We’re just back from the garden center, where we picked up seeds, seedlings, wire fencing and ferns. I’m giddy with oddly timed excitement. I mean, the reason we had a great time in the garden center – as opposed to a shitty, arguey, stabby-stabby time – is that it’s nighttime. Even the cashier seemed surprised to see us. At home again, we put nearly everything into the slipcover greenhouse for the night and put our feet up.
I’m not sure how to talk about this. Maybe you can help me find the words. I’m not disabled, but I have trouble getting around unless I don’t. Sometimes, I stand up and everything works fine, but most of the time, when I get out of the car or up from a chair, straightening up is going to take a minute and walking looks like I’ve never done it before. What are you gonna do? Anyway, I could barely walk in February so I took some time off from the food pantry. Today, I was walking into the family store and saw the food pantry’s administrator. She asked if I felt better. I was standing and walking, and considering myself lucky until that moment. So feeling pretty good made me a shitty human being. These are exciting problems!
Pete’s built a raised bed and raised it a second time. He’s fencing in open space about three feet all around it so I can sit on a stool and work in the bed. As we set this up, it is making me feel like I am about 80. Further, I am pretty sure the bed’s too low for me to comfortably work it. We’ll see. I can’t wait to plant broccoli. Tomorrow, we will lay out the grid and draw up a plan. The seed packets offer the promise of fragrant treasures. I’m not 100% sure my joints will allow it.
This is going to sound freaking unbelievable, but Pete and I just stumbled home from a PTO meeting, where we taught willing children and oblivious adults to separate garbage from compost while Disney movies blared at volumes that were no doubt turning our brains to Wheatena. I can barely lift an arm for my usual two-finger salute!
Johnny’s doing a greatest hits tour of our pop music lives. This whistle stop nearly caused me to swallow my tongue.
Having a bit of trouble with WordPress. This is where blogging is a tap-tap-tap test of my patience: I do not care a gold-plated whit for the technical aspects of programmers’ brilliant creations because they absolutely do not matter if I cannot post, dagnabbit! So after two days’ frustration, I’m back at the drawing board. Here, watch this silly video.
Last night, I was futzing around with a post and published it just to see if I was imagining that WordPress was rewriting my code. The phone rang and Miss Sasha sounded panicked.
Miss Sasha: It’s all letters and numbers!
Miss Sasha: Your blogpost! It’s all letters and numbers!
Tata: Not only that, but I haven’t figured out how to delete that! Wait, don’t you have small children, a husband and an indoor petting zoo to feed?
Miss Sasha: Sometimes, they feed each other. Whoops! I love you, bye!
She says, Whoops! I love you, bye! a lot lately. I don’t mind so long as she calls back later and says something like, Well, llamas spit. What’re you gonna do? because how can I argue that?
Today, Trout cleaned out her closets and brought me a big mess o’ yarn for the cat blanket project. That was nice, but what left me speechless was she also brought a DVD of an ambitious group performance piece from 1995 called Wrongs and Rites. Trout had a video tape. Her Significant Other converted it to the current format for me. Just this morning, I was saying to Minstrel Boy how I despise cowardice and this evening, the Universe called my bluff. Johnny:
This week, I bought a pair of Doc Martens for the motorcycle safety course. Did you know 1995 was 15 years ago?
Haven’t you been shouting “TUSK!” at your best friends for decades?
It’s a home movie, without the usual swearing.