I am invaded with the not-very-nice Welcome Back To School cold/flu thing that Liam and Evan are still recovering from.  My throat is on fire; I’m wistfully saying goodbye to the rest of my week.

Hopefully I’ll be better by Friday night, able to go out to The Bead Place and do some triangling with Team Peyote. I blame Malick for this, as is only reasonable. I was in great shape until I saw his loathsome film, and then all of my defenses crumbled, and the attackers invaded.

So, it’s beads and bed for me. So far mostly bed. Wyatt is being quite solicitous, but even I am unwilling to take a fortune from his ass to see what my fate will be. It’s yours if you want it.

I can report that the weather is just lovely, and all of our windows can open. This may seen like a small thing to you, the idea that I can open any window I please, but our thousand year old cottage had maybe three working windows and even fewer functional screens. To be able to simply toss open a window at will is exciting.

It’s been such a dry summer here that the trees are already starting to turn, and there are leaves scattered all over the street.

Well, let me rephrase that. There are leaves scattered over two of the yards on the street, ours and our neighbor’s. The rest of the street is staffed by Lawn Guys, who run out every time a leaf falls and attack it with a power appliance. There is not a single leaf to be found, as you can see, on any other lawn. Crazy. But I guess everyone needs something to do. I badly want to buy them all rakes, so they can try them out, see what it feels like to use a stick with tines. I find raking rather enjoyable, myself.

Another nice thing is that now that Liam walks to school in the morning (the high school is just a few blocks away, the middle school is a mile, and across a scary crazy screamy street) it’s just Evan and I in the car in the morning, wending our way through the helmet-haired moms in minivans and the white guys in loafers, aggressive in their SUVs. I am always grateful for the visual break of the kickass ’69 442 always parked out front at Smitty’s Garage, and for the police parked outside the elementary school, making the SUVs slow down.

Next year, when they are both in high school, Liam will be driving and no one will need a ride, and thrillingly the Porting phase of parenting will be over. I’m not one of those people who wring their hands at their children growing up. I love it. And it’s most enjoyable to have Evan riding shotgun, just like a person, instead of being the stickier half of a couple of conjoined monkeys in the back.

21 thoughts on “Rats!

  1. Ah Kate, even when you’re sick you can turn a phrase like nobody’s business. Feel better even sooner than you had hoped!

  2. My best friend in high school drove a black 442, probably a 69, it was kickass then too. Feel better!

    • Who DOESN’T love a bitchin’ 442? Humorously, Bill had one when I met him, but it wasn’t the Good Kind of 442, it was a sort of nasty one from the mid 70s, and it spent most of its time getting parking tickets. It was finally impounded by the U City police, and he never went and claimed it. Crazy.

  3. feel better Kate! My grandparents had a butter-yellow 442 in the 60s (around 66??) – they always said I would have it some day. But alas, THAT didn’t happen. Oh well, at least I got a 67 Chevy Super Sport when I was in high school.

    • I was supposed to get the BLUE RUG, I know how you feel. Now I enjoy it on Suzanne’s living room floor.
      Where I admit it belongs.

      The Super Sport was still fun, but no 442. You might have been better off. I remember teaching my friend Lona to drive in her ’68 Nova. Just a touch on the gas pedal and that rocket shot off like a white ball of death. The first thing she had to learn was how to back out of a parking space without embedding herself in the row across. And I remember my freshman roommate Ronnie, having to weight down her Camaro with six sandbags in the trunk (in which there was still room for five bodies) just to keep it on the ground. Ah, the days of real cars.

  4. Back in the days of punk rock, the band used to drive around in our bass player’s early seventies era shiny black Dodge Super Bee. Woof! I don’t think I ever saw that car in the day light.

    That was after we drove around in the first drummer’s 20-year old 1957 Chevy Bel-Air hard-top sport coupe. We hauled multiple amps and speakers and suitcases (and bodies) in that trunk. And I know I could almost fully lie down in the back seat–I remember looking out the windows at the world spinning by from that very position during an excruciatingly long trip back to San Diego from San Francisco, freshly sick as a dog with food poisoning from Chinatown dim sum. Bleh. Exhaust streaming in the windows, pipes resonating like an earthquake, blasting down the I-5 corridor. I’m feeling a little nauseated just thinking about it.

  5. Wyatt……a perfect example of a cat. Beautiful, indeed. And he seems to be concentrating on the outcome. LOL

    Feel better.

  6. So sorry the crud caught you! Drink hot HOT liquids, as much as you can stand. Tea, water, whatever. But really hot! I learned this a couple of years ago, and it works wonders on sore throats and beyond. The hot liquid does a super efficient job of washing all the bad bugs down to your stomach, where they’ll die. Lovely! xoxoxo

  7. That picture of the leaves/no leaves is hilarious.

    Hope you feel better soon. Those throat-on-fire sore throats are the WORST.

    • I almost feel sorry for all of the older Lawn Guys around us, having to look at our leaves for as much as a week before we rake them into piles and jump in them.

    • Wyatt is a gorgeous creature! What you can’t see from the photo is that he is massively huge. We aren’t sure how or why, as he isn’t overfed. He is just IMMENSE.

  8. Actually, it was a 1967 Cutlass 442, light blue, with a huge hot V8 that needed a asbestos blanket lining the hood. As a 1980 hand me down from my Dad, it had seen a lot of ungaraged miles. It was a blast while it lasted. Guys always asked me when I gassed up whether I would sell it.
    Not … a … chance.

    • Oh, baby, I had no IDEA that it was a ’67! By the time I saw it, it was a motley sort of shade, full of garbage, and covered in parking tickets. And of course the only reason you couldn’t sell it was ’cause you couldn’t find the title. Dang. We should have bailed it out of jail and repainted it.

  9. That whole Lawn Guy/leaf thing is hysterical. Truly they must be apoplectic! Hope you start feeling better real soon. And Wyatt? It’s the fangs no doubt.

    • Well, we’ve lived here for almost 15 years now, so they are mostly resigned. It’s not that we like to keep our yard a mess, it’s just that we LIKE the leaves. It feels like fall! I know it pains them. Every time we make an improvement to our house, like painting it, or putting in new windows, they must hope that we are going to sell it and move.

  10. I too love the leaves photo but I can’t believe you have that many on the ground already! It’s still summer up here in the soon to be frozen North. And OMG, a comment from Bill!! That handsome Wyatt must be a brother from another mother to my darling Katrina, arms out like that is her favourite pose. Doriot, I feel slightly nauseous now as well but I’m super curious about those bodies in the trunk! ;)

    • This is actually Bill’s SECOND comment in history; the other one was entered as, I believe, “Agent 22.” It IS crazy that there are leaves this early. It’s been so dry. It’s really just one tree going so far, but it’s a big one. It might be a hackleberry.

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