The Furious Spinner

I'm watching the IFC documentary Wanderlust, about road movies. It's sad. The monoculture that is our country now is so apparent. What's happened to diversity? At Ira's party on Sunday, I was talking with Sylvia's son who just got back from teaching in Beijing. He said he hardly felt like he was in a foreign city. American brand name stores were everywhere. No wonder everyone hates us.

As I watch this movie, I have the urge to watch Thelma & Louise again.

Outside it's raining. Fog fills the Gorge. I like it. After weeks of hot weather, this sleepy day is welcome. Didn't sleep much last night. This isn't the flowers talking to me. Or the fay. This is my own brain running on the energy I built up over the last month, only my sweet body is exhausted. Difficult to stay still.

This morning when I finally decided I would get no more sleep, I got up, threw a load of clothes into the wash, then went outside into the gray morning to water my garden. The peas the buck ate are growing strong; small pink flowers bloom shyly, hiding under the nearly heart-shaped leaves. Perhaps we'll have peas after all. Serena came over as I was watering. She opened the window to her room to call out hello to me. I asked her how she and her mother had slept. Both slept well. Good. Finally.

While I was watering (or the hose was watering), I looked over my hydrangea bush. You remember those gorgeous beautiful blue flowers that got burnt by the sun? Well, many of the balls of flowers below the fried flowers were still whole, blue, and thriving. So I deadheaded much of the bush. After I finished, I realized I had taken away the "shade" of the smaller flowers. Let's hope we don't have weeks of 100 degree weather now. I discovered Mario had mowed my chocolate mint. I went into the house, stood at the bottom of the stairs, and yelled, "Hey, chocolate mint-killer!" (I know, I know, my wit is endless.) Then I continued working on the yard for a bit.

Eventually I went back into the house and made breakfast for Serena, Mario, and me. Having Serena around makes me want to cook. What does that mean? Who cares. I'm cooking. This morning I made eggs scrambled with mushrooms and basil, veggies, toast, juice. It began raining as we ate and talked. We talked about the differences between men and women in gross general terms. Can't remember what we said now—although "chocolate mint killer" was in there somewhere—but we laughed a lot.

Mario went to work, then Serena gave me a hug and left, too. I sat at the kitchen table for a few minutes trying to design a flyer for a reading I'm doing at the library. About that time Thelma showed up to show me pictures from her Washington trip. It started raining harder. We sat at the kitchen table looking at photos and listening to the rain.

Mario called to let us know that Sheila's son had dropped off some of her plants at the library. Thelma and I went to the library and picked out some plants. As I left, I heard the librarian and head of maintenance talking about a new carpet. He said they'd get a low-VOC carpet. I said they could get no-VOC. "I can't afford to have another member of my family incapacitated by some remodeling work you're doing." They laughed. I wasn't kidding. "I'm not kidding," I said. "I'll make him quit before I'll let him come to harm." (I got sick and had to quit my job after the building where I was librarian was remodeled, and they didn't use "green" materials despite my pleas to do so.)

We took Thelma home. When I got home, I got a call from one of my faery doctoring buds. Said I sounded tired. Needed to sleep. Get some rest. I agreed. "Can you sleep during the day?" "No." "What helps you sleep?" "TV and I don't have TV." When I got off the phone, I put on a movie I watched twice last night and tried to sleep on the couch for a bit. Didn't really work.

I folded the laundry, talked to Evine, talked to Linda, talked to my sister, talked to Sheila's son. Exhausted. Decided to turn on the TV for a few days. Called Pat and said I wasn’t going to the farmer’s market tomorrow. Wrote a couple political and/or environmental letters to reps. Mario came home for his dinner. I cried a little, feeling idiotic and like a failure because I let myself get rundown again. I keep repeating the same mistakes. My sweetie embraced me, kissed away my tears. I stopped feeling sorry for myself and made spaghetti sauce for dinner. Mario went back to work.

Sheila's son Robert showed up for dinner. He's staying in town trying to settle his mother's estate. We talked for a while. Had tea. Then I served up the spaghetti I made. Afterward we went out into a gorgeous evening. Fog lifting into clouds. Air so clear we could see the cracks in the basalt across the river. Some places were gold from the sun. Others white. These are the days I live for. (Actually I live for them all, but these days are especially glorious.) We were sprinkled with rain, as though a giant were salting us before she gobbled us up. We stopped by the new ice cream shop, and Robert got an ice cream cone. We went out the back way and walked down to the river. Walked up and around town and met Mario as he was leaving work. Went home and watched the movie "Long Life, Happiness & Prosperity." I did a little library work while we watched the movie. I needed to look at the galleys to Broken Moon, but I hadn’t had a chance yet.

After Robert left, Linda called. She's been sick all day and now was having trouble sleeping. She asked us to do some Reiki on her. Long distance. We did.

After eleven. I sure do admire all of you who do this kind of thing every day. Wow. Especially those of you with children.

Day is done. Off to bed.

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.