Thursday, August 26, 2004
Eight hundred dollars is what it cost to don the son in his start-up business suit, obligatory for presentations, internships, and interviews (one hopes) as he begins his business-major junior year. Well you can't expect an Abercrombie boy to wear anything less than Hugo Boss can you? Helps to have a Euro father too who never compromises on quality/fashionable clothing and went shopping with him last weekend. The son picked out a purple shirt and purple-print tie. I'm sure he will look very handsome in his metro-sexual kind of way.
Seven tennis balls at least hunker hidden in the large forsythia bush of our new garden. God knows what else is in there since I can't imagine having this garden and not having a dog and I can't be the only one to have made sacrafices to the ball-eating-bush. The bush greens innocently enough behind the garden table and chairs it secludes. But the lobbed ball has no chance after about the tenth throw. The arm gives out or gets lazy; the ball comes up short and the vorracious bush gobbles its prey without mercy.
Six bruises adorn the legs which still attempt akwardly to navigate the new terrain and rhythems of our new life in our new home. And it is a new life. Once all of the distractions of house projects is completed, what awaits is a canvas to be painted -- a stone foundation on which to build something -- a garden to plant and nurture. I figure the bruises are a good sign. They denote creativity of some kind. Better fizgig than fallow...
Five times a day that I smile for my courage to push the changes I did over the last four months. I dragged my family kicking, screaming, and complaining to a place we needed to be. A place where I needed to be.
Four times I've changed my mind as to what kind of countertop to have in the new kitchen. There is granite with all if its pros and cons. Quartz, slate, limestone, concrete, tile, wood, and last but not least formica with all of their pros and cons. Just when I think I have finally zeroed in on which material I want, there is the color thang.... Should I go with Amarillo Palmira or Amarillo Sand? Diana Pearl perhaps? Oh wait a minute. I didn't see these fifty-seven other colors on the back page... And how about kitchen faucets: there are pullouts, two handles, wall mounts, single handle, and utility. Within each of these categories is a dizzying array of price points and finishes. Too much for this Libra's short-circuiting brain (whether from all the choices, or all those drugs in the seventies is hard to say).
Three of my favorite magazines lie unread on the table -- victims of a crazed woman bent on swashbuckling her way into creating a new reality for herself. One free of sentimental wispiness now that the kids are flying the coop. Like a contrail that suddenly zigs sharply to the left. Or maybe I'm zagging to the right. We'll see.
Two bottles of Trefethen Chardonnay that are chilling as I write. They will be opened upon hubby's return from D.C. on Saturday evening from whence he will have deposited our little loverlies to their expensive dorms.
One more day and they depart. The dog knows I think. Of late she keeps finding their shoes (left ever strewn about the house) and lies down on top of them. If they don't have their shoes they can't leave right?
Seven tennis balls at least hunker hidden in the large forsythia bush of our new garden. God knows what else is in there since I can't imagine having this garden and not having a dog and I can't be the only one to have made sacrafices to the ball-eating-bush. The bush greens innocently enough behind the garden table and chairs it secludes. But the lobbed ball has no chance after about the tenth throw. The arm gives out or gets lazy; the ball comes up short and the vorracious bush gobbles its prey without mercy.
Six bruises adorn the legs which still attempt akwardly to navigate the new terrain and rhythems of our new life in our new home. And it is a new life. Once all of the distractions of house projects is completed, what awaits is a canvas to be painted -- a stone foundation on which to build something -- a garden to plant and nurture. I figure the bruises are a good sign. They denote creativity of some kind. Better fizgig than fallow...
Five times a day that I smile for my courage to push the changes I did over the last four months. I dragged my family kicking, screaming, and complaining to a place we needed to be. A place where I needed to be.
Four times I've changed my mind as to what kind of countertop to have in the new kitchen. There is granite with all if its pros and cons. Quartz, slate, limestone, concrete, tile, wood, and last but not least formica with all of their pros and cons. Just when I think I have finally zeroed in on which material I want, there is the color thang.... Should I go with Amarillo Palmira or Amarillo Sand? Diana Pearl perhaps? Oh wait a minute. I didn't see these fifty-seven other colors on the back page... And how about kitchen faucets: there are pullouts, two handles, wall mounts, single handle, and utility. Within each of these categories is a dizzying array of price points and finishes. Too much for this Libra's short-circuiting brain (whether from all the choices, or all those drugs in the seventies is hard to say).
Three of my favorite magazines lie unread on the table -- victims of a crazed woman bent on swashbuckling her way into creating a new reality for herself. One free of sentimental wispiness now that the kids are flying the coop. Like a contrail that suddenly zigs sharply to the left. Or maybe I'm zagging to the right. We'll see.
Two bottles of Trefethen Chardonnay that are chilling as I write. They will be opened upon hubby's return from D.C. on Saturday evening from whence he will have deposited our little loverlies to their expensive dorms.
One more day and they depart. The dog knows I think. Of late she keeps finding their shoes (left ever strewn about the house) and lies down on top of them. If they don't have their shoes they can't leave right?
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