Month: July 2016

Summer is taking a break

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It’s raining, and there is no wind at all (apparently), so the rain is falling straight down.  It’s a little eerie actually – looks robotic.  John’s metronome isn’t helping the feeling.

Oh, that’s better – it’s slanting northwest now.

The temperature dropped yesterday.  Today is the second day of highs in the 60s, and we’re not expected to hit 80 again until late next week (and then only barely).  This is weird.  Good, I think, but weird.

Hey, weather.  That’s fascinating, sure, but it’s all I’ve got today.  It’s Friday, work is over, and I think I’m going to take my book, open a window, and read in a comfy chair while listening to the rain.  And John’s metronome.

It’s better than paying attention to the news.

Wind-up toy

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Getting out the door to go the gym was a bit of a production today.  I broke a nail putting on my shoes.  Where are my clippers?  They must be upstairs.  Nope, not upstairs.  Oh, here they are in the downstairs bathroom.  Now where’s my nail file?  Not in the downstairs bathroom.  Upstairs?  Nope.  Maybe I’ll use John’s.  In his office?  Nope.  Upstairs?  Nope.  Never mind.  Skip that part.  Okay, I’m going to listen to music on my phone.  Where are my headphones?  John, have you seen my headphones?  No.  Not on my desk either.  Upstairs?  Nope.  Could they be in the car?  Nope.  Oh, they’re in my purse.  Fine, I’m ready to go.  Got my headphones, my phone, my keys.  Out the door, lock the door, grab my bike….where’s my helmet?  Back inside, helmet’s in the basement.

That’s what?…four trips upstairs and one trip to the basement in about three minutes.  Who needs the gym?

My doom

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It is my fate in life to always have songs I don’t really know stuck in my head.  It’s always the songs that I know one line of, or if I’m lucky, maybe the whole chorus.  Right now, it’s “Do you know the way to San Jose? La la la-la la la, la-la la-la, la-la la-la,” followed immediately by “Do you know the way to San Jose? La la la-la la la, la-la la-la, la-la la-la,” OVER AND OVER AND OVER.

Make it stop.  I don’t know the rest of the words, I don’t really want to know the rest of the words, and I just want to read my book about a spaceship captain trying to get her abandoned spaceship back into space without Dionne Warwick’s help.

I am disappoint

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The universe is letting me down.  Three summers ago, I got all excited about this tap class I was going to take.  I went to the first class, it was great, and then the instructor had a family emergency and the class got cancelled.  Major bummer.  Shortly after that, we got busy with moving and everything, and then we got here, and I looked into tap classes again.  It’s hard to find adult tap classes for beginners, and I’d rather not join a class with toddlers.  I found a studio that offered exactly what I wanted, called, and they told me that the class would start in July.  Great!  So excited.  I remembered this past weekend, checked their website – yup, beginner adult tap scheduled to start this very Tuesday.  As in TODAY.

So, TODAY, I called.  I wanted to be sure it was actually starting, find out how much it was going to cost, what I should wear, if there’s anything else I should know….and the answer to the last bit was yes.  There was something else I should know, and THAT is that the class is NOT for beginners.  Apparently, there wasn’t enough interest, so it’s an intermediate class, continuing where the class from last spring left off.  I have learned that I cannot fake my way through an intermediate dance class, so that’s out.  I left messages at a couple of other places, but there just aren’t very many.  The university and the community college aren’t any help, either.

Frustration is my new state of being.

We can fly, we can fly, we can fly

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John finally got to take me flying.  We went up early this morning, before the winds picked up for the day.  We were up for an hour, just long enough to tool around and sight-see a bit.  The airport is about 15 minutes south of Eugene, so we started north, flew over the house and a little past, then headed farther south to Cottage Grove, where we flew over Will and Christina’s house, and then back to the airport.  It was fun!  Of course it was fun.

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The world outside can stay outside

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There is a place nearby that will deliver salads to our door.  They’ll deliver other food, too, but they have these really good entree salads, and we can order them and eat them and feel virtuous and lazy at the same time.  Best of both worlds.

Delivery is a dangerous thing.  I could easily become a hermit.  Let my hair grow long again, stop talking to people, have all our food delivered, stay inside and read all the time…it wouldn’t take more than a gentle nudge.

Of course, I say this after having spent the better part of the last two days outside around people, with plans to do the same tomorrow.  I don’t mean it, and yet…I may be reacting to too much socializing.

It doesn’t take much

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I’ve been listening to the audiobook of Lawrence Block’s The Burglar Who Counted the Spoons for the last week or so.  I like the burglar books, but this is not one of the better ones, plot-wise.  There’s some fun character stuff, but also a few unnecessary diversions and a couple of truly stupid characters.  It passed the time, but it all became worth it this morning with the name of a cheese store, mentioned in passing during prep for the denouement (fancy word!): Sweet Suffering Cheeses.  I laughed out loud, startling the homeless guy I was riding by.  I hope it’s a real store.

Wait – nope.  Doesn’t appear to be real.  Quick!  Someone go open a cheese store and name it that.

I’m the weird neighbor

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Our neighbors have a dog.  He’s a 6-year-old Great Dane named Merlin, and he has a great bark.  I met him the other day in their driveway.

I recognize the dog.  I know his name.  I know his breed, and I know his age.  It’s been a couple of days since his owners, our neighbors, told me that information.

I’ve talked to the neighbors at least five or six times, including the day I met their dog.  The first two times, I got their names.

I do not remember their names.  I do not remember where they lived before they moved here.  I do not remember what they do for a living.  I’m positive we talked about those things.

The next time I see them, I’m going to have to tell them that I’m that guy.  “I’m sorry.  I’m the person who remembers dog’s names, but not people’s names, and I feel terrible about it, and what are your names again?  I’ll write them down this time.

Oh, and we work from home every day, so if you ever want someone to let Merlin out or take him for a walk, we’d be happy to do it.”

I actually did say that last part when I met the dog.  I think they were genuinely interested.  John thinks they think I’m crazy, and why would they let their new neighbor (who they don’t know at all and whose name they probably don’t remember, either) into their house?