“I was good at blogging and then sucked at blogging before you were even born!”
This is an actual insult that I am preparing to spit at some youngstuff should I ever need to.
Seriously, people, when did this get so hard? I started two other posts tonight but then hit walls with both where I just realized, “Nope! I don’t have the gumption necessary to hit publish on either topic!” And it’s not like I’m over here rebooting War and Peace or anything. Sad!*
So anyway in lieu of anything actually real, here is a photo of a caladium that I potted and that promptly withered up and wasted away (to return, I hope, once it settles in to its new home).
* Historical footnote, for aliens or archaeologists reading this in the future: At some point in 2016/2017, everyone started punctuating everything with a one-word insult followed by an exclamation point as a way to show our allegiance to our ineloquent overlord, one Donald J. Trump.
It snowed Saturday morning and stayed on the ground for a few hours. Long enough for us to terrorize the neighborhood with a multi-street snowball fight (involving only ourselves). I was the conscientious objector/documenter, of course. Here’s a slideshow of the carnage.
Just sitting here covered in mosquito bites with wet hair (sweat hair) drying, acutely aware of just how much my air conditioning is killing the planet but unwilling to bump it lower than 74 degrees.
For Richard’s birthday, I thought it might be fun to drive down to Clarksdale to visit the famed Crossroads and visit the local museums and haunts known for their connection to blues history.
The trip did not disappoint. Even though we went during the week and live music offerings were limited, in part because lots of places have limited operating hours early in the week, we still got to see and hear some good stuff, and just bask in the muggy glory of the birthplace of the blues.
Check out the full photo set here.
We got walloped the morning of Jan. 22. The forecasts had all predicted the white stuff would gear up after noon, but it started in earnest around 7 a.m. and blanketed the city with upwards of 8 inches some places. My commute to work was treacherous, and took me more than an hour. Part of that hour was spent idle on Rosa Parks, stuck behind a procession of cars and trucks that couldn’t get up an icy hill. People were out of their cars, pushing. I waited under an overpass (strategically, so I wouldn’t get buried in the snow that was still falling around us) until finally there was enough room between stalled cars for me to give it a go. I made it. My other option was to abandon my car, which I considered briefly. Not a great feeling.
Anyway, for as scary as it was, it really was quite beautiful. I was so excited to get Holden from his dad’s so that he and I could play in it, but he was not all that into it. “Let’s play in the snow!” I said. “And build a snowman!” He scrunched up his face. “Maybe later. I want to go inside where it’s warm.” And just like that, my 4-year-old turned 40.
Here’s a gallery of photos, taken over a couple of days.
You probably would expect to see a tumbleweed roll through here before you’d expect to see an actual, substantive post from me. That’s fair.
However, I want to stop and take note of something. It’s this weird feeling I haven’t felt in a long time. I almost hesitate to acknowledge it publicly for fear that speaking it to the Universe will prompt its evaporation. Poof. Gone just as quickly as it appeared. But I’m going to chance it, because I want to give thanks for the two things I’ve been feeling a lot of lately:
Love and happiness.
This year has been brutal in many ways and the hard stuff isn’t over yet. It probably won’t be for a while. But I have lucked out and landed myself some unexpected good stuff too, somehow. Stuff I haven’t felt in a long, long time and in some cases at all. So I want to keep it to myself and hide it under a blanket so no one will take it away from me. Selfish? So be it.
Let me savor this, after years of starving.