Grateful Anniversary Thursday

Today is my fourth wedding anniversary. Because there is nothing in this world for which I am more grateful, nothing which I hold more dearly to my heart, nothing for which I live more than I do for my husband, today my entire Grateful Thursday post will be about us, our engagement and wedding in particular. It's long, so grab a snack and settle in.

Husband proposed to me in the deserted parking lot of our university's basketball stadium. We had gotten ice cream that night (me, chocolate with brownie bits, him pralines and cream). It was a Tuesday, and he had suggested the trip, looking up at me on the green tweed couch from his corner desk and nonchalantly mentioning dessert, knowing my answer to that is always YES.

As had happened on our first date, we tried to make it back to his place before settling in to enjoy, but it was melting, so he pulled into the lot to eat what was left.

He hardly ate any of his that April night, quietly poking at it like a picky child with his broccoli. Glancing over at me in the passenger seat, he put his sticky cup aside, opened his driver's side door, quickly got out and circled the car, the whole time with me mumbling "wait, where are you going?" through a mouthful of chocolate ice cream. He pulled on my door handle, not realizing it was locked, but I unlocked it and cracked my door, still saying "What is going on?" as he pulled me out. He looked breathless and deer-like.

He knelt on one knee. Now I was yelling, "What are you doing??" and starting to jump up and down a little, one foot to the other, my hand over my chocolate stained lips. He pulled out his cigarette carton, ripped out the tin foil, and twined it around my finger. He said something about marrying him. I don't remember his words, I was too overwhelmed. "Of course!" I screamed and tried to pull him onto his feet, but he had reached into his pocket again.

"I know that you've said you'd marry me with nothing more than a tin foil ring, but I want to do it right. Is this better?"

He snapped open a black velvet box, and inside was an Art Deco-era designed ring with antique diamonds. I was shocked, more shocked by the ring itself than the actual proposal. The next few moments are a teary blur. I had no idea he had been thinking of me and this moment that much.

I called my mom on the way home, and she already knew. He had asked my parents for permission.

Three months later, on July 30, the place had been selected (a rose garden outside an antebellum home), the dress fitted (the first one I tried on), all the family had gathered, and our intimate, elegant wedding began at dusk.

I wasn't nervous, not in the least. My two bridesmaids (I had no maid of honor, how could I pick?) helped me into my strapless dress, lent me a blue scarf to tie around my white rose bouquet, and applied my make-up while we sipped white wine. Katie was nice enough to stand in front of the window the whole twenty minutes it rained, so I never knew until afterward.

My brothers in their tuxes and mohawks and tatooes ushered guests down the aisle. My grandfather lovingly walked my ailing grandmother down the aisle, not knowing the cancer was growing in him that minute, that he would be gone in just over a year. Everyone else made their way down to their seats. Then my bridesmaids stepped out in their black satin halter dresses with their bluebonnet bouquets, hair flowing and flowers behind their ears.

My father and I were left alone, staring at this wooden door leading down the stairs to the garden from the house, waiting for the music to change and the door to my future to burst open. He seemed quiet and reflective but not sad as I thought he would be. No tears. "Don't trip," he told me and squeezed my hand. And the doors opened.

Our ceremony was short and sweet-- we wrote it ourselves for us alone. We had terrible trouble finding someone who would perform it for us. The Episcopal minister said he couldn't do it that quickly as the rules required pre-marriage counseling, and a judge told us it was not religious enough. A childhood friend of my father's came through in the end, driving all the way from Kentucky.

I don't remember him, though. I don't remember the audience, I don't remember the words or the gestures. I just remember my husband, staring into his face, the world whirling around us, all bright green and white, like we were held in a quiet tornado, the old being ripped away and replaced by the new togetherness. When the spinning stopped, we were husband and wife.

After the pictures and at the start of the cocktail hour, my grandmother fell down some stairs. All I saw from where I was standing were her legs in the air, and then a scream, although not hers. I ran to her but no one would let me close in fear that I would lose it. Not knowing what was happening was worse. An ambulance was called, but the EMTs declared her fine, just dizzy and scraped up. My grandfather took her to their room though, where I finally got to see them, but I regret that I never got to dance with him.

Later, the Beach Boys crooned "God Only Knows" while I danced with my father, and Nat King Cole serenaded my new husband and me as we swayed. We selected every song; the DJ must have hated us. No Celebration or Brick House for us, only Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, and Etta James. We did do the Chicken Dance, in honor of my husband's mid-western family. I only got a couple bites to eat, only one bite of cake-- the one he fed me, and before I knew it the night was ending.

Married people told me that would happen, that it would be over too quickly, that you get so swarmed with well-wishers to the point where you can't stop, you can't think, you can't reflect or ruminate. I remember my friends Joe and Liz telling us our wedding was like something out of Great Gatsby. Exactly what we were going for, I replied. I remember my great uncle and mom cutting a rug on the dance floor, and how beautiful she looked that night. I remember the light of the place, the candles reflecting off the pool, the warm and gracious feeling of everyone together, the love I felt for all of us there, and especially the look on my husband's face as he leaned in to kiss me.

They held sparklers for us in a sort of open tunnel as we ran to our limo. I had long ago removed my shoes, so that hot ember I stepped on didn't feel very nice, and my husband swears he nearly lost an eyebrow. It was beautiful though, and a picture perfect ending.

He did carry me over the threshold, but only after the limo completed its 60-point turn trying to get out of our dead-end street. I stood in the living room, unzipped my dress and took my first deep breath of the night, tracing with my fingers the outline of my corset embedded into my skin. We were starving and so happy to see the picnic basket in the limo, only to be disappointed by the tiny amounts of food inside. We had hungry guests. Husband's apartment was completely packed as we were moving the next day, but we stuck the last frozen pizza into the oven and then ripped it apart (the knives were packed), scarfing it down in his-- no-- our bed. I was still removing bobbie pins from my hair the next morning and had three shampooings to remove all of the hairspray.

Two days later we were in Mexico, and then three weeks later Katrina hit, destroying so much of our state, and we were on a plane moving to London that day, not to see anything we knew for over a year.

So much has changed and yet not changed since then. We're the same, we love each other in the same way, but the world around us keeps shifting. He's my stability, my normality. As is engraved on the inside of his ring, "you are home to me."

thoughts of the day

Husband had two dreams about me last night:
1) I got a job with Sotheby's in London and left him behind here, crying on the couch saying he thought we were happy while I shook my head and walked out the door.
2) We stole a black Ford Explorer, and as we were being chased by the cops, we managed to set our town square on fire, leaving death and destruction in our path as we hightailed it to the highway.

I told him all the things in his second dream were ten times more likely to happen than anything in the first. He seemed satisfied.

Our IT manager quit: beginning the internal happy dance now. Can I have his chair? And his desk too??

Peanut butter and jelly make the best sandwiches, especially grape jelly and Jiff, especially on white Wonder bread, especially when you haven't had it in a while, and especially when someone makes it for you.

I feel lucky as it has rained all day until now, and in an hour and a half I have to go to Kroger. Maybe, hopefully, I will not have soaked groceries.

My fireplace is done, retiled, but I haven't cleaned it yet. It's been done for a week and a half and the grout is still sitting in the bucket next to it and there's still bits of grout and mortar stuck to the surface of the tile. I meant to clean it Sunday. Even cloudy like it is, it's nicer than the hunter green ceramic that was there. See above. It makes me happy.

Sometimes I have waking dreams, not even fully thought out scenarios, but just the strangest dream-like ideas pop into my head. Like that crape myrtles in full bloom would make the best dancing skirt. I could just unwind it from the tree, tie it around my waist, and feel beautiful as I danced, twirling, down the street. They look like half-ballerinas, on thin, delicate legs with green and white or pink bloomed tutus, floating and dancing in the wind and rain. See below.

the quest for dinner

Sitting at work on a regular busy Monday, I pulled out a sunny yellow post-it and my cloudy black gel pen and tried to make a grocery list. Juice, cereal, bread, cheese... my boss's door squeaked opened. He was done with his 2-hour 3 o'clock meeting early at 4:30, which didn't bode well for my grocery store trip. He strode over to my desk, and began downloading instructions to me, things from his meeting and things it seemed he had been storing for weeks. Several other coworkers were drawn to the booming confidence of his voice and promptly took their place in line around him, waiting for their chance. We all jump when he crawls out of his work cave, as it so rarely happens. Like questioning moths to the answer flame, we fly.

An hour and a half and an improtu staff meeting later, at 6 pm I finally walked to my car. I snuck out while my boss was talking to his partner, with only a quick "call me if you need me" and a sly smile as I slinked passed them in the hall, laptop in tow. It was so late, I talked myself into going on home, skipping the errand, believing I had enough food at home to scrounge up a decent meal for my husband and me.

Husband was already here, changing out of his gray slacks into shorts and New Balances to take Bub for a walk around our cul-de-sacced neighborhood. We walked, sweating, and talked about "cash for clunkers," how confusing the government's instructions were (typical), and how confused all his customers were today. They did have one successful trade-in though-- one more ugly gas-guzzler off the highways of America. I wasn't hungry yet as I hadn't gotten out for lunch until 2, and he ate closer to 3.

When we got home again, the red clock on the empty stove told us it was 6:45. We discussed dinner, and about twenty minutes later had come up with nothing. Frozen lasagna and... nope, the leftover asparagus is bad. Popcorn shrimp and... no, only enough fries for one person. Quiche takes an hour to make. There's stuff for tacos, but we had Mexican last night. Rice? With what? And there's no salad-- we ate a lot of salad last week apparently. Should we go to the store? By the time we did that, and cooked, it would be 8:30.

Fine, we decided, we'll go out. But where? No sandwiches and no Mexican, those were my requirements. Husband was less specific. That greek place over near the fire station? Wow, it was crowded for a Monday, cars spilling into the station's parking lot. The diner in the center of town? No, they have $2 pitcher and chicken wings on Monday, and we'll never get a table. Ok, how about the deli near our house? A last resort. A shrimp salad wrap for me with potato soup, although it really should have been called red onion and cheddar cheese slop. I'm still tasting it. Husband had some meaty-cheesy type sandwich, and chicken soup, and french fries too... all that debate and decision-making made him hungry.

We're spoiled for choice, knowing that so many don't have this luxury, the luxury of too much food. Looking at my pantry you wouldn't know that, though. Tomorrow I'll make it to Kroger, tomorrow that list will be checked off one by one.

simply now

I'm a pretty simple girl. I'm easy, really. (My husband would interject right here, laugh and say In more ways than one. So I slept with him on our second date-- we had been friends for a year. Plus he's devastatingly handsome and charming, and I'm alarmingly seductive. Yeah.)

I don't ask for much. I'm sitting in a used office chair, made for a man, most uncomfortable. I don't have an office door and I share my desk with the new girl for now. No big deal. I let my husband have the remote and only complain a little when he puts it on the SciFi network. I am drama free.

Simple things make me happy. Not much makes me happier than the picture below, being right there, with my husband sitting nearby as well.I find being simple and easy makes my life simple and easy, which is good, but also slightly boring at times. I don't have fantastic stories to tell. As much as I want to be a story teller, I have no stories, and no real ability to create them from nothing.

There are painful things in my past, in my childhood, I could write about, but I've mentioned my brothers enough. That past belongs in the past. Then there are a few adventures from London, but they seem trapped in a haze in my mind now, trapped in the fog in which most of them occurred, their details fuzzy like I'm remembering someone else's life. It was such a departure from normality; I'm not surprised.

So I write mostly about myself, about my now.

Now I have a headache, the same headache I've had for four days running. I've tried ibuprofen and aleve both, although not too much of either one because I don't like to overdo. I guess it's a no to allergies. The first two days of this one, it was raining pretty heavily as a low front moved through. I'm beginning to think the weather, the pressure and humidity changes, are triggering a migraine for me, but a different kind than the aura-producing probably hormone caused migraines I already know I have. I can't stand to take an imitrex every time I get a headache-- they're expensive (even if insurance does pay for most of it, I still think about the $28 pill I pop every time I see the light), they make me feel funny, and I don't even like to take too much ibuprofen, much less a prescription strength megapill like this.

Now I am also glad it's Friday. So so glad. Monday will be here all too soon, but I'm going to try hard to enjoy every second of this weekend. I even have a demented plan to get up early tomorrow so I have more seconds to enjoy. Maybe try out the farmer's market. We'll see if that works out.

Now I am cracking open a diet Dr. Pepper, and now I'm living completely inside that first sip, the cold rush of carbonation to the back of my throat, tickling my nose from the inside out. I told you, simple things for a simple girl.

Grateful Thursday

1) I don't know that I've ever said this before here, but it seems so obvious: I'm grateful for my Bubby.
I found Bub in the last cage at the shelter at the end of my sophomore year in college. I've never lived without animals in my house, not since I was five and my parents brought home Maxie, the smartest and sweetest miniature schnauzer ever, whom I still miss. I was living in my first apartment by myself, feeling a little lonely since Maxie had just passed only a year before. I'm not one to buy a pet, like it's an accessory and not a living, breathing thing, so I went to the shelter for the first time looking for an "apartment size" dog. There was a mini pincher, who was sweet but looked like he was walking around on toothpicks. I like rough and tumble dogs. There were beagle puppies, but they were so loud, howling at each other. Then, in the last run, there was a shy black dog all alone at the back of her run, a larger white dog crowding the gate wanting attention, and a little black and white dotted puppy. I was told that the three of them were found wandering together just that morning, strays, and that they thought the two older dogs were the parents of the single puppy.

He was so tiny and so full of life. He never had all four feet on the ground, jumping around, leaping over his father in a flurry of fur, trying to get to the gate and to me. There were no papers on his cage. He didn't even have a name. When I went up to the front desk, I didn't know it at the time, but I spoke to the shelter director. I told her I wanted that little puppy in the back.

"Which one? One of the beagles?"

"No, he's a little black and white puppy, in the kennel with two other older dogs."

"Oh," broke in one of the kennel attendants. "They were brought in this morning. We don't have papers on them yet. They were strays, unclaimed."

"Well get them some papers!" she yelled, laughing, winking at me and handing me the application.

And Bub went home with me that day.

He's the furry love of my life, my best friend. Sure we argue sometimes (I can't stand his whining when he wants to go for a walk) but who doesn't? My favorite thing today: when I let him in from outside, give him food or water, get out of bed in the morning, or do anything else nice for him, more times than not he'll walk over to me and give my leg a little lick, like a tiny little kiss, a thank you mommy.

Since the first was so long, these last four will be short and sweet...
2) Just got an email from a huge person in our industry interested in our new software. I hope something good comes of that! My boss is freaking out a bit.
3) The sun is back after two days of rain and clouds. Although I was thankful for the rain and clouds too, while they lasted.
4) My plans for tonight are to babysit for my friend's toddler while they go watch the new Harry Potter movie. This little boy is so kind and laughs all the time, but I'll be grateful for going back home to my child-free, sane home afterward too.
5) Financial stability. My new receptionist's timing belt broke on her SUV and she's struggling to find a way to pay for it. Her husband had to give her a ride this morning. Belts aren't that expensive but the friend that can do it for her for free can't until next week, so there's a decision to be made. I'm glad I don't have to make decisions like that, but also glad we were able to hire her and provide a job to someone in this terrible economy.

under drooping eyelids

I'm actually in a meeting right now. A virtual one, but yes, I'm sitting here listening to my boss talk to one of our programmers about invoice numbers and drop down menus and ROIs... it's 10:30 at night. I'm usually brushing my teeth right now, slowly rotating my arm in small circles, trying not to nick my gums too much, staring at myself in the mirror, my mind wandering to other, even more mundane things. Kind of like it's doing now.

And I'm eating a chocolate chip cookie, warm from the microwave. The chocolate chips leave polka-dot stains on the paper towel that's doubling as a crumb catcher. It's too sweet to be eating at so late an hour, but I had to have something.

This week the other "senior manager" in our office and I have been trying to create job descriptions for everyone. We've brought in some new people (up to 9 now, from 3 when I first started), and as a result our willy-nilly do what you want attitude isn't working very well any more. When there was just three or four, we all trusted and understood and appreciated each other's roles. Now there's "where's he going" and "why wasn't this done" and "who's responsibility is it anyway." So far we've been met with smiling faces and receptive words, but we've only done the easy people's so far. We're leaving the hard one, the IT manager, the one who thinks he's our boss (oh how he's sorely mistaken), for last. That should be an... interesting... meeting.

It seems so petty, the our boss, his boss stuff. It's respect. That's all it is. We all want that. I need to keep that in mind.

Oh, it sounds like they're winding down. Yep, my friend (the other admin) is texting me now. She thought it was pointless too. And yet they set another one for 8 a.m. Good thing I left my power cord at work. I'll see them all at 9.

blank

I really don't think there's anything more intimidating than a blank page, or in this case, a blank screen. Well, maybe a large man in a dark alley you must pass... or a room full of art critics at your first show... or your husband's glance after you've turned a year older and you realize you don't look the same getting out of the shower now as you did when you first met at 22... but I digress.

I write because I need to, because these thoughts in my head need to burst out of me some way, and if I don't put them into this tiny white and beige box then they build up and come spewing out all over my husband or my coworkers at the most inopportune times. But I also write because I'm afraid, especially after seeing my grandmother's condition, that I won't remember little things, little bits and pieces from my life, like the feeling of yanking weeds or brushing the dog or holding hands with my husband, or the sound of a car on a wet street or of a friend's child's squealing laughter, or the way the sky gets red at night after a thunderstorm or how my husband face scrunches up when he kisses at me from across the room.

The palest ink is better than the best memory... I heard that somewhere once.

But lately I've felt empty. I have nothing to say. Or I have a lot to say, just nothing that I want to remember beyond the moment because it's negative or fleeting and unimportant to me. I suppose it's a case of: write what's there and hold on to the few gems that come out amongst the rubble.

I'll try that, but not tonight. Tonight I have a pizza on the way, a yummy pizza with spinach artichoke dip smothered on the dough instead of marinara, piled high with mushrooms and tomatoes and olives and cheese. And a husband on the way home too. I think I'll take some time to really pay attention to him tonight, try to memorize his words and his face. I want to remember them forever.

Weeds

Weed
Function: noun
1 a (1): a plant that is not valued where it is growing and is usually of vigorous growth ; especially : one that tends to overgrow or choke out more desirable plants.... 2 a: an obnoxious growth, thing, or person b: something like a weed in detrimental quality
Function: verb
1 a: to clear of weeds <weed a garden> b (1): to free from something hurtful or offensive (2): to remove the less desirable portions of 2: to get rid of (something harmful or superfluous) —often used with out

There's a plant, an ugly, neon green broadleafed plant, that invades my front flower bed every week. I turn my eyes away for just a few days and suddenly it has infiltrated my phlox, wormed its way into my agapanthus, and climbed over my curly willow.

This coarse plant with its red stems extends so deep, its roots unending beneath the thick black soil, making me dig a foot or more to find the source of each, all of them seemingly interconnected by even thicker strands. I pull at each delicately, following the thread like a booby-trap string hidden just under the sand, hoping that the end is near, that sweet snapping release of its hold over my beautiful, intentional flowers.

This sneaky weed has a built-in anti-gardener device as well, the leaves and stems breaking off at the base, not allowing one to simply yank it up, roots and all, in one fell swoop. A less experienced gardener would see the white of the base and the few straggling hair-like roots and think they had success, but I know better. No, I must dig, with my fingernails, with my bare hands, to the source of the problem, and eradicate it there. I won't allow it to fool me anymore.

Grateful Thursday

1) We hired a receptionist, finally! No more answering the phones for me! She seems really nice, if a bit chatty, and intelligent too. We also found a new office space to rent, so despite the fact we have to pick up and move soon, I'm grateful for the extra space and the bigger office I will have.
2) The rain. It rained, hard, for several hours this morning. My plants needed it and it cooled it down outside so that it will only reach the high 80s today.
3) Good friends. Tonight we're going to a social event for the Chamber of Commerce. We were invited by a friend who knows my husband is looking for a new job and this will be a good chance to mingle and pass out cards.
4) We went to see the new Harry Potter last night. I got a good cry out of it, and it was a great movie.
5) A free moment to write this list! We've been so busy at work lately. In fact, I need to get back to it right now. My parents are in town this weekend so we're planning a nice, relaxing, quiet weekend with them to help alleviate some of the stress I've been under. My mom's birthday is Tuesday so I'm taking her shopping on Saturday.

backyard visitors

I had to literally wrangle Bub like a calf to get him to not run down and eat this little family up. They were surprisingly very uncaring about me snapping their photo, although I didn't get very close. This is with a 10x zoom. I guess they were digging around for grubs and bugs.
And I had a feathered visitor about that same time too. Windy this afternoon.

high standards

Sometimes I think I'm a bitch. Or maybe it's that I know, all the time, that I'm a bitch, but sometimes I'm just not ok with it. 

I hold people to high standards. They're no higher than to what I hold myself, but I'm not everyone else. See, even that sounds bitchy. 

I think I'm better than a lot of other people. No, I take that back-- I think I'm smarter than a lot of other people. Because I am. It's the truth, it's not bragging, but it sounds like bragging, which is why I think I'm a bitch. I'm good at my job, they couldn't live without me here, and they know it. That doesn't give me an excuse to run around acting like the mistake police though. Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone misses an email now and then. (I just don't miss the huge ones, the ones that could make or break you, but that's just me....)

I don't know how to stop myself. I don't know how to not get frustrated with a coworker who so very obviously is in over his head but won't admit to mistakes. He thinks he's better than me, why, because he's paid more? Or because he's a man? Yeah, I get that feeling from him sometimes. Maybe that's why I get so angry with him, because I can't stand for someone to make me feel small just because I'm a woman.

I'm struggling with this today, struggling with understanding my reactions to problems, how I jump to tattling and reprimanding than trying to relate. But it's so simple... if I handle 400 emails a day and only miss maybe one a week, how can I feel sympathy for someone who sees 25-30 a day and misses the most important one? Who continually asks questions that have been answered in previous emails if only he'd scroll down? Whose reaction to my following up on it is "It's not my fault, I didn't know anything about it" rather than searching for the email, seeing it and saying, "I'm sorry, I'll take care of it right away."

I'm sure this is boring to you all. I have to have a conversation with my boss about this employee at some point today, and I'm torn between bashing and smoothing it over. In the end, he was nice about it and did take care of it, I just don't appreciate the initial attitude. I don't know that there's anything that can be done about it. I obviously cannot change my bitchy ways, so I don't know why I'd expect him to change his defensive ones. And I suppose the way I approach him has something to do with his reaction as well, although I really tried to just "follow up" this morning rather than "interrogate." I tried. 

I do wish I could be a fly on the wall for a day, live outside myself and watch myself react to things, in the way other people see me. I wish we could all do that. I think it would make us all better people. From the inside out today, I look like a snobby perfectionist, wanting the world to be as good as I think I am, and I'm making myself a little sick. 

imminent changes

The sky is gaining color to the west, a light blue blanket dipped in a bucket, the water creeping up, slowly but surely turning it darker and thicker and heavier. There's a rumbling out there too, becoming more frequent as the darkness inches closer. 

I woke up at 5 a.m. to the same rumbling along with flashes of light and the thumping of my cannas against my bedroom window. The wind was wild, blowing leaves and debris all over the yard. It's been a while since I've actually seen the rain-- it swoops in over night, leaving behind the wet grass and puddles on the deck, but dispersing before the sun shines enough for me to see it fall. According to the weather channel (like I couldn't just look at the sky and listen to it to know this), in about an hour I will see it again.

I'm frustrated this morning. The rumbling outside is nothing compared to the rumbling inside me. It's Monday, which is bad enough, but I feel uneasy and restless today, and I can't put my finger on the cause. Something's off. Something's coming. 

other people's problems

I never create problems for myself. I'm not one of those self-destructive types. I'm not even the kind of person that lies to themselves. I'm frank and open with myself the same way I am with others. Little white lies, I suppose, like "one more scoop of ice cream won't make any difference in the size of my hips" or "sure, my hair looks fine today" but nothing big, nothing that would create any conflicts for anyone else.

Other people create my problems. Or, scratch that, I should say, other people make their problems my problems. Is it my fault that the IT manager "counted on" having his paycheck this weekend when he knows for a fact I don't give out checks til 4 on Friday? We give out checks at 4 to keep people from leaving work to deposit them, which is exactly what he wanted to do. So after I told him no, he emailed the boss, who then called me to ask about it. Meanwhile the IT guy is walking out the door, looking all downtrodden and angry, saying he's "going to work from home for a while." Well how nice for him. Me, I'll be here, working, at the office, instead of at home on my couch with my dog. No vacations had since December, while he's recently had two weeks off. So the boss is not happy now, I'm not happy now, and he's certainly not happy, and will be even less happy after the boss gets done with him for making the two of us unhappy.

I, in turn, yelled at my husband when he called, thus making my problem his problem. Oh, it was just bad timing-- the IT guy had just stormed out, my boss had just hung up, and I got a sales call that I had to take, all at the moment my cell rang. And rang again. So I put the sales call on hold, picked up my husband's second call with a prompt and bitchy "Yes?" to which he sullenly replied, "I was just calling to see if you wanted lunch." I hurriedly apologized and hung up, but he won't pick up the phone now that I've calmed down and am trying to call him back. I suppose I'll be making brownies or something tonight as a olive branch.

And now one of the trainers has just asked me why he can't have his check until 4. What is this, mutiny day? At least he was just curious about it. Probably because he heard the bitching earlier.

I'm so glad it's Friday. I wish I had a five day weekend to recover from this five day hell week.

Grateful Thursday

1) My ENT appointment today was enlightening. I know for a fact I do not have sinusitis. They did a CT of my sinuses to see if they were full, but there's hardly anything in there other than air. (Insert joke here.) So the doctor, fretting a bit as he thought he'd have an answer from the CT, said his next step would be to put me on a good three weeks of antihistamines to test if it's allergies I'm having. If I haven't improved, he's sending me onto a neurologist, but if I have, he'll send me to an allergy specialist. So let's hope it's just simple allergies...

2) The good relationship I have with my boss. I had a string of bad bosses after I moved back from London-- first the controlling interior designer who thought of me more as an idiotic furniture-lugging mule than a Masters-degree-holding woman with a good eye for color. I lasted a month before I headed for the hills. Then the slave-driving perfectionist veterinarian who would write me up for every single "mistake" like I was a 5th grader and let passive-aggressive comments slide through her lips with every breath. And she wondered why she couldn't find "a good receptionist." She has a continual ad in the classifieds. Then there was the last, the antiques mall owner, my favorite. She was just plain dumb, as was her husband. Sweet, but clueless, bumbling around the store humming to herself, no idea financially where her business was going, unaware that she was losing money, seeping out the way the hot air seeped underneath that front door in winter. I tried to buy the store from her, having seen her books and that she couldn't stay afloat for much longer but also seeing all the money-making possibilities. She considered but in the end took out a loan, which she then squandered on painting the ceiling I hear. Dumb. My current boss is a shrewd business man and complete sweetheart, and we chat like old buddies. He trusts me with important things, sees my worth, and is going to pay me handsomely eventually. But it's mostly the friendship and trust for which I'm thankful.

3) My husband was cooking when I got home last night-- pasta primavera with french bread and a sweet chardonnay. Later we had vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup, took the dog for a stroll, and watched a fun movie on tv named Stardust. It was a peaceful and happy night.

4) The smell of fresh cut grass, and my persistent portulaca.

5) My husband's little brother. He's 11 years younger than my husband, about 6 younger than me. He lives here so we see him often, and he's such a kind, soft spoken, friendly guy. I'm glad to have him in my family and very grateful that he counts me as a part of his now too. And it makes me so happy to see him and my husband together, reminds me what sibling love should be like. Now I have it too, in him, and in my sister-in-law as well.

fish?

Just thought I'd share this random photo with you, something I saw on the way home yesterday.

And I also had a random thought: I've had several new people begin following my blog lately, and while I'm happy to have readers, speak up! I share my life with you, share a little bit with me. Even just a "hi" so I know you're a real person. I don't think I'd ever delete a follower, but I do find it a little weird that there are people who know so much about me and I know nothing about them....

Off to lunch. No fish from the back of a pick up though, rest assured.

little things

I'm focusing on the little things lately. Little things like a nice, relaxing weekend. Like string cheese. Like a air conditioning, blooming agapanthus, and Bub's wet nose on my arm. 

The big things are hard and take too much of my attention and worry. 

I woke up with a headache again this morning. It's so disheartening to open your eyes to a new day only to be knocked over the head with a mallet. But I took an imitrex, laid back down for an hour, and I'm fine. The other neurologist I was going to see doesn't take my insurance, so that was a bust. But after a conversation with my dad and with my regular doctor, I've decided I need to rule out the most basic, like a sinus infection (maybe viral or fungi as the antibiotics I took a month ago didn't help), so I'm going to a local ENT Thursday. He's cheap as he accepts my insurance, and I only have to miss an hour or so of work. Little things. 

My fireplace is finally done. I need to take a picture and upload it. It's beautiful, and I catch myself staring at it. My grandfather would be proud of the DIYer I've become. Little fixes like that can really make a place sparkle. Next on the list? I don't know, maybe new steps for the deck. It's so hot, that may be a fall project. Fall will be here before we know it.

We changed emails servers at work over the weekend, and let me tell you, that's been a bitch and a half. I think most of the kinks have been worked out-- now all I have to do is learn the new system. It's funny how something so small can have such a large impact on life going as normal. The SBA finally came through with our loan, which is so nice. It's a little one, but enough to get us over this little hump we've encountered.

I feel like a kid, sitting here slurping up strings of mozzarella, sipping a Dr. Pepper, counting down the minutes to the end of work, like watching the second hand on one of those large, simple, commercial black and white clocks all classrooms have, thinking perhaps I just saw it tick backwards. Looking forward to another little thing: dinner with my husband on our deck-- marinated grilled tilapia, fresh and simple asparagus, and baked brown rice. 

blood red

Today is my older brother's birthday. I suppose I should call him. I don't want to. I have nothing to say and am not good at small talk. He's 30. Mostly I want to tell him that he should officially start acting like an adult now, no more calling my parents for money, no more excuses. He called on my birthday-- I couldn't answer and he left a message. Maybe I'll have that good fortune. I'm a terrible sister and a terrible person. Why is it so odd to me that one should be required to maintain contact with a person one doesn't at all like? Blood. What good is it?

The back of my neck is sunburned, pink like a just-ripe strawberry. We went out on a boat yesterday, and although I thought I was completely slathered in SPF 55, I missed the spot between my tank top and halter-style swimsuit tie at the back of my neck, leaving me with a crescent-shaped burn, like a Cheshire smile above my shoulder blades. Luckily once we got to our beach and I took off my tank top, my husband lotioned my back and prevented the burn from getting any worse than it did. But seeing what thirty or forty-five minutes of sun on that unprotected bit of skin can do, I'm very thankful for sunscreen.

Happy 4th

Grateful Thursday

1) My parents made it safely back from their trip. Their flight was delayed only about thirty minutes, but we still didn't make it to bed until 1 am. I'm glad to have them back. I just had lunch with them.

2) That my husband and I are both employed. I was thinking about this earlier, about how even though my husband doesn't really like his job, he is so thankful to have one, and I like his attitude. 

3) A three-day weekend and two days off with my husband. I get tomorrow off (although I'll probably be working from home, but at least I'll be at home), and my husband has Saturday and Sunday off. It will be so nice to have an actual weekend with him. Tomorrow night we're cooking out with friends, and Saturday we're going to the lake to cook out, float on a pontoon boat, and drink some cold beer. Later, fireworks. I still can't believe half the year is gone, but at least I'll have a good weekend to mark it.

4) Our new staff meeting schedule. As of yet, we haven't been having any kind of regular pow-wows which has led to some pretty poor communication. So I'm hopeful that these new weekly meetings will improve that and grateful that everyone else is excited about the idea too.

5) A break in the heat. Last week it was 98 with heat indexes of over 105. From the minute I stepped outside in the morning to the minute I turned up the a/c and turned on the fan at night, I was hot, sweltering hot. We had 11 straight days of temperatures like that. Usually it doesn't get that bad until late July and August. But the heat broke Monday and now we're back to a normal 87-93 range. Doesn't sound like much but it makes a huge difference. 

alive in dreams

Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? ~ Alfred Lord Tennyson

A random place and time just popped into my head, like my mind's eye was transported back in time while the rest of me stayed put in this leather desk chair, but just for a bittersweet moment. I was suddenly in the blue bedroom of my maternal grandparents' house, spending the night, one summer night, at least 15 years ago.

This happens occasionally. A smell, the look of an object, a word clucked, or the turn of a phrase, and my mind goes on a scavenger hunt, looking for clues to its familiarity. All the sudden I'll see a time and place long gone, usually somewhere I haven't thought of in a long, long time, or at least haven't thought of in that particular light. It's disarming and yet comforting.

Why that night this time? What's so special about that random night that it's been locked somewhere deep in my head until now? Something just happened (who knows what) that pulled it out of me. I remember the green light of that room at night, how it flooded through the lace-curtained windows from the street light outside, bounced off the tin-type photographs and cross-stitched pictures in their wooden frames, accentuated the curves of the carved Victorian furniture, and gave the room an eerie glow. I remember my grandfather softly snoring in the next room, me awake, uncomfortable in a bed not my own, and too excited about staying with them to sleep. I even remember being smaller, what it felt like to stretch out and not cover even half the length of the bed, what it was to have little hands and fingers and feet and toes.

I'm grateful for these moments, grateful that they're still a part of me. I suppose everything that I've ever experienced is locked up somewhere in here. Oh to be one of those people that never forgets! I would replay conversations with my grandfather over and over, listen to his voice, look at his face, and feel loved again as only he could love me. Why do I not capture these things while people are still alive? I knew he was dying, but I didn't force myself to ask the questions I wish I had asked, and I didn't make myself remember more.

The other night in a dream, I was swinging lazily on the swing set he built for me and my brothers in his backyard when I was a child, feeling a spring breeze, watching his enemies, the squirrels, chew on his walnuts, being at peace. I knew he was behind me on his large screen porch. Although I didn't see him, I knew. I want to return there every night, at least for a moment, in a dream. I visit lots of places, seemingly random-- our London flat, a childhood bedroom, a friend's backyard-- both in waking and sleeping dreams, but if I had a choice, I'd be there with him, before life became life.