Take a deep breath

So we went to Monterey last weekend.  John found a wonderful house to rent.  A cute two bedroom with fireplaces, a big deck with a hot tub and a separate bathroom for the boys. The owners had a bottle of chilled Chardonnay waiting for our arrival. It even allowed dogs. I fell in love with it immediately and was ready to move in.

John, "This is a really nice house."
Me, "I know.  We should buy it."
John, "I was thinking more along the lines of 'we should come back' and not so much 'we should take on an additional 600k in debt.'"
Me, "Pfft, tomato, tomahto."

It was on the smaller size but nicely done up.  I could stay there with the dogs and John could visit on weekends.  The boys would, naturally, be sent off to military school. It needed new kitchen cabinets but there were only 5 or 6 so it wouldn't cost much.  And we'd have to replace the closet in the master bedroom with the same closet at our house. I could volunteer at the aquarium and spend my days feeding the octopi.

John, "We're not buying the house."
Me, "Ugh, it's like you don't want me to be happy."

We had a great weekend.  Very relaxing. Went to the beach. Went to the aquarium.  I only have one task; to get a sweatshirt for my friend, Tina.  She had ruined her Monterey sweatshirt in a freak cooking oil accident.  I found a replacement and settled back for another glass of wine.

Come Sunday we, sadly, had to pack up and head home.  What is it about road trips that make one so tired upon your return home?  Whether you drive 9 hours or 90 minutes, you arrive home exhausted.  And we did.  We pulled into the driveway, ready for a nap.  But, damn, we forgot about John's car.  When we left on Friday, I had picked the boys up from school, drove to John's office to get him and then we left town.  Leaving John's car at the office, to be picked up on the way pack into town.  Well, shit. Better go get it now before I do something stupid like offer to drive him to the office at 7am the next morning.

So we unloaded the car, piled everything in the garage and asked the boys to take it all into the house.  John even clarified that the bags should be put into the appropriate rooms.  Ah, good thinking.  Otherwise everything would have been dropped unceremoniously in the laundry room.  (I could hear it already, "What?! We brought it all in!! JEEZ!") Then we left to get John's car.

I thought nothing more of things for a few days, until I was ready to mail off Tina's sweatshirt.  Sooo, where's the sweatshirt?  Hmmm... I looked through my closet, all my drawers, checked the laundry, the car, the luggage, all the rooms, lifting blankets and pillows.....Nowhere to be found...."Guys, have you seen the grey sweatshirt that I got for Miss Tina?"

Boys, "Huh?"
Me, "The grey sweatshirt from Monterey? Can you look in your rooms?"
Boys, 'It's not here!"
Me, "I need you to actually look for it.  Not stand in the middle of the room and casually glance around."
Boys, "It's not here!"
Me, "Come on, you guys emptied the car."

Boys, "I didn't see a grey sweatshirt."
Boys, "I don't remember a grey sweatshirt."
Boys, "Are you sure there was a grey sweatshirt?"
Boys, "What grey sweatshirt?"
Boys, "Did you bring in a grey sweatshirt?"
Boys, "I didn't carry in a grey sweatshirt."
Boys, "Are you sure you bought a grey sweatshirt?"
Boys, "There was no grey sweatshirt!"

<Deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.>

Me, "Can you just look for it?"

Then Tom walks into my bedroom, points at John's grey sweater that is neatly folded and laying on the foot of the bed. The only item in the room that was not neatly in it's place.

Tom, "Is that it?"

Me, "That's not even a sw....do you honestly think I didn't l.....Are you....."

<More deep breath. Inhale. Exhale.>

Me, "Please leave the room.  I need to swear."

None of this would be happening if I were living in my little cottage in Monterey...

I'm reading the Latest Flavia de Luce book

'a book from an author you love that you haven't read yet'

On a side note, can you have a side note before you've even started? I don't know but on a side note, I've been mispronouncing her name this whole time.  I know this because Flavia has just been shipped off to a boarding school in Canada and the new people she meets were all mispronouncing her name and she finally corrected them.

So Flavia, with a long 'a', is at this girl's school in Canada and the rooms all have names.  The bedrooms were named after female heroines (Flavia is in Edith Cavell, a famous nurse from world war I.  I googled her.), the bathrooms after royalty and I can't remember the rest but you get my drift.  After reading this over breakfast, I looked up and said to the boys, "We should name our bedrooms".  They immediately came up with names. They didn't even ask why, bless their little hearts.  Sam picked a name that I immediately forgot; the guy who invented Call of Duty.  Tom chose 'Napoleon'.  Should I be concerned that he's going to invade the dining room and claim it in the name of France?

I've decided to name my room Amelia Earhart because when I'm in there, no one can find me.  Even when I'm sitting in the middle of the bed, with the lights on and the door open.  They'll wander up and down the hallway..,

Tom, "Mom! MOM!"
Sam, "Where's Mom?!?"
John, "Have you seen your mother??"

No oil slick, no floating debris, just gone without a trace.

I'm Under Enormous Pressure...

I started the Idaho Falls Public Library Extreme Book Nerd Challenge a few weeks ago.  I got it from my sister-in-law, Lydia.

This is it:

It has quite a few tricky categories, like 'A book you were supposed to read in school but didn't'.  Weeeeell, what if you read all the books you were supposed to because you were scared of getting in trouble?  Huh? Did they think of that? I guess not.  And 'A book you started but never finished'?  The only times that I've stopped reading a book is because it sucked. Now you want me to read a book that sucks? That's just mean.  So it takes some thinking and planning.  I could read James Michener (initials J.M. like mine) but shouldn't I count that as 'a book over 500 pages'?  It's tricky.  

This week, Lydia sent out a request for suggestions in the categories she was having trouble with.  She got a huge response and I was among the respondents.  Boy oh boy, do I have book suggestions. "A book set in high school"?  You have to read Pretty Little Liars. It's a total guilty pleasure; like sneaking cake before dinner.  It's about these four beautiful, rich, east coast girls who make horrible decisions.  And their parents are Awful.  It's the type of book that makes you talk out loud, "Oh...Oh no....Oh, she wouldn't. Don't! D...Oh, she did."  Then you could read the second one and it would count as a 'Book Turned into a t.v. Show'.   

'A book based entirely on its cover'?  Done that.  A Memoir?  I know a couple, all written by comedians.  Ditto on the nonfiction.  A book that scares you? I read one where the crazy guy next door would hide in the walls and spy on the heroine. I had to sleep with the lights on. A book that makes you cry? I got nothing.  I don't read sad books.  I don't even read books that are too poignant.  Who needs that?  

So I added my suggestions then went back and read the others.  I quickly came to realize that I was the People Magazine of book recommendations.  The Dodge Dart. I was Velveeta.  I didn't know that people actually read James Joyce outside of an academic setting.  King Lear? Fuck off.  The last trilogy that I read was The Strain.  Yes, the vampire one they turned into a t.v. show.  But I read the books first!  And I have graphic novels.  Not a lot, mind you, but a few and oh my god, one set is The Strain. This is getting embarrassing.  I need to start reading more books written by dead people.

Then I started feeling this immense pressure that I alone was keeping these pulp fiction writers in business. Is no one else reading Stuart MacBride? Am I the only one keeping the Scottish Serial Killer genre alive?  Maybe I should read two books for  each category.  I can't switch to dead authors.  The dead authors are doing fine and until high schools start offering classes in 21st Century Science Fiction, the weigh falls firmly onto me.  I'm already slowly killing the printed word by reading everything on Kindle. I can't take anymore.  Besides, a dead author has never made me laugh so hard I almost fell off the treadmill at the gym.  That, ladies and gentlemen, is writing.

Sunday Football

Right before the Seahawks/Packers game started:

Me, "Do you want to have a Super Bowl if Seattle makes it again?"
John, "Sure."

<10 seconds later>

Me, "And that should jinx things real good."
John, "Yeah, thanks for that."

No strings

So we saw the new trailer for the Avengers - Age of Ultron.  Very cool!

Later found myself singing "I've got no strings to hold me down. To make me fret. To make me frown. I had..."

Sam, "Hey, that's the Avengers song"
Me, "It's the Pinocchio song."
Sam, "No, it's  not. It's the Avengers song."

<sigh>

And to think, there's a whole generation out there who think "Who Are You" is the theme from CSI.

Music Appreciation

So both of the boys are in band again this year and one of their assignments this semester was to go to a musical performance of some sort and write up a paper on it.  The semester ends next week so, naturally, the boys came home on Friday, all in a panic, because they needed to go to a concert NOW, MOM, NOW! Huh? How long have you known about this? MOOOOM!!

Not to worry, we do live outside San Francisco so how hard can it be to find a concert of some sort on short notice?  We ought to be able to find some left-handed accordion recital or something, right?  Well, here's what I quickly learned about concerts; everybody and their dog has a musical performance in December and then take the month of January off.  The best I could find was a Spandau Ballet concert in Sacramento.  Well, hell.  So John did some googling and found a small ensemble performance at a church in Portola Valley for Sunday.

Come Sunday, we loaded up the boys, grumbling and groaning like this was our idea or something, and headed off.  After about 40 minutes, I turned to John, "So, where are we?"
John, "We just crossed the Dumbarton Bridge. Over that way is Menlo Park and Palo Alto is over there."
Me, "Oh. Okay.  So where are we?"
John, "About 10 more minutes."
Me, "Okay."

So we drove through Stanford, to see all the smart people, and drove along the Linear Particle Accelerator.  "See, it's that long building over there."  "You can still see it."  "Dad's been in there."  "Get off your phones."  They didn't care.  And finally we arrived at Valley Presbyterian Church.  A very cool A-Frame church.  Not real big but the entire front wall was glass, looking out at these gorgeous cedar trees, and there were skylights all along the sides and real shrubs and plants along the walls and up in the altar area.  It felt like you were outside.  AND, they had a bar set up in the back for intermission.  Do all Presbyterian churches have bars?  I don't know but I'm converting just to be on the safe side.

So the assignment was for the boys to attend a concert and write a two page paper about it, in no larger than 12 font.  Clearly this was not Mr. Rugani's first rodeo.
Kid, <whining> "But I did turn in a 2 page paper."
Mr. Rugani, "It was in 48 font, Howard! Nice try!"

Now, I don't know anything about music, but 2 pages?  Really? My report would be something like this:

   I went to an Ensemble Concert.  Before the performance they announced that if we had any questions about anything at all, we could text them and they would try to answer during intermission.  This was a first for me. Usually they get all attitude-y about turning off your cell phones.

   There were 3 ladies on violins.  One could have been a Viola but I get those confused.  There was also a guy on cello and another guy playing clarinet.  The guy on clarinet was very serious and got very red in the face like he was going to have an aneurysm or something. After the  first song the clarinetist left, probably to get a CT scan, and was replaced with a guy playing double bass.  I was rather disappointed with the double bass because it looked just like a regular bass and I was expecting something, I don't know, double.  But he did look a little like Peter Capaldi so maybe it was bigger on the inside.  

   After the first song, we applauded and the musicians all got up and left. This made me wonder, are they going to get up and leave after every song? because that is rather inefficient.  Now I don't know much about musical performances but I do know something about manufacturing flow and you can't sew one zipper and then get up and leave the room.  Sit your ass down and keep sewing. 

   Then I fell asleep.

The End

P.S.  I texted, "What's up with the double bass? I demand a refund." but I didn't get a response.

And when we got up to leave I heard the old guy behind us say, "Are they serving wine back there?" Another convert.  Hallelujah.  

Tom's Foot

It's like Gandolf and Frodo, only without the forced perspective.

The Worst Part about Winter in California

Abbey: It's sunny outside. It must be warm.  I want to go outside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs out.
Abbey: Oh, it's cold.  I want to go back inside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs in.

<2 minutes later>

Abbey: It's sunny outside. It must be warm.  I want to go outside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs out.
Abbey: Oh, it's cold.  I want to go back inside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs in.

<2 minutes later>

Abbey: It's sunny outside. It must be warm.  I want to go outside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs out.
Abbey: Oh, it's cold.  I want to go back inside.
Alice: Me too.
I get up and let the dogs in.

<2 minutes later>

Abbey: It's sunny outside. It must be warm.  I want to go outside.
Alice: Me too.
Me, "Forget it."
Abbey: Sits in front of me and stares unceasingly
Alice: wwwhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnee
Me, "Uh-uh.  No way."
Abbey: <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>
Alice: wwwhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnee
Me, "I'm not letting you out."
Abbey: <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>
Alice: wwwhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnee
Me, "Go lay down."
Abbey: <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>  <staring>
Alice: wwwhhhhiiiiiiiiiiinnee
Me, "Fine. but you're staying out this time."
Abbey: Oh, it's cold.  I want to go back inside.
Alice: Me too.
Me, "AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH"

Pavlov would be so proud of them.

I'm so underestimated

Tom, "Whatcha eating?"
Me, "Pudding"
Tom, "Did Grandma make it?"
Me, "Grandma left six weeks ago."
Tom, "Who made it?"
Me, "I did."
Tom, "Is it like Grandma's?"
Me, "Yes."
Tom, "Did you buy it?"
Me, "I bought the box."
Tom, "So you didn't make it."
Me, "Yes, I made it."
Tom, "But not like Grandma's."
Me, "Yes, like Grandma's. She makes it with a box. She doesn't make pudding from scratch. No one makes pudding from scratch."
Tom, "So did you buy it or make it?"
Me, "Tom, surprising as it may be, your mother knows how to make pudding."
Tom, "Huh...........Can I have some?"
Me, "No."

I must be getting old

So we got the latest version of Dead Rising with new missions and new characters, and what I find myself saying more than anything else is, "Boy, he has a potty mouth."  I even caught myself saying, out loud, "Oh, I don't like his language at all."  I'm officially my mother.