Saturday, September 20, 2003

So, this is what Saturday morning looks like. It's a bit darker than I had expected.

Thursday, September 18, 2003

I still can't fall asleep. In the darkness Diego and I walked down the hall and back to the bed. I felt even sleepier, and hopeful of rest. Diego resumed his bath. I noticed that the click and whirr of our fan is rhythmic, but the time that passes between clicks is like a chasm; the tempo is slower than a waltz. I was counting the slow clicks, when I realized that the actual rhythm of the turning blades is more chaotic than not, and might better be described as a distant and dying fire; embers crackling. Or then again not. It could be that the click and whirr of our ceiling fan is like the slow stirring of iced tea in an aluminum tumbler. Someone tired, and sitting at the other end of the bed, holds a plastic stirrer and turns it 'round the tall, metal cup.

I still can't fall asleep, so I think about many things that I want to recall later, so that I can write about them. I think of insightful concepts, anecdotes from my younger youth, and witty phrases that will elevate my writing style and eligibility to be interviewed on "Fresh Air." Brilliant. Too good to be lost. Yet they are.

There were some thoughts having to do with "altruism." I always understood it to mean being purely generous, while being anonymous, and I thought it meant not wanting to be recognized for deeds of good, but being satisfied to simply do the deeds anonymously. Insomniacally speaking, I was on to something truly profound, but somewhere between my bed and this desk I lost the point. This entire paragraph thus becomes like a long joke with a botched punch line.

The word "literary" sounds sophisticated. It only means "related to books," which is slightly less noble than one might think. Unless of course you have actually read a lot of books, and can use whole concepts and quotes from enduring tomes, in everyday conversation; then "literary" is noble. As for me, well, I have that unwelcome ability to make references that are more commonly representative of my generation; I can make televisionary references in everyday conversation. I can swim underwater in the style of Patrick Duffy in "Man From Atlantis." My first experience with Recreational Vehicles was when Billy was riding around the country in an "A" Class RV with his Mentor, on "Shazam." Ever ponder the possibility of time travel? No, not from H.G. Wells. Real time travel, like when Will and Holly went rafting with their dad and they came to the "Land of the Lost," and were then chased by a dinosaur in to a comfortable, homey cave. I do not know whether 'tis nobler to recognize Brunhild as one of nine warrior goddesses known as Valkyries, or as Bugs Bunny in drag. I remember sitting contentedly, watching Bonanza, (thinking why aren't there more episodes with Adam?) when some adult asked "Why does your generation watch this garbage?" "Why does your generation produce it?" I retorted with as much precocity as Danny Partridge.

None of this will sound as brilliant tomorrow afternoon as it does right now. I am so freakin' sleepy.
Insomnia. I.n.s.o.m.n.i.a. Wide eyed, with brain on high alert; detecting foreseeable causes of possible stress and unsolicited anxiety. Hearing the rhythmic click and whirr, click and whirr of our ceiling fan. Wondering about everything. Resolving nothing. Left side . Roll. Right side. Toss. No point in staying in bed. No point in lying there thinking up new things to dread.

Diego, The Cat in The Bag, was sleeping at my feet. And when he began to vigorously bathe himself between his toes, and I could hear his tongue roughing up his fur, in eager pursuit of some traveling itch or errant dust bunny, then I could stand it no more. I left my bed, and the darkness of night. I came to the computer and sat down to write. I got the first paragraph down, and then I had nothing more to add. Just as when I was lying in bed, irritating, sad thoughts began to creep back in to my head. I felt the loneliness of a long and sleepless night. I tried to imagine the feeling of confident contentment. I realized that tension and self doubt, feels very much the same as hunger (profound, yet annoying insight.) And just when sleepy, doubtful, self awareness became more than I cared to endure, Diego came to the room, to sleep at my feet. Not much has changed, but he looks up at me, and I feel a little comfort.

Tuesday, September 16, 2003

3 Hens and Fog

Meet our flock: Black like night, with stars of white, and Luna when she bends over.

Chicken Blog. The Chicas are well. They have survived the worst of Summer's heat, and they are still laying eggs, scratching in the dirt, eating spiders, snails and crawly bugs. They are still delighting us with their antics. Gracie is the tamest of the three. She will sit on my lap and rest her head under my arm. If I cradle her, and gently rub her under her collar feathers, she falls asleep in my arms. Rosie and Luna come when called, but they run for the hills when given half a chance. They are forever on the lookout for something good to eat, and are not above trying a peck or two at naked toes. All three of the Chicas are molting. I thought that they would have lost their feathers about 6 months ago. But looking around their yard it is plain to see that it's happening now. Fluffy feathers, red, golden and brown, black and white, are everywhere. I don't know how long this will last, or how much they will lose. Hopefully they will be fully dressed before frost season.

It is foggy again, and the forecast is for cooler weather. We are so accustomed to heat that highs in the 80's feels cool. I think I may hang up our Fall wreath. It's a little early, but it makes me happy to see it, so what the hay. We made apple crisp from the apples we picked. On the stove I have a pot of cinnamon simmering, because it makes me feel cozy and sentimental. I guess I am just ready for a change, and a little comfort.

Gentle Gracie at the bubbler.

Always maintain eye contact with Rosie "the Rivetor."

Monday, September 15, 2003

Cosmic Farces

Are the cosmic farces telling us to stay put? Are the prayers of a few anonymous friends, who want us to remain Rancho residents, being heard and answered? Itchy frustration! Waiting for our home to sell is irritating! Naturally I had the intelligence to comprehend the home selling process as a long game of rushing about madly and then waiting, waiting and waiting. Waiting indefinitely. Naturally I harbored a delicious fantasy of choosing between bids after the second open house, and then finding the ideal transition home after a 45 day escrow.

Max is in his kitchen. He always cooks while I Blog. He takes special requests and delivers me ice cold lemonade, zesty pizza, thick and chewy brownies, crisp salads; he's particular about food colors, and fresh ingredients. Right now I am enjoying a slice of fresh baked apple pie with a glass of "blue, but normal, milk."

Alex and William are enjoying the last ten minutes of their freedom before school starts. Foremost in their hearts and thoughts is the DVD release of "BIONICLE: Mask of Light!" We are hosting a movie premiere for their friends on Sunday. My friends can enjoy an evening out while I serve a pack of Lego/BIONICLE/movie fans pizza pie, and pumpkin pie, popcorn and lemonade.

Geoff is at the office. He is writing a game. Basketball is being finished, and October is drawing near. Geoff is writing a game, or maybe not. Poor guy. I have enough limbo-mystery to contend with in trying to sell this house, but he is dealing with office limbo as well. He wouldn't like my "poor guy" remark. He should read my remark as compassion and also as me projecting myself in his position, in which I would appreciate the concern and sympathy.

If you have not heard, Grandma is doing well in Oregon. She and my Mom have probably rented out the entire inventory of their local video store, and they hit just about every local festival from blackberry to cranberry. They have been making jewelry together, hanging laundry, taking excursions, and being good to themselves. And Ron will soon be home. He has been volunteering at a National Park in Texas. He is cataloging animals, plants and insects in to a computer registry. Bill and Alison may come to town. Bill is looking forward to Super-Frog; just a little triathlon. Hans and Gretchen are back from Germany, which from all accounts was a fun and fulfilling vacation for them.

I'm just here; enjoying the view, making beds, collecting eggs, pruning roses, cleaning windows, feeding children. Waiting to sell this house is no fun, but I can see the whole picture. We are well, and we have plans. We are flexible too. Max thinks we'll be in Hawaii any day. Alex wants snow, and asks 'how many days is the drive from Wisconsin to Legoland?' And when in a moment of stress and despair I asked Geoff 'where are we going?' he answered in the perfect way, "We are going anywhere we choose, together."