Basket Case

I'm not all that into whodunits as a reading genre, but I am hooked on Carl Hiassen. He's funny and quirky and aside from that, an absolutely terrific storyteller. In his novel, Basket Case, we meet our protagonist Jack Tagger. He used to be, as described in the plot synopsis on the book jacket, a hotshot investigative reporter. Due to his own unfortunate doing, he has been busted to writing obituaries for the newspaper. He is not happy about this turn of events. And he has become obsessed with the ages at which people die, constantly comparing their abbreviated longevity to his current age. He constantly calculates his relative age and state of health to that of his obit occupants. It could be an interesting and enlightening task to sum up the lives of those who have passed, but Jack is engaged in the dark side. His own mother won't tell him how old his father was when he died. She fears he will read too much into that information. And she's right. Jack is also a little too attentive to noticing the color and style in which his very attractive and female boss has painted her toenails. Which has nothing to do with what's on my brain this evening. A week or so ago, I felt a rather uncomfortable kinship with Mr. Tagger while anticipating the second anniversary of my brother's death. Scott was ten days shy of two years older than me. Which means that yesterday was the day when I was precisely the same age as my older brother was when he died. Logically I know that there's no cause and effect here, but just the same I heaved a sigh of relief last night when I looked at the clock and it was past midnight. I was still breathing! I still had a pulse! It's a strange feeling to attain a greater age than an older sibling. I remember as a child how delighted I was to inform him during the ten days between my birthday and his that he was a mere single year older than me. So there! Thereby somehow diminishing his superiority of rank as firstborn. Or something. And today I am one day older than he ever was. And I'm happy to be here, even on days like today when I feel myself slipping into a bit of a funk. I fully intend to live to be at least a hundred years old. Like Sandy said today, she does, too. Otherwise she won't have had near enough time to annoy the select people on her list. I concur. And the Subaru doesn't have even close to a million miles on the odometer. Yet.

Crosswords

Not the arguing, swearing, mean-spirited kind. The puzzle kind. My morning newspaper contains two of them. One is called the Commuter, one is titled the Daily. Sometimes I do just one, sometimes I complete them both. One or the other at times seems more difficult, bordering on the exasperating where I run to consult Google or my dictionary. I find doing the crossword a pleasant diversion, particularly the Sunday puzzle. There is only one crossword on Sunday, but it is a larger, themed one that I really enjoy. I work the crosswords with abandon and in ink. Lately, I've been a little obsessed (can one ever be just a little obsessed?) with completing the entire puzzle correctly, no smudges, no errors, no oopsies. Feeling somehow like the the daily crossword is a tiny little metaphor for my life. That if both of them are neatly and correctly completed, that some little part of my life will fall completely and correctly into place. Hah! This afternoon I had a greater revelation as I struggled with one of the puzzles, nearly wearing through the newsprint with blotchy, ink-smeared corrections. I eventually finished both of them and beamed over my hard fought battle with the clues. This, I thought, is much more like my life. Messy. Doing it over til I get it right. A smorgasbord of Duh! and, of course! and, I get it! A path sprinkled with fun, frustration, and often and finally, fulfillment. A more cautious soul would use a pencil.

Up the River

It's official. A guy I used to keep company with is now a convicted felon. I read it in the newspaper so it must be true! True, I haven't laid eyes (or any other body part) on the fellow for over twenty years, and the time of our involvement was 25 years ago. But some names stick in your memory for better or for worse. We had a long distance relationship, he lived in Pierre at the time, so most of the time we spent together was on the phone, often late at night when he got off work. I find it ironic that when we were seeing each other he was a bartender and part of his job was to determine if a bar patron was too intoxicated to be served another drink. He was just convicted of felony (third offense) DUI. What he used to be responsible to decide for others he apparently wasn't so good at on a personal level. At least three times, assuming that on average a person who habitually drives drunk doesn't get caught every single time. Another interesting tidbit from the listing in the paper is that he only lives a few blocks away from me. And the last time I remember bumping into him was at our local K Mart when I was pregnant with my elder son. All I really remember about him is that he was an absolutely fabulous kisser. On a boyfriend scale of one to ten, I would say he rated approximately a two. Hey, great kissing accounts for a lot! Which makes me wonder if I will indeed cross paths with J any time soon. Which makes me wonder if J is a fabulous kisser, and if he will get the opportunity to prove it to me. Unless he recently was sent to the slammer. Which would actually be a pretty good reason for not calling.

Pink Flamingo Tour

Yes, indeed, my love of most all things pink extends to pink flamingos! I saw some real ones in a zoo once but I only have metal ones in my yard. I do not believe flamingos would acclimate to South Dakota winters.


This is my newest flamingo, he has begonias sprouting up from his back. He sits on the little deck in front of the garden shed.



I think these are a mom, dad, and child flamingo family. The tags just said small, medium and large.



I expect this grouping shall expand over the years as I find interesting ones just slightly different from these. They are in the front yard year round. It was fun last winter to see them peeking over the snow drifted up in front of them. I suppose I could have had my son snap a photo of me wearing my pink flamingo earrings. But I didn't think they qualified as yard decorations. Maybe I need to create a pink flamingo costume!

One More Day

I heard a song today that I hadn't heard for a long time. It was funny how I recognized it from the opening chords since it was only my second time hearing it. The first hearing of Diamond Rio's, One More Day, remains so clear in my memory that I got a little chill this afternoon. I refer to this phenomenon as the Musical Emotional Moment, or MEM for short. An emotional reaction to a familiar song, or maybe one that isn't so familiar but speaks so clearly to what you are feeling at the moment, that you form something of a connection to the music. It doesn't even have to be a song that you like, just one that recalls a memory, and sometimes sticks in your head and drives you to distraction. Good or bad, a song becomes cemented into the soundtrack of your life, seemingly without a conscious choice on your part. Three years ago, some time during my summer of heartbreak, I was wandering through the grocery store without a list. I had recently been dumped by the man that I truly loved and was doing my best to begin the process of healing after such a painful event. I was in the bread and soft drink aisle when One More Day played over the PA. I stared blankly at the shelf full of bread and bagels as I listened, gripping the cart and feeling light-headed as the tears burned behind my eyelids. The chorus in particular got to me...

one more day, one more time,
one more sunset, maybe I'd be satisfied,
but then again I know what it would do,
leave me wishing still for one more day with you

When it popped on the radio this afternoon, I was in the midst of doing seed counts for the multi-species lab. Tomatoes, zinnias, marigolds. Part of my brain was engaged in counting out 100 seed reps but the rest of the active gray matter yanked me right back to three years ago. When, against all good reason, all I wanted was one more day with the lover who had abandoned me, knowing that just one more day would never satisfy. While I have accepted that I may never have a full sense of closure over what happened and why to end our relationship, I do realize one thing. That I am mostly healed from that devastating period of my life. And I wonder where I'll be and what I'll be doing next time I hear One More Day.

Be Vewy, Vewy Quiet!!

In the wee hours of last Sunday morning,
I was preoccupied with two things as I entered the house. First, out of courtesy, I thought I should be quiet. Second, I violated my first intention with a resounding exsufflate of disgust at the wall of stink that I encountered once inside. What I had cleaned out of the refrigerator a few hours earlier had ripened into an unmatched nasty aroma of true epic proportions. Treading with trepidation toward the kitchen trash receptacle, I removed the offending bag of filth and stench, tied it off, and was out the door to deposit the vile thing into the trash. As I approached the back door for the second time in as many minutes, I once again considered the lateness of the hour and that I should make a greater effort this time to be quiet. Although, if I had not awakened the 16yo with my earlier garbage bag scuffling, I really didn't have to worry. Somewhere between passing the corner of the dining room table and gaining entry to my boudoir, I was easing the bracelet off of my left wrist. To my surprise, the stretchy suddenly gave way to the racket of beads and charms skittering across the laminate floor. Which caught the attention of Newton and Einstein. Who proceeded to chase the beads around the floor with an apparent degree of interest and delight. Much later that day while I was drifting east, I tracked down as many beads as I could find and considered reconstructing the bracelet. At the same time, I was quite amazed that it had held together for the duration of the street dance. Had the bracelet broken there, I certainly would never have been able to track down all of the parts. I didn't have much better luck in the house, I found all of the charms but was missing several of the jet black faceted beads. Hmm. I really like this bracelet! Then I remembered that I had a plain black beaded bracelet. And what I really liked about the broken one was the cute dangly charms. Armed with jewelry pliers, I attached the charms to the other bracelet. From this little life episode I have learned two things. That the 16yo could sleep through robbers stealing the entire main floor of the house. And that often what you need is close at hand, you just have to pay attention. Oh, and three, when you clean nasty things out of the fridge, they quickly accelerate in a downward spiral into nastier things, and so should be immediately, if not sooner, removed from the house.

Here & Gone

Why do I have to wait until August 12th to buy it!?!?!?