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.