flip-flopping

I am obsessed lately with gardening. I look forward with eager anticipation to the time each evening when I can go outside, inspect my plants, and sprinkle them with life-giving water. I consider each young seedling a credit to my excellent planting and watering abilities, and I treat each infiltrating weed (mostly morning glory) as a nemesis as vile as any fought by governments or superheroes.

That being said, I resent the rainstorms. They deprive me of my precious outside time and my growth scrutiny is diminished by the mud and general ickiness following a rainstorm. Also, the dogs get ridiculously messy.

I used to adore the rain, I would anxiously look forward to every slight possibility of rain. I guess I still do appreciate the 20 degree temperature drop. Tastes change; perhaps next week I will be raving on about how rainstorms have made my life livable and how much I'm sick of weeding.

Blogitis

Bob recently told me about an article he read about the growing number of people having emotional breakdowns and psychological issues because of the pressure of updating their blog regularly. I can't say that I have this problem, but the Bitches do....

Instead, I would diagnose myself with another problem. I think about blogging too much; or writing anyways. Whenever anything happens to me, big or small, my mind immediately starts writing about it. Later, in front of the computer, I try to conjure up the imagery and the beautiful things I had intended to write, but by then it is gone. Anything I write seems pale and insignificant compared to the beautiful, now-ethereal, prose of my mind. So in some ways, my writing is a continual disappointment.

And yet, I know that it is better for me to write this here and now then to write nothing at all. At least this way, I will have a legacy. You can read this and remember me when I'm away for a moment, a month, a lifetime, or for good.

list o' cheer

Ten Things that Made Me Chuckle This Week
(In no particular order.)

1. My friend's 18-month-old putting Maggie's food dish on his head and declaring, "Hat!" (Later, he tried to lick said dish.)

2. The non-lyrics to Benny and the Jets (courtesy of 27 Dresses).

3. Maggie walking straight into a van.

4. Nicknaming those who don't want to be nicknamed. (e.g. Mimi & Kiki)

5. Secret by The Pierces. (Music video here --> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d-2k0qaWCgU I couldn't get it to embed...)

6. Gay Gossip.

7. Our group's Office-Quote-A-Day calendar.

8. BTFABBQ[HQN2Niner] Fiesta Cinqo de Mayo planning.

9. "I don't make pies, I make women melt." (Mateo on being asked to join the pie club solely based on his watching of Iron Chef and having a Y-chromosome.)

10. 30 Rock. This made me chuckle so much, I insist upon re-telling each episode in detail to Bob. Needless to say, he is less than amused.

three rooms

Today I walked through the now-empty childhood rooms of sisters. The blond one, the brown one, the red one; all three are gone from the house, presumably for good.

There was once a day when all three lived with motherbrotherfather in a house full of hustle and bustle. The house is full of silence now. The sisters taught, teased, tortured, tantrumed, terrorized, tricked, and treated.

"Stop playing the piano!"
"I didn't tell you you could borrow my shirt!"
"Do you want to play Utah-in-a-Box?"
"Did you kiss him?"

These sisters' voices still echo through the now empty rooms, melancholy with the abandonment, but hopeful for the retained memories. The rooms contain smells, forgotten notes, discarded clothes, fading pictures, unwanted wedding presents, dress-up clothes, a collection of make-up, gifts too nice to carry around, a guitar, a set of golf clubs. These rooms are full of things, evidence of the vibrant and beautiful girls that once lived there; but the rooms seem empty without the girls.

Can a room feel?
If it could, these rooms would feel lonely.