Black days and Beets

In The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, the protagonist, Christopher, an autistic boy, knows the day is going to be bad when he sees four yellow cars. ("Four yellow cars in a row made it a Black Day, which is a day when I don't speak to anyone and sit on my own reading books and don't eat my lunch and Take No Risks."*) My omen is when the word game of the day on m-w.com is Bee-cubed (shudder). But today it’s Dictionary Devil day, my favorite, and a sure sign of a good day if I’ve ever seen one.

My cousin’s best friend and brother live in Bay St. Louis, and she hasn’t heard from them yet. I can’t comprehend the scope of the devastation.

On a much lighter note the kittens are wrecking havoc on our home in their own way. The tally so far is three pairs of headphones, cords chewed through; two large glasses; and one bowl... and they’ve only been able to jump on to the kitchen counters for a little over a week. I was so angry after the bowl incident because they insisted on playing with the shards as I tried to clean it up (look, a new toy!) that I had to lock them upstairs until I was done. I’ve now approved judicious use of the faucet spray attachment on all occasions.

BEETS, BEETS, the magical vegetable,
THE MORE YOU EAT the more stained red your kitchen (and pee) is,
THE MORE YOU EAT the more you despise those little rattails they come with,
SO EAT MORE BEETS (’cause their tasty and in season!) with every meal!

*I've found myself longing to declare Black Days recently. Except my version includes lunch, a heating pad, and maybe a few good movies.

Steam heat

I am consumed by thoughts of having my own sauna. You know when I wanted a pool? Yeah, now I want a sauna, in a little cedar shack in the back of the yard. I’d use it all the time, I swear. I can’t decide whether it should be stove-heated or electric... maybe have the option for both? Think how great my complexion would look. Surely it’s cheaper than the fancy moisturizers and facials I will someday require?

Ennui typhoon

These last few weeks I’ve been all take but no give. All reading but no writing. Why? Because I’m in some kind of ennui typhoon where I have nothing of interest to say. My excitement has consisted of eating ice cream and having my face bandages downsized (I heart steri-strips). My angst has been grievances about my hair and whines about the library reservation system being down.

I did the depressed smoldering poet thing only once. It was in 5th grade, and I stayed home from school and typed out pages and pages of poems and short stories on the typewriter, pausing only to stare morosely out the window at the rain. (Oddly, a lot of the poetry was upbeat, like limericks). By the end of the day I had several inches of writing that I never looked at again, and I’d cured myself of any poet aspirations. Another childhood milestone that I passed too soon (along with abandoning Barbies in 2nd grade and canceling Seventeen at thirteen).

The guy who tosses the turkeys into the killing chute

The kittens were crazy this weekend. They were fighting on top on me while I was reading in bed, so I crumpled up my library receipt and threw it. I watched smugly as they scampered after it, and turned out the light. Five minutes later the paper wad returned. I thought their dog-like ability to fetch was charming earlier, but I was not amused during the next half hour, when Cadbury eagerly deposited the soggy wad by my pillow and I tried in vain to throw it further and further away. I hid it under my pillow only to have Cadbury crawl all over my head seeking it out. Defeated, I fled to the guest room.

I keep thinking that guys are checking me out, but then I remember the bandages on my face.* And while I think they’re checking me out, I’m not thinking to myself, Yeah, that’s right, I’m thinking Is he thinking about stealing my purse? or Does this guy think I’m trying to be suggestive by bending over when I’m really trying to read the bottom row of titles in the travels essays section?

* I saved the explanation for last, because it’s really lame: I had some moles removed. Mmm... attractive. As they were snipping away I wondered, What do they do with those little bits that they remove? Toss them into the trash? Put them into neat little biohazard bags? I know now that they probably incinerate them... but what about the person who has that job? I once knew someone whose job it was to take the turkeys off the truck and toss them into the killing chute. That’s so good it deserves to be in a novel.

Big Hunk

I'm back, but I don't know quite what to do with myself. I'm tired of all my leisure time activities -- reading, watching, knitting -- yet after an initial burst of enthusiasm (our bedroom has never been cleaner) equally reticent to do chores. I did a good bit of shopping, for me (shoes, wallet, baking dish) so now I can't do that either. Vacation has ruined me! Now that I have broken free from the shackles of oppressive routines I find myself longing for direction.

Consumed by thoughts about:
1) What it's like to date after being divorced. How do you transition from a dozen years of marriage to Sex and the City without getting the giggles at inappropriate times?
2) The "Big Hunk" bar I just ate part of. How can nougat taste so good?
3) Why I really felt bad for the man rather than the woman after hearing that two distant acquaintances accidentally produced a baby during a random encounter despite trying to be careful.
4) Whether or not the occasional stomach cramps I've experienced lately have anything to do with the Nalgene of unfiltered water I chugged on trail.

Read: Cassandra at the Wedding by Dorothy Baker - the best book I've read this year. Sort of Salinger-y but without the pretension. Don't be put off by the naked woman on the cover. Also Take the Cannoli by Sarah Vowell, who's always great, and The Writing on the Wall by Lynne Sharon Schwartz.

Nature 2, Self 1

A mid-vacation post! I am partaking of my first internet cafe experience. Fortunately with the prevalence of wireless internet use it is now cheap cheap cheap. The place is actually owned by my friend and trail buddy N's parents (with whom we paddled the Mighty Mississippi).

Wilderness trip summary:
Self's trace left on nature: 2 Nalgenes, one headband
Nature's trace left on self: 5 blisters, countless scrapes, the worst sunburn I've ever had.
Summary: Nature 2, Self 1.

Friends K and F were excellent trail companions, v. compatible for wilderness travel. There's no other couple I'd like to be lost deep in the woods well down a trail that doesn't exist on the maps and miles from where we need to be .

There is nothing more indulgent than the slow pace of vacation. Breakfast is a luxurious affair, comprised of simple food arranged purposefully and eaten slowly. Running with no thought to the time is a invigorating and at the same time, relaxing. Evenings I've been working my way through a gorgeous bottle of white wine and a round of camembert.

Read so far: No Last River, an extremely dangerous trip down a river in Tibet, The way men act by Elinor Lipman (confirming that The Inn at Lake Devine is by far my favorite), Ethel and Ernest by Raymond Briggs (a cute graphic novel about a couple in 1920-1970 England), Perseopolis (a really good graphic novel about a woman growing up in Iran c. 1980s). In process: On death and dying by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross (should be required reading for life), Harry Potter, and The best American magazine stories 2004.