restaurant on whom we'd been eavesdropping earlier were now eavesdropping on us. They were probably suddenly glad to be them and not us, even though their conversation had been way too heavy to conceive of them ever having any fun. The moral of the story is not to eavesdrop.
Now we're waking up to the sound of the ocean and drinking coffee, Bill is reading a weighty John Grisham novel and making the big decisions -- half and half, or black? Ah. Reflecting now on that argument, I'm pretty sure that it's the biggest one we've had since before we were married, which was also at a restaurant, the Huisache Grill when it was still wonderful, before they started handing out little vibrating coasters to signal when your table was ready. The moral of this story is to learn to cook.
Now, I think it is time to shave Bill's head.
The first place we stopped to stay on the recommendation of some folks we met in Cottage Grove stunk, literally, so I got online and found a place further up the coast that's pretty much perfect-o. Bill just started singing "Heaven, I'm in heaven ...", and yesterday I was doing a happy dance on the stairs leading down (and back up!) from the beach. Like minds and hearts -- Bill just did a little Fred Astaire dance sideways up and down the stairs that lead from the bedroom down to the living area -- the one with the wall of windows that overlook the coast -- and back up! He's a dancer!
The other day we were on each other's last nerve and right there in a splendid restaurant, both of us having had (perhaps?) too much wine, had an argument about table setting and I actually heard myself saying that it shouldn't be that hard to remember that the fork goes on the left and blah blah blah, with Bill telling me that most of his life table settings consisted of plastic utensils wrapped in a napkin and sealed in a plastic bag, and the other couple in the restaurant on whom we'd been eavesdropping earlier were now eavesdropping on us. They were probably suddenly glad to be them and not us, even though their conversation had been way too heavy to conceive of them ever having any fun. The moral of the story is not to eavesdrop.
Now we're waking up to the sound of the ocean and drinking coffee, Bill is reading a weighty John Grisham novel and making the big decisions -- half and half, or black? Ah. Reflecting now on that argument, I'm pretty sure that it's the biggest one we've had since before we were married, which was also at a restaurant, the Huisache Grill when it was still wonderful, before they started handing out little vibrating coasters to signal when your table was ready. The moral of this story is to learn to cook.
Now, I think it is time to shave Bill's head.
Day one: September 24
The last item on my list to get ready to leave was ‘buy a book’; sitting in the airport looking at the metal gate that separates me from the books that won’t be available until the store opens, which will happen during the window of time after boarding and before departure, I wish I’d put it higher on the list. Chloe forgot her pillow, her nice tempurpedic memory foam pillow, so we’re both a little miffed with ourselves. Bill’s off drinking coffee, I think trying to stay out of our way -- he is a wise man.
Every word, every moment, seems charged. I think I should be dropping pearls of wisdom every time I open my mouth around Chloe, and all I can think of is “drink your milk”, or “don’t take any wooden nickels”.
The last item on my list to get ready to leave was ‘buy a book’; sitting in the airport looking at the metal gate that separates me from the books that won’t be available until the store opens, which will happen during the window of time after boarding and before departure, I wish I’d put it higher on the list. Chloe forgot her pillow, her nice tempurpedic memory foam pillow, so we’re both a little miffed with ourselves. Bill’s off drinking coffee, I think trying to stay out of our way -- he is a wise man.
Every word, every moment, seems charged. I think I should be dropping pearls of wisdom every time I open my mouth around Chloe, and all I can think of is “drink your milk”, or “don’t take any wooden nickels”.
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