Thursday, August 06, 2009

Too Much

I'm still here. Everything's fine. It's just so busy.

If it's any consolation, I don't post much on Facebook, either, mostly because it's been invaded by people I'm not comfortable sharing all my oddities with. Friends and family (mine and Brent's!) are wonderful to keep track of, but there are... other elements that complicate things. (How can you harmlessly, vaguely vent about somebody who drives you a little bit mad when they might read your Facebook status and figure it out?)

I'm good. We're all good. A week after the miscarriage, by which time we had all gotten over the worst of the shock and heartbreak and started to look forward again, I sent them on their way, loaded to the gills in Kelly's Chevy truck en route to Canada (by way of Devil's Tower, Crazy Horse, and Mt. Rushmore, all in one day, and Morgan live-blogged the adventure for Mom and I via texts while Kelly drove and Cordale read tourism pamphlets from the back seat) for a ten-day vacation that will mostly be spent fishing on a remote lake. I can't imagine better therapy.

They were ridiculously excited, so tickled that I can't even be put out that they left me with the dogs, who have been model orphans. I stop by and feed them, water them, love them up, and let them out of the big kennel to run in the yard twice a day, walk an alternating Lab every night, kick the ball for them for a while, check Bear's bark collar to make sure it still lights up, sponge the goo out of Rosie's infected ear and rub alcohol in it to dry it, entice Molly to eat, one kibble at a time (sometimes while she's laying flat on her side, lazy girl), since she gives up after about half a bowl, and make sure Daisy and Rose each get the proper dose of thyroid medication. I washed them all in the blue plastic pool in the back yard Monday and brushed them each that night so they'll be fluffy and pretty and nice-smelling when their parents return. And for my troubles I get unconditional love, great exercise, and a quiet place to go when things get crazy on Morse Lee Street.

And things are crazy on Morse Lee Street, let me tell you. My landlady's daughter and her husband and kids moved in next door and have set about working on the two vacant apartments in the basement, one of which, my old home, they don't plan to rent but will use for family company instead. They also cleaned out the garage behind the house, which was fascinating. In addition to three loads of defunct appliances (mostly fridges), mouse-holed cushions, and 70's formica tables, there was an antique metal push-car toy, piles of vintage games in their faded cardboard boxes, vintage tin trays, golf clubs in rotting bags, tennis rackets, and other treasures.

I had a fun visit tonight with the snappy son-in-law, a career Navy man with one more tour of Afghanistan before he's done for good, and an avid off-roader, judging by their vehicles, both of which are SUVs packed with every mountain-climbing goody you can stick on a vehicle and jacked up to the hilt. And here's the thing... he wants to buy Monte, my little square white truck, my first vehicle, for his teenage son. And far from being freaked out at the thought of parting with him, I think I might be thrilled. Because of all people, this is the guy that will make sure Monte's taken care of, who'll put a little money into him, replace all the leaking engine seals, scrape down the body and repaint him, rust-free. He'll probably put big tires on him, maybe new rims, maybe even a roof rack. And he'll skin the kid alive if anything happens to a vehicle he's put that much care into. So I guess it's time. We went for a little amble tonight, and I'm ready to say goodbye. We've had a good ride.

Mom and I met in Kemmerer for the Oyster Ridge Music Festival Sunday, and I got to meet the new addition to their fleet; a very hot metallic charcoal 2009 Chevy Impala with glossy woodgrain interior trim and much additional fanciness, including mp3 jack. She looks great in it. We shopped a bit and had tasty pizza with June.

Some extraordinary things are brewing that I'm afraid to talk about for fear I'll jinx myself, but by the end of the month I'll know whether I'm hallucinating or wishfully thinking, or whether the pieces of some universal puzzle are finally falling into place for me, because that's seriously what it feels like. Some hints: job interview. California (oh, sometimes that word looks like "Paradise" to me, but when I'm there I'll miss here. It's just that it means so many possibilities, especially for Brent and I). There's a very prophetic fortune cookie involved, and the most exquisite cover letter that was ever edited by one's very talented boyfriend (whose birthday was yesterday, but we'll celebrate when he gets here to celebrate mine on the 23rd). And even if all this doesn't work out, there's a San Diego vacation to look forward to over Labor Day weekend.

And that'll be fun... if we aren't so overwhelmed by then that we both sleep the whole time.

2 Comments:

Anonymous KB said...

..."let me tell you" clearly brings Ang & Molly's voices to mind.

August 7, 2009 at 7:55 AM  
Blogger A said...

HA! Must be genetic. That makes my day.

August 7, 2009 at 12:50 PM  

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