The blogs I enjoy reading the most contain the least amount of righteousness. Sure, I log onto ______ _______ and ______________ to get a fix of predictable ranting (occasionally new information, a decent news-hub/digest) or of a simulacrum of a person I once knew whose personal damage kept repeating patterns until I, too, was "unexpectedly" caught up in the whirling ego and cast out.
But what I really enjoy reading are affirmative narratives of how life goes. Even when the writers are technically sad or down, dealing with small or traumatic stresses of life (all normal, all fair game to any of us in the roulette wheel of life), those who "have it" manage to round up to a positive subtext or conclusion; I suspect that even when they believe themselves to be maudlin or self-indulgent, they are 1,000 times removed from the actual self-indulgence of the latter category I described.
Is not the affected Britishness / 19th-century upper-class Americanness amusing?
Anyway, we had a lovely day today. I woke up dull and bitchy. Coffee (recycled, press-pot's Saturday offering, microwaved — yes, yes, I know) did not help. I frowned a lot, but my husband has finally come to interpret these with less personal martyrdom because it is, after all, true that 90 percent of any frown is false, and 90 percent of all frowns are false to begin with.
I know less about smiles. I lie.
Breakfast outdoors, and it was like camping, but it made (by design) the chicken pot pie cool to an edible temperature within a tolerable period. I had eaten it indoors earlier this season, and there is nothing quite like staring at one's food for minutes upon end while one's companion eats away and one is starving. Not so literally, of course, but there are rows of days when one meal is the only meal. Try that and sit in front of an oval pastry of loveliness in its white-hot white porcelain dish. It's a $10-meal at YST, so waiting and starving are o.k. "in these times."
Or, should I say, "now more than ever?" I am weary of the false classification, brandification, labeling of the contemporary moment.
Excuse me — why is is more important now to eat at home and not buy your kids "breakfast sandwiches" or "ice cream sundaes" at shops? Did not the average family always parse out such luxuries? And, if not, if we mothers (collectively and figuratively) truly have forgotten how to scramble eggs for our kids and slap them on a ready-made biscuit or stick a scoop of strawberry on a cone, then what of the counter argument: ice cream shops and McDonald's represent JOBS? "JOBS are important, and we'll even take mere 10 percent tips, because surely they are 'o.k. in these times' — not."
As someone who acknowledges the privilege of dining out (as well as the relative balance of calories-for-the-dollar for a perpetual party of two), I say the 20 percenter is most standard, and that's often what we give to crummy servers (while making complaint-points in other ways). If service is vile, then, no. You may have read of my definitions in the past.
Today's service was great as usual, and even at Home Depot, we had two whole people ask us what we were looking for. The latter is one case in customer service history where complaints seem to have made a difference.
Of course, the screws hanging on display amidst the metal joists and corner joints we were buying to fix the 100-year-old bed (which is closer to the age of the house, 89) did not fit through the pre-drilled holes; the HD will be giving me either $7.67 back or an equivalent amount of houseplantage. We spent $80 in window caulking, a few batteries and the galvanized bits, which themselves were quite cheap and probably from China.
And we already had drilled in extra holes. Factory holes vary from part to part …
Domicilelife is tedious and time-consuming, but no more so than in log-cabin days, I pretend.
It took a while to engineer bed repairs … what we really needed was a custom-made metal brace or at least one with three sides. We had adequate screws at the house, and later found many other "unexpected" hardware items … when I recommended a bit of reorganization. I do not have Hank Hill here, after all.
But it's back in the high-life again, and the cat is perplexed and upset about the high-jump. Beds from back then are as tall as a medium-sized dog, and Milo is merely a fat feline.
More laundry has been done here in the past three days than in as many months (no verification on the degree of exaggeration will be given — if pilots can't admit they were just having sex or playing poker in the cockpit, where their advocacy groups protest the presence of cameras …), and later, we both went to buy $100 of food products.
Then I made tacos and dealt with some more laundry things. And he did other laundry things.
All the while, it has been raining.
I'm also getting three paychecks in one week (and there shall be no jokes made here nor facts about how funny this really is).
It wasn't the end of Daylight Savings Time last night, was it?