Yesterday was awful, and now I have plenty to catch up on. I’m happiest when I’m working, I guess, but all the same…I’d like to layabout for a few more days and stuff my head full of fun things. Alas, administrivia and wordcount beckon.
On the bright side, I pulled a beautiful four-shot this morning, and here it is for your delectation. It smelled great, and cut with a little cream, tasted even better. And one of the kids loaded the dishwasher already, so that’s one less thing I have to do. Such little things–a cup of coffee, a dog’s nosing at one’s hand, finding the dishwasher already loaded–make life bearable. When I look to find what makes life worth continuing, it’s the tiny graces that end up outweighing all else.
I wish you a day full of small, beautiful things, my friends.
Sometimes, Khan doesn’t want to be tucked in for his daily rest. Instead, he half-naps outside the covers, keeping a watchful eye and enjoying the air. I don’t mind, for I know a bear is a wild thing at heart, but sometimes he mutters about needing to be on guard during the daytime, and I get concerned.
He tells me not to worry, for he is a bear of much strength and canniness, as evidenced by his many mighty feats during the Nightmare Skirmishes. He is a bear of much tenderness, too, and doesn’t wish me to be concerned. Perhaps he does just want some air, but there’s a warning glint in his dark eyes.
So on days he wishes to be outside the covers, I take extra care. I check the street an extra time before crossing, I reread thrice before I hit “send”, I drink plenty of water and try to be as gentle with myself as I am with my loved ones. And when I crawl into bed at the end of the day and Miss B hops up to settle herself for the night journey, I hug Khan and thank him.
What for? his eyes say, and I settle him in his usual spot.
“For caring,” I say, and open the book I’m currently reading.
It’s good to care, and to be cared for.
Sometimes, you come around a corner at Cost Plus and see the absolute perfect gift for the person you’re going to see later that day, and you do a little dance in the aisle and almost knock over a display of champagne bottles, compose yourself, and snatch the box up with the aplomb of a pirate claiming her share of sweet sweet booty after the battle is done.
The only thing better is when you give the gift, and the recipient starts laughing in disbelief and sheer untrammeled glee.
Of such small things are friendships made.
The first rose of the season was one of the reds. That side of the house is fragrant now, and the peonies have started to open their shy buds. Even the calla lilies are getting in on the act, late this year but better than never.
I generally dislike summer, if only because of the heat and that giant burning nuclear reactor in the sky attempting to drown me in cancerous rays and sweat. But–impossible to deny it–some things about summer are nice.
The lilacs are mainly blooming on our neighbors’ side of the fence, since they’re southerly of us and the trees like sun, sun, sun. I found out they’re the lady’s favorite, so that’s fortunate. I like the white ones, but I think she prefers the purple ones, which means we can each have plenty.
It’s nice when something you planted delights someone else.
The funniest thing this past week has been Odd Trundles and the Fancy Harness. I decided taking forty-five minutes to walk him a half-block was not optimal, and went on a mad quest for a harness that would fit his barrel chest and tiny hips. Fortunately, I found something perfect–microfiber, padded points, adjustable for said barrel chest–at the pet store, brought it home…and he haaaaaates it.
He can no longer rage-sit to halt the whole walking process and demand coaxing, and it makes our walks–never fast, more of an amble, with a few rest breaks because he does have very short legs–just so much easier for everyone. An unexpected bonus is that he can’t wrap the leash around my legs anymore. I’m sure this is a component of his fury.
Anyway, here’s Odd Trundles, giving me the side-eye of shame. The green cloud is his Fancy Memory Foam Bed in my office, the one he is refusing to climb into because he is So Mad At Mum. You can just hear him grumbling “shame, shame on you, Mother,” in his stuffed-nose little voice.
Poor fellow. Life’s hard for a Trundles.
On Tuesday, the Grand Dishwasher Saga came to a close. And thank goodness, too, because Wednesday night I came down with the stomach flu the Princess caught from her best friend, who brought it back from college in Seattle.
Consequently, a lot of bowls needed to be washed, and now that I’m on the mend (shaky, back and head aching from dehydration, but not spewing) all the cups we’ve attempted to drink from need washing as well. And linens. Gastroenteritis is a messy business, and with the sudden violent onset of this particular virus, there were a lot of linens needing some soap and water.
Thank God the washing machine wasn’t out of commission. Things could have gotten dire.
Anyway, our complement of mod cons is now complete again. I’ve lost most of this working week, though, and I was already behind. Guess we all know what I’m doing this weekend.
That’s right. Loading the (functioning!) dishwasher. And writing.
Over and out.