It is a delicately lovely sunny Sunday, still cool at two in the afternoon, even with a golden sun shining down. I am trying to talk myself out of a nap, and into a trip to the library. Don't know yet which of me will win.
I had a massage this morning over at the Farmer's Market -- two hours ago -- and I have been trying earnestly to convince myself ever since that I am NOT DRUNK. Not drunk and not stoned, because my head and body are trying hard to believe that I am. I guess it is a result of all the resultant endorphins that are created during a massage, which probably tickle up the same parts of one's brain. In any case, I am feeling good. Might have to take that nap, though...
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Step Three in Rugs
Last night I stayed up until midnight so that my next post would be on its own, not connected to the one before, and I made it, and then COMPLETELY forgot what I had been intending to write about. All I could think of was Gordon's gin, and how interesting that was, and how good it tasted. Wrote a couple of paragraphs about it as I was waiting for whatever it was to come back to me, but it did not, and I finally went to bed.
This morning, however, I got out of bed and walked out into the kitchen to put the water on for coffee, and as soon as I stepped into the hall, I remembered. Why yes! Step Three of the Great Rug Project has been completed! I have found and purchased the hallway runner!
Now, it is not perfect -- not my imaginary rug, which was going to be shades of brown and blue, and a minimum of ten feet long, and not more than two feet wide. This one is shades of brown and red -- sort of a deeper, darker maroon red, with a patterned edge. And it is shorter -- maybe eight feet, and wider -- maybe two and a half feet.
But it triumphs all OVER the place in one regard, and that is the price! I paid five dollars for it at the Silly Army! Cheapest yet! So very cheap, that if the perfect hallway runner should ever turn up, I will not hesitate to buy it, since five extra dollars is nothing! I am very happy with this one, however, and smile every time I set my foot on it, or even think of it!
Excelsior!
This morning, however, I got out of bed and walked out into the kitchen to put the water on for coffee, and as soon as I stepped into the hall, I remembered. Why yes! Step Three of the Great Rug Project has been completed! I have found and purchased the hallway runner!
Now, it is not perfect -- not my imaginary rug, which was going to be shades of brown and blue, and a minimum of ten feet long, and not more than two feet wide. This one is shades of brown and red -- sort of a deeper, darker maroon red, with a patterned edge. And it is shorter -- maybe eight feet, and wider -- maybe two and a half feet.
But it triumphs all OVER the place in one regard, and that is the price! I paid five dollars for it at the Silly Army! Cheapest yet! So very cheap, that if the perfect hallway runner should ever turn up, I will not hesitate to buy it, since five extra dollars is nothing! I am very happy with this one, however, and smile every time I set my foot on it, or even think of it!
Excelsior!
Friday, August 5, 2011
Walkies
Mischief managed again this morning! Well, not mischief exactly -- but I got up at six and went for a walk around town, got some coffee, and got home half an hour later. So half an hour of steady walking -- that's good, right? Right, indeed. I will never be a thin person bursting with energy -- all my life, I have never been that -- but I can and will be a healthy middle-aged woman, not a heart-attack-victim-in-waiting.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
What I Did On My Summer Vacation
It's the third day of August, and I am back in the office after a week of vacation. I have piles, PILES of work to catch up on. Piles. Three large ones! But I am finding it hard to settle down and trudge on through. So I am taking a few minutes to think about this past week, and remember its gloriousness, in hopes that when I am done I can sigh briefly and turn to.
My beloved sister Ruth arrived on Saturday morning at the train station, which I still think is one of the greatest buildings in the city, in spite of its modernization. I did not recognize her for a moment, and she also looked right past me, even though we were both looking eagerly about for one another. In my case, it's because I am so much fatter than when she saw me last, and have cut off my hair. In her case, it must have been because I'm unobservant, cuz she certainly looks just like herself. I took her home to my sweet little apartment and was very gratified to find that she likes it almost as much as I do, and was walking around exclaiming in a very heart-warming way. Especially liked the deck, which was surrounded by fluffy green leafy branches and very pleasant to sit on in the warm afternoon. We drank lemonade and ate sour-cream-blueberry coffee cake and talked and talked. The next day, Sunday, we had breakfast at Sully's, outside on the sidewalk, which was also very pleasant and enjoyable. Then walked over to the Farmer's Market, where Ruthie got a chair massage and I bought some marionberries to make a pie for the trip to Ocean Park. Cousin Mickey came over and spent the afternoon making us laugh. Thai food finished off the day. I was very full when I trundled off to bed, or to couch, for accuracy's sake.
The drive up there was the shortest yet -- I was still looking for the third mountain range when we came down the slope into Astoria -- surprise! Nice to have someone in the car who isn't driving, so she can tell you what things say, sing along with the music in harmony, and respond to your remarks. We got to Ocean Park about fifteen minutes early and did a little shopping at Jack's to give Mom and Dad time to brush their teeth and comb their hair. They were very happy to see us, especially Ruthie, as they see me every month. (Of course they like me best, though.)
We went to the beach that afternoon, and I signally overdid it on the walk, which is still having its effect on me, a week later. I strained my calves in walking through dry sand, always a bete noir of mine, and my back somehow as well. Too bad, because that kept me from being able to be very active the whole week. My calves are still sore enough to make me groan when I stand up, and I can't turn my head all the way to the left. Unfortunate! I had been planning on this week meeting all my exercise needs for the whole year! I was still very able to enjoy talking with Ruthie at night (we shared a room) and eating meals with my parents and with Ruth's husband Tom and son Sam who drove up on Thursday. I made three pies while I was up there, and directed Sam through one as well. On our last night there, Dad and Sam made Sidewalk Tacos, which were absolutely delicious and I ate three. Sam is sixteen now, and is six foot two. The tallest person in the room!
I read many of my mother's collection of paperbacks, drank lots of tea, ate the best pie in the state, watched a couple of movies with the gang and talked and talked and talked. To everyone, but mostly to my sister Ruthie, who is my best and dearest friend. It was very restful. I got pink and freckly and my hair is a shade lighter than it was when I went up there. Only one day was rainy, though several were overcast, but for the most part it was sunny and bright, but not hot. SO perfect!
And now -- I turn with a tiny stifled sigh to the first of these large piles of paperwork.
My beloved sister Ruth arrived on Saturday morning at the train station, which I still think is one of the greatest buildings in the city, in spite of its modernization. I did not recognize her for a moment, and she also looked right past me, even though we were both looking eagerly about for one another. In my case, it's because I am so much fatter than when she saw me last, and have cut off my hair. In her case, it must have been because I'm unobservant, cuz she certainly looks just like herself. I took her home to my sweet little apartment and was very gratified to find that she likes it almost as much as I do, and was walking around exclaiming in a very heart-warming way. Especially liked the deck, which was surrounded by fluffy green leafy branches and very pleasant to sit on in the warm afternoon. We drank lemonade and ate sour-cream-blueberry coffee cake and talked and talked. The next day, Sunday, we had breakfast at Sully's, outside on the sidewalk, which was also very pleasant and enjoyable. Then walked over to the Farmer's Market, where Ruthie got a chair massage and I bought some marionberries to make a pie for the trip to Ocean Park. Cousin Mickey came over and spent the afternoon making us laugh. Thai food finished off the day. I was very full when I trundled off to bed, or to couch, for accuracy's sake.
The drive up there was the shortest yet -- I was still looking for the third mountain range when we came down the slope into Astoria -- surprise! Nice to have someone in the car who isn't driving, so she can tell you what things say, sing along with the music in harmony, and respond to your remarks. We got to Ocean Park about fifteen minutes early and did a little shopping at Jack's to give Mom and Dad time to brush their teeth and comb their hair. They were very happy to see us, especially Ruthie, as they see me every month. (Of course they like me best, though.)
We went to the beach that afternoon, and I signally overdid it on the walk, which is still having its effect on me, a week later. I strained my calves in walking through dry sand, always a bete noir of mine, and my back somehow as well. Too bad, because that kept me from being able to be very active the whole week. My calves are still sore enough to make me groan when I stand up, and I can't turn my head all the way to the left. Unfortunate! I had been planning on this week meeting all my exercise needs for the whole year! I was still very able to enjoy talking with Ruthie at night (we shared a room) and eating meals with my parents and with Ruth's husband Tom and son Sam who drove up on Thursday. I made three pies while I was up there, and directed Sam through one as well. On our last night there, Dad and Sam made Sidewalk Tacos, which were absolutely delicious and I ate three. Sam is sixteen now, and is six foot two. The tallest person in the room!
I read many of my mother's collection of paperbacks, drank lots of tea, ate the best pie in the state, watched a couple of movies with the gang and talked and talked and talked. To everyone, but mostly to my sister Ruthie, who is my best and dearest friend. It was very restful. I got pink and freckly and my hair is a shade lighter than it was when I went up there. Only one day was rainy, though several were overcast, but for the most part it was sunny and bright, but not hot. SO perfect!
And now -- I turn with a tiny stifled sigh to the first of these large piles of paperwork.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
I'll exercise you
Ohh, dear, the Plan for Today has resulted in me being in fairly serious pain. Ow ow ow. Really truly pain, too, though not as bad right now as it is pretty darn certain to be tomorrow. Oh, I dread getting up so much that I almost don't want to go to bed. Stiff, sore, creaking and aching. So many of my muscle groups are stiff and hardened and Painful. And all from working on cleaning up the house! And not working hard, either, not lifting extremely heavy (just mildly heavy) things, not rushing around, just plodding along. And lots of resting! But I guess when you are as out of shape as I am, this is what you get for any sustained exercise. I wish I could wish this feeling onto anyone who tells me with cheerful idiocy that I just need to get some regular exercise. I'll exercise you.
The Plan for Today
The clock has just struck noon (struck? I do not have a striking clock anymore -- which is where that expression comes from. My birdsong-playing clock has just Baltimore-Orioled noon, is what I actually mean. The bird pictured at noon is a Great Horned Owl, but somehow this clock skips one bird a day, and always ends up, twelve hours after being reset, with the Baltimore Oriole at noon. Anyway, moving on.) just indicated noon, and I am very happily enjoying the rain.
It is RAINING. Straight downward, in geometrically straight lines that are slicing down through the air like a scimitar blade, if scimitars were only straight and not beautifully curved like they are. I could say "sword blade", of course, but "scimitar" is just one of my favorite words, and goes so much better with the word "blade". I think because "sword" only has one syllable, like "blade".
In any case, I have just returned to the house from the deck, where I was sitting out in this gorgeous (scimitar) rain, reading the Sunday Oregonian and drinking Bay Bridge Merlot, which I bought in a small bottle, only slightly larger than a beer bottle, for two dollars. Costs a lot more than a beer bottle would, though, but then I never drink beer, (bottled or otherwise) so the point is really moot. I've only taken two sips so far, so the bottle is still a little too heavy to drink comfortably from, but it feels quite delightful to have it right in my hand like this. I feel like a wino. Or like a rough sleeper, or whatever we call those who sleep out of doors because of their addiction to alcohol, when being careful not to hurt anyone's feelings. Not the alcoholic homeless' feelings, either, but usually some completely separate person, who has never had either an addiction to alcohol or the need to sleep under a bridge. PC, that's what it is.
I had breakfast, this lovely morning, at Sully's, in spite of the torrents of air-slicing (scimitar) rain, and enjoyed it no end. The coffee was not quite up to their usual, and my first few sips disappointed me sadly, but then I grew accustomed to its perfection-lacking, and enjoyed it at the level it was. Which was pretty darn good, and still better than Starbucks or, in fact, anybody's. I was reading a book which so far (only 73 pages into it) seems excellent, and I may be noting it down later as one of my Approved books. Does that sound suitably pompous? Perhaps Approved for Humanity -- better? Called "The Magicians." By Lev Grossman.
In any case, the food was excellent, as always, the service was attentive, and I really enjoyed my plateful of multi-colored toast and apple butter while listening to the conversations of those around me. One gentleman, a fire-fighter (possibly retired) started three sentences with the words "When I was a little kid in Miami" which I enjoyed, but the most wonderful part was a plump, balding, middle-aged man sitting with two women, one of whom was his mother or aunt (that age, anyway) and the other of whom was his sister or wife (also the right age, and mildly affectionate). He was telling the two of them some story about someone buying books, in the past, books which are currently highly valued because they are old editions. Hold that thought. But you know, money was harder to come by, then, and a little bit of money went a long way by today's standards. He understood that, too. Where he went wrong was in speculating in awe about how hard it was for "them" (didn't catch who he was talking about) to buy these old, valuable books -- "some of 'em were even first editions!" -- with their little bits of money, at the prices these valuable books would command -- today. He didn't think far enough to get that the prices would have changed, too, that "old books" are valuable because of their age, which requires the buyer to buy them after that. Not back when they were new, and just basic books. Delightful to hear this.
So, the plan for this afternoon and evening is to make a shopping list for later in the week, complete the task of sorting, ironing and putting appropriately away all the laundry in my room (about three-quarters done), vacuum the house, and possibly clean off and polish the low dresser in my bedroom. And, otherwise, eat and drink tea and rest and read and go to bed early. That is the plan for today.
It is RAINING. Straight downward, in geometrically straight lines that are slicing down through the air like a scimitar blade, if scimitars were only straight and not beautifully curved like they are. I could say "sword blade", of course, but "scimitar" is just one of my favorite words, and goes so much better with the word "blade". I think because "sword" only has one syllable, like "blade".
In any case, I have just returned to the house from the deck, where I was sitting out in this gorgeous (scimitar) rain, reading the Sunday Oregonian and drinking Bay Bridge Merlot, which I bought in a small bottle, only slightly larger than a beer bottle, for two dollars. Costs a lot more than a beer bottle would, though, but then I never drink beer, (bottled or otherwise) so the point is really moot. I've only taken two sips so far, so the bottle is still a little too heavy to drink comfortably from, but it feels quite delightful to have it right in my hand like this. I feel like a wino. Or like a rough sleeper, or whatever we call those who sleep out of doors because of their addiction to alcohol, when being careful not to hurt anyone's feelings. Not the alcoholic homeless' feelings, either, but usually some completely separate person, who has never had either an addiction to alcohol or the need to sleep under a bridge. PC, that's what it is.
I had breakfast, this lovely morning, at Sully's, in spite of the torrents of air-slicing (scimitar) rain, and enjoyed it no end. The coffee was not quite up to their usual, and my first few sips disappointed me sadly, but then I grew accustomed to its perfection-lacking, and enjoyed it at the level it was. Which was pretty darn good, and still better than Starbucks or, in fact, anybody's. I was reading a book which so far (only 73 pages into it) seems excellent, and I may be noting it down later as one of my Approved books. Does that sound suitably pompous? Perhaps Approved for Humanity -- better? Called "The Magicians." By Lev Grossman.
In any case, the food was excellent, as always, the service was attentive, and I really enjoyed my plateful of multi-colored toast and apple butter while listening to the conversations of those around me. One gentleman, a fire-fighter (possibly retired) started three sentences with the words "When I was a little kid in Miami" which I enjoyed, but the most wonderful part was a plump, balding, middle-aged man sitting with two women, one of whom was his mother or aunt (that age, anyway) and the other of whom was his sister or wife (also the right age, and mildly affectionate). He was telling the two of them some story about someone buying books, in the past, books which are currently highly valued because they are old editions. Hold that thought. But you know, money was harder to come by, then, and a little bit of money went a long way by today's standards. He understood that, too. Where he went wrong was in speculating in awe about how hard it was for "them" (didn't catch who he was talking about) to buy these old, valuable books -- "some of 'em were even first editions!" -- with their little bits of money, at the prices these valuable books would command -- today. He didn't think far enough to get that the prices would have changed, too, that "old books" are valuable because of their age, which requires the buyer to buy them after that. Not back when they were new, and just basic books. Delightful to hear this.
So, the plan for this afternoon and evening is to make a shopping list for later in the week, complete the task of sorting, ironing and putting appropriately away all the laundry in my room (about three-quarters done), vacuum the house, and possibly clean off and polish the low dresser in my bedroom. And, otherwise, eat and drink tea and rest and read and go to bed early. That is the plan for today.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Don't know what I want
Someone in this neighborhood is frying ham.
It's quarter past eight in the morning, and the air is quite still of any human noises -- although I did hear a car start up and drive away, somewhere, a while back. But I got up at seven when my phone rang, and no one else has opened any doors, started their showers or called to their children since.
But someone IS frying ham. Mmm, gorgeous smell. Almost makes me change my mind -- again -- and walk over to Sully's for a hot breakfast. Although, as I consider it, the taste of frying ham is not nearly, nearly as good as the smell, which is absolutely magical. My knees got weak before I had even identified it, and saliva ran rapidly into my mouth. Which is a thing that never happens to me, so there you are.
See, my plan for the morning was to get up when the alarm went off at six, shower, and walk over to Sully's in the pleasant warm sunny morning, and eat a lovely breakfast, cooked for me and brought to me on a plate while I sat at a corner table and sipped their prize-worthy coffee and read my book and looked about me. But then I couldn't fall asleep last night, or even get comfortable, and listened to the Book on Tape for an hour before the CD came to a stop, and even then it still took me a while. Don't know how long, I stopped looking at the clock, but kept my eyes closed until the magic happened. So, then I didn't want to get up this morning, and kept hitting the snooze button. Until the phone rang.
And when I looked out the window and saw that not only had it rained in the night, it was still raining, gently, softly, desultorily -- and I did not feel like a rainy walk was quite what I wanted. So here I sit, having finished my own coffee, my shower, and the scrub-down I felt compelled to give to the deck railings while I was out there this morning -- and I don't know quite WHAT I want.
It's quarter past eight in the morning, and the air is quite still of any human noises -- although I did hear a car start up and drive away, somewhere, a while back. But I got up at seven when my phone rang, and no one else has opened any doors, started their showers or called to their children since.
But someone IS frying ham. Mmm, gorgeous smell. Almost makes me change my mind -- again -- and walk over to Sully's for a hot breakfast. Although, as I consider it, the taste of frying ham is not nearly, nearly as good as the smell, which is absolutely magical. My knees got weak before I had even identified it, and saliva ran rapidly into my mouth. Which is a thing that never happens to me, so there you are.
See, my plan for the morning was to get up when the alarm went off at six, shower, and walk over to Sully's in the pleasant warm sunny morning, and eat a lovely breakfast, cooked for me and brought to me on a plate while I sat at a corner table and sipped their prize-worthy coffee and read my book and looked about me. But then I couldn't fall asleep last night, or even get comfortable, and listened to the Book on Tape for an hour before the CD came to a stop, and even then it still took me a while. Don't know how long, I stopped looking at the clock, but kept my eyes closed until the magic happened. So, then I didn't want to get up this morning, and kept hitting the snooze button. Until the phone rang.
And when I looked out the window and saw that not only had it rained in the night, it was still raining, gently, softly, desultorily -- and I did not feel like a rainy walk was quite what I wanted. So here I sit, having finished my own coffee, my shower, and the scrub-down I felt compelled to give to the deck railings while I was out there this morning -- and I don't know quite WHAT I want.
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