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My Profile
Retro-retrospection - 2008-10-06
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11:43 a.m. - 2003-07-24
I'm as skittery as a grasshopper and my thoughts refuse to gel into any semblance of coherency. So let's go hopping, shall we? ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Mike installed the book rails above the windows on the front porch. He installed the ceiling fans too. He bought these without my knowledge and they are a bit too foofy for my taste. They're all white and the metal parts are kind of lacy and the bulbs have fluted cut glass tulip shades, more bordello than the lazy 'Rick's Cafe American' paddle fans I'd had in mind, but I was so tickled that he took the initiative and didn’t force ME into choosing something that I praised him and declared the ceiling fans were just perfect. I cannot bitch that he makes me the decider all the time and then criticize his choice when he actually makes one. Book rails are definitely the buzz word at the Hobbit House. Almost every room will have shelves set above the windows, or like the porch- have rails running the entire length of the wall. Storage is a major factor at the new house. Besides being 1/5th the size of this place, the Hobbit House has 4 closets. A coffin sized closet in each bedroom and a doinky coat closet in the back entryway. And that’s it. The ‘linen closet’ in the upstairs bath MIGHT be big enough to hold all our towels, but forget about storing the winter quilts and the bed sheets in it. And for the first time in almost 20 years my kitchen doesn’t have a pantry. There are lots of cabinets for food and dishes but storing the bed linens in them would be inconvenient and I don’t fancy sleeping in a bed that smells like bacon grease. The book rails will solve some of the problem, at least for books, vases, videos, and the like. Every piece of furniture will have drawers and the “new” coffee table will be my hope chest. (It’s a small low one, obviously I didn’t have much hope. heh.) I believe the home decorating shows call this: Creative Storage Solutions. The real buggabear is where to put bulky oddly shaped things like the vacuum and infrequently used, but necessary stuff like wrapping paper and craft supplies. The cats are going to be pissed. They’re going to have to potty outdoors again, there is literally nowhere to put a cat box. At least no discrete place. I’m not so gaa-gaa about my cats that I could park a litter box in some public place where the sight and smell of it would be a constant. Disgust-o. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ We’re going to the fair this afternoon! It’s a perfect day for it. The nightly rain this week has cooled things off and today is breezy and not overly warm. A few years back the fairground paved all the pathways and it’s a huge improvement over the muddy rutted tracks of yore. It ALWAYS rains during fair week and when I was younger it was a given that if I wore sandals to the fair I’d be smooching and slipping along in beer soaked ankle deep mud and come home with black filthy feet. Hip waders would have been a better choice, but it’s so difficult to find them in fashionable colors. Actually it’s been quite some time since I cared about how I look when I go to the fair. As a teenager it was vital. The fair is the summer’s major cruise festival and meeting the man of your dreams was always an enticing possibility. So my friends and I made-up like drag queens, stuffed ourselves into our tightest most fetching ensembles, strapped on our platform sandals and sashayed off into the neon lit night in search of romance and adventure. These days I dress for comfort. Keds, loose shorts and t-shirts, and hats chosen for their shade, not their looks. I need to get a folding cane. My regular ones are a bugger to deal with. I don’t go on many rides, my balance is too shot, but I do go on a couple and jamming my stick into the ferris wheel gondola with me is tough. Last year Mike rigged a sling of sorts with the straps of my backpack and I was able to tuck my stick behind me on my back like a samurai sword, but this only frees up my hands to play games and snarf funnel cakes, it does nothing about the awkward fit into a roller coaster car. Damn, being a cripple. It bunges me up in ways I’d never thought of when I was well. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wolf’s outgrown all of his sneakers. I WAS hoping to get through the next month, so I could buy him fresh spandy new sneakers for school. He doesn’t care, but I’ve always liked the news clothes aspect of a new school year. Even during the Catholic school days there were new fuzzy knee socks and school shoes to break in, even if I was in the same bleh plaid uniform from the previous year with the hem let down. But alas my burgeoning youngster needed new sneaks immediately. He can’t tie laces yet and there was a dearth of velcro closers so I got him a truly UGLY pair of step-in sneakers. I guess they are quite the thing with grade schoolers, but these yucky things look like a cross between Frankenstein shoes and moon boots. Ick. I also got him a pair of lace-ups, plain white leather ‘Mr. Rodger’s’ sneakers. Yeah, I have to tie them every morning, but there is comfort in my son being reasonably shod. I stopped liking “hip” sneakers way back during the Reebok Pump days and they’ve only gotten uglier since then. Nike may claim it’s all about the shoes, but I calls ‘em as I sees ‘em and athletic shoes are just plain FUGLY nowadays. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Speaking of school shopping, I’ve started thinking about, but not buying yet, all the stuff Alex will need for college. I’ve been avoiding making his leaving home a reality, but the thought of it intrudes anyhow. I hate it. Oh, it’s time, it’s time, but acknowledging it brings me to tears. I do my crying in private and put on a happy excited face for my boy though. His leaving for university shouldn’t be freighted with guilt about “abandoning his poor mother”. It’s a wonderful adventure and a good thing for him, but I am so not ready to deal with it! And there’s a rotten selfish part of me that’s cranky about how MY life will be snarled up because he’ll not be here to watch his brother and fetch me my morning tea. Yesterday I got a letter from Wolf’s school about the coming year and the schedule for Open House, Special Ed orientation, and a ‘meet the teacher’ tea party. All but the last are supposed to be attended by parents alone and it dawned on me that there will be no one to watch Wolf anymore. Alex will be 300 miles away, hard on the shores of Lake Ontario. No more jaunting off to the movies on a weeknight. No more, “Alex, please keep an eye on your brother, I’m going to Shoprite.” With the loss of my elder son, I’m again shackled as tightly to my younger one as I was when he was nursing every 20 minutes. Even if kids babysat anymore (which they DON’T), Wolf’s too much of a handful for the average junk food eating, phone gabbing, TV watching babysitter anyway. Crud. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Time this grasshopper to get in the shower. It’s almost time to leave for the fair! I’m gonna get a candy apple, go on the ferris wheel, and win me a goldfish! Small town, big fun. Life doesn’t get much better. ~LA
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