Archive for the ‘Dear Saturday, come in’ Category

Donkey wisdom

September 28, 2012


The new girl started. The old girl is gone. The oldest girl remains.

I miss the old girl.

Now instead of rolling my eyes at her or making sarcastic comments in the copy room, I am reduced to dashing off scathing emails about what the new girl is doing with her boss/husband. Or what the new girl isn’t doing. Or the way the new girl sighs loudly when she finishes a phone conversation. It’s like a backwards break-up.

And my venom is all very dull, and misdirected and immature. I know it is but I can’t help myself. I feel compelled to complain out of a sense of loyalty to the old girl who got a lousy deal.  Did I say boss/husband? Oh that’s right. The old girl’s boss laid her off and hired his wife.  The silver lining in this cloud is that he’s not my boss. But still.

“We can’t all, and some of us don’t. That’s all there is to it.”

“Can’t all what?” said Pooh, rubbing his nose.

“Gaiety. Song-and-dance. Here we go round the mulberry bush.”



August 4, 2012


Enjoying a quiet moment watching the sky turn.

A large bird soared right over my head this morning. I thought maybe it was Hedwig, but it was more hawk than owl.

Even so, I might just be a wizard because I managed to get the lawn mower started. And I mowed the front and sides and pulled some weeds, even though I have been unable to stand up straight for the past 2 days.

And my face was all glowy long afterwards.



Drippety drip drip drip

June 23, 2012

It has been raining, raining and raining some more.

I’m content on rainy days because it’s always unrelentingly bright and sunny in Florida. Rarely do we have a day of continuous, gentle rain.

During a lull last night I ran out and bought necessities: catfood, scones and yarn. Today I put new liner down in the kitchen drawers. I made chocolate chip cookies. I did laundry and vacuumed and mopped and changed sheets. I drank coffee. I started work on a new egg. I watched 2 episodes of The Forsyte Saga Season II. I stared out the window. I emptied the garbage. I balanced the checkbook.

And I did it all on 4 hours of sleep.

Imagine what I could accomplish if I lived in Seattle.


June 16, 2012

She liked to look at In the Garden With Jane Austen and The Wild Braid: A Poet Reflects on a Century in the Garden and imagine that she too could have a garden. A garden like the one she had up north with peonies and lady’s mantle and lamb’s ears. But of course she lived in the south now with mosquitoes and lubbers and fire ants and gardening was much more of a challenge and much less enjoyable.

She dug up little borders alongside the patio anyway, and planted some ornamental grasses and honeysuckle and coreopsis and prostate rosemary. It was a very small accomplishment.

Then the summer rains started. And beautiful tender little grasses started sprouting in the beds along with weeds. Now she not only missed the gardens up north, but the soft, cushiony lawns too. She dug and raked and  pulled out as much of the grass as she could. She spread mulch, so that at least for a morning or two or even three she could enjoy the tidiness of her very small accomplishment.

When she finished there were constellations of no-seeum bites on her legs and dirt under her nails. She took a nice, long shower and ate a popsicle and was happy to see that the bites were already fading.

Gratuitous cat post

July 3, 2010

Holiday traffic is the worst-

I can sit in a box.

I can sit on the bed.

I can sit in a box on the bed.

I can sit in a box on the bed and purr.

I can sit in a box on the bed and purr and rule the world.

I can sit in a box on the bed and purr and rule the world and bring peace and joy to all who gaze upon my beauty.

Give yourself a pat on the back

April 5, 2010

Here’s what you’ve missed the past few days by not being me:  Opening night of Stars on Ice in Ft. Myers where Ben Agosto played the guitar, Jeremy Abbott wore a hat,  Charlie White looked like an angel and Evan Lysacek got a standing ovation. There was also a lot of great skating, some nice group numbers, banter and sparkly costumes.

You also missed mowing my lawn, pulling weeds and getting bit by fire ants.

Laundry was washed and hung out to dry. And then it was properly folded and  put away. Dishes were washed. Cats were fed. Litterboxes were scooped.

There was  dinner at the beach night which was also tone-deaf karaoke night. As fearless souls took turns belting out off key renditions of popular songs, a charming old couple danced.

Books were opened, then quickly set aside with a sigh of disappointment.

Tunes and podcasts were downloaded. Pledges of love were made to Jason Lytle as he sang to me from my ipod. Stalking was initiated.

Other things happened as well involving gaiety, merriment and marshmallow peeps.

I am woman hear me swear

January 16, 2010

There is nothing quite like fixing a pocket door and drinking a gin and tonic afterwards.

Let me rephrase that.

Today I fixed the pocket door between my bedroom and bathroom and I rule the world.

For some time now this door has been getting more and more crooked and more and more difficult to open and close. The top of the door was flush with the jamb but there was about an inch gap at the bottom.

An inch is just enough for prying kitty eyes to peer in and enough for a quasi-perfectionist to freak out over.

So a few weeks ago I stood up on a chair and tried to figure out how to adjust the door. There was a plastic thing that rolled in the track and a screw and nut that were impossible to get at and some other wing-thing that stuck out. It didn’t seem possible to get any type of tool in there so I did what any normal homeowner would do.  I ignored it for a few more weeks.

After a discussion about screwed up pocket doors at work the other day however, I got all Olympian about it. ” I can do this. I can win the gold in this pocket door event. Or at least medal.”

So today I dragged the chair over again and tried a series of flat wrenches on the nut to see if I could raise the door. And I made it worse. So I tried turning the nut the other way. It was difficult because there’s no room to maneuver the wrench. Eventually however, I noticed the door hanging straighter and when I measured the bottom gap it was only 1/4 inch.

That’s when I made the announcement, “I’ve fixed the door. Come see it.”

My son came in, looked at the door, which was now almost flush, tried to open it, and it promptly fell off the track.

“Oh shit. Sorry, ” he said, and lumbered away.

“Oh!” I exclaimed, while thinking, “Well fuck me. ”

Back up on the chair, I try to shove the door in the track. “I’m fucked, ” I say. There’s no way to get this plastic thing back in the track. But then a miracle. The door is back in the track. Lovely.  I give it a few pushes and pulls for good luck, and it falls off again.

I examine the plastic piece. Is it broken? I shove it in the track again. Pull. Push. It falls off again.  Times 3.

I draw a diagram of the parts and drive down to Babe’s hardware. In my desperation I totally abandon my “never ask for help or directions” rule.

“My pocket door was crooked. I tried to fix it. Now it keeps falling off the track. This is what the parts look like,” I tell the salesman.

We look at closet door parts. There is a discussion about the wheels in the track, whereupon I realize that I never saw  wheels but there was some unidentified piece at the end of the track. The screw and the plastic thing are supposed to be connected to the wheels, and they aren’t.

$15.50 later I head home with  a closet door 2 wheel hanger and an acme adjustable wrench.

Now I mean business so I get out the step ladder. I peer back up at the track, trying to figure out how I’m going to replace parts I can’t get to. There is a bracket that screws to the top of the door and no way to unscrew that bracket, and the wheels and screw and the plastic thing that fits in the track. And I think and I think and I play with the parts until I realize it comes apart. I can use the old bracket and slide the new wheels with the plastic thing onto the track and flick the wing thing and it will all lock in place.

In my excitement I install the new wheels and plastic thing easily before I realize the old wheels are still up in the track.

Old wheels off, new wheels on, trying to line the bolt up with the bracket and it’s not going well and the wheels keep moving.  I’m sweating. There’s grease all over my hands and greasy fingerprints all over the door and trim.

Son of a bitch! Why is this so difficult? This is a 2 person job and I am the only one at home.  The ladder’s not helping,  so I get back on the chair. As I’m pushing the chair slides on the tile floor and I almost take a tumble. My arm hurts and this is stupid, there’s got to be a way to do this and I’m bracing the nut with the wrench and pushing up on the door and trying to slide it in the bracket and shut this wing thing and then… oh glory. It worked. It fucking worked.

The door rolls forward and backward easily. The door smiles. I smile. I jump up and down a couple of times. I say a couple of swear words like “badass” and “you’re damn right. I fucking rule. ”

I call my mom and dad to tell them how badass I am.

I slide the door a couple more times just because I can.

I rule. I totally fucking rule.

I will remember this day for the rest of my life. I’m sure of it. Women will say things like, “I had to wait until my husband changed the lightbulb,” or “I couldn’t get the garage door up because the power was out and it’s too heavy so I had to wait for my husband to come home ” and I will be all like “Yeah, well … I fixed my crooked and broken pocket door.  I  fixed it and no one helped me. And I rule. So…”

And then I will show them my silver medal.