The woman behind the big red counter flipped open her red binder labeled “paid and left merchandise”. She was a sturdy woman with curly orange hair, who I am struggling not to call the ‘big red lady’. “Sorry,” she offered, “I don’t have any record of it.” (more…)
Be back soon.
Over at my favorite internet haunt, as part of their Summer Cocktail Series, they are posting the stories and recipes that make us think of summer. I sent one over that’s up this morning. Swing by and check it out.
I try to avoid gender generalizations, but, sometimes, I observe things about men that I don’t understand.
Like their thing with power tools.
By 8:30 on a sunny Father’s Day morning, my husband had been to Home Depot, purchased a chainsaw and returned, and the men on my street had gathered in my front yard. They’d flocked over one-by-one as though answering to some magnetic force calling them to respond.
During a powerful thunderstorm the night before, a strong, straight wind had blown down a leafy shade tree, ripping it out of the ground at the root. (We believe it was the wind despite eyewitness insistence by 3yob that it was either a big monster or possibly the tooth fairy).
Across the street a small tree lay snapped in half at two feet up its trunk. Next door a large pine, still connected to the ground, leaned precariously over a driveway. Our tree was the largest tree, though, and our yard a central location in observing neighborhood damage. Families out for Sunday morning storm surveys drove slowly by, snapping an occasional picture.
And, so, on this bright and dewy morning on the day of the family barbecue, several neighborhood fathers were circled around the stump in my yard, coffee cups in hand, analyzing the trees and contemplating removal.
“Yeah, you’re definitely going to need a chainsaw for this,” remarked one neighbor, a hint of envy in his voice. “Do you have a chainsaw?”
“I just picked one up this morning,” replied my husband. I had begun to notice that Hubs, while genuinely disappointed about losing the tree, seemed to be emanating a strange level of excitement.
“Oh, you could have borrowed one of mine,” said another neighbor, who delicately added with a combination of shy embarrassment and subtle swagger, “I actually have three.”
You could feel the admiration of the group well-up, “Wow, three chainsaws.”
“Yeah, last year for my birthday I bought myself a Steel.”
I didn’t know what a “Steel” was (in fact I didn’t learn until I googled it, that it’s actually a “Stihl”), but judging by the reaction from the group (congratulatory gasps and utterances of justification, things like “Oh, yeah, you deserve it! Good for you!”-statements I didn’t know men made to each other), I suspected that this might be like me telling my book club I’d splurged on Seven jeans or bought my little black dress from Vera Wang.
“You know,” continued the Stihl-owning neighbor reflectively, taking a sip of his coffee, “if you cut it up into small enough pieces you could use this for firewood next winter.”
The rest of the conversation got a little blurry as I imagined my favorite tree chunked up and tossed into the fireplace – a tree my children had climbed, that shaded their picnics and provided privacy and sun-protection to their bedroom windows. The pit in my stomach reminded me of the day I realized that the bacon on my breakfast plate was actually a pig named Bubbles whom I’d been feeding since his infancy. I don’t disagree with the use – for the pig or the tree – but it seemed a little wrong to dive right in without even a little mourning.
A few minutes later the group disbanded and the neighborhood became a harmony of chainsaw noise. But before the cutting began, 5 and I grabbed our cameras. “It’s too bad about our tree,” she said.
I didn’t quit blogging. I did quit making excuses, though. More to come. And, yes, the title is just to get that song stuck in your head as it somehow inexplicably is stuck in mine.
I want to write more. But I have to work … and buy groceries for my children … and match the socks before Hubs stops ranting and actually makes due on his bi-weekly promise to throw all the singles away and start over (a policy proposal that I believe is ill-advised) … and, in case you’re pitying my busy schedule, I do also have to fit in an evening at the Bon Jovi concert tonight.
In the meantime, a few updates:
I think you should read this new blog Someone’s Mother, by Katie Stamos. She appears to have started blogging only recently, and I was really moved by her posts- thoughtful, well-written essays about life, love, politics and parenting. (Of course, I found her because she linked to me and labeled one of my posts “witty” – so I like her already.)
Also, The Lovely Mrs. Davis, a virtual friend since near my first post, has moved to her own domain and enhanced her website. It looks, as you would expect, lovely. One of her most recent posts, about her 3 year-old son calling every handsome large-eared black man she sees “Rockabamma” made me laugh.
Anyway, Keep the Faith, I will blog more eventually, but while I go learn what’s new with Tommy and Gina, feel free to stop in the comments and tell me … well, anything -What do your kids think of the political candidates? Or, how about, what’s your favorite cheesy Bon Jovi lyric? That’s a tough one for me, but I think “when you get drunk, I’ll be the wine” rates right up there.