August! So blissful. This month, we have no travel and no house guests and thus time just to BE at home. We’re finishing little projects around the house and yard, planning some perfunctory hikes, and spending our free time reading, dining with friends, preventing the hens from brooding, and walking the dogs.
Primary emotions lately:
Compulsion for domestic order is high. I’ve realized that sweeping the entire main floor after I get home from work every day really helps me calm down and feel like my world is safe and good. Today, for instance, I am sincerely looking forward to cleaning and reorganizing my calligraphy studio. I have a supplies situation that looks and feels like it is spiraling out of control.
Related to that sensation, the desire to keep paring down my possessions, namely clothes and beauty products.
Heaviness of heart when I think about the obdurate brand of American racism; have been thinking a lot about Between the World and Me, by Ta-Nehisi Coates, which I think should be mandatory reading for all white Americans. I’ve also been thinking a lot about my very racially segregated community.
Desire to read more books. Desire to read all of the books that I own but haven’t read yet (rough estimate of 30 unread titles languishing on shelves). Desire to read all the books in the public library, more or less.
Tenderness for my husband. Tenderness for the psychologically damaged Pyrrha. Marginal tenderness for the crazy Eden.
I am not ready to be cold all the time. Can’t summer stay a little bit longer?
Eager fear and excitement when I realize that our European summer is less than a year away now. (We will be living in London for three months next year. I’ll be working out of my company’s branch there, and Guion will get to come with me, because he can work from anywhere. Whee!)
Lent is all about reflection and about how we’re pretty much down in the dumps when we’re sans Savior. In accordance with that, here’s my seriously truncated list of things I cannot do.
Throw a football.
Do math above a fifth-grade level. (Probably. I haven’t tried. The only math I do on a regular basis is calculate tips, and sometimes I don’t even do that accurately.)
Eat chocolate without melting some portion of it into my clothes. Chocolate is really hard to get out of most fabric, kids. You’ve been warned.
Read anything, anywhere without looking for grammatical or punctuation errors.
Take politicians seriously.
Touch my toes. (Have you seen how long my legs are? I protest! They are too long!)
Wear cable-knit sweaters. (But, really, who can? Welsh or Irish farmers may be the only ones.)
Pass a dog without wanting to pet it.
Watch war movies. See also: Talk about war movies.
Drive a manual transmission car. We got a 10-minute lesson from a car salesman in August, but I felt like we were all going to die in a jerky, fiery blaze the whole time I was behind the wheel and on the clutch.
Watch golf for more than three minutes without crying out from desperate, desperate boredom.
Skateboard. Not that I’ve ever tried. Or have any desire to try. It is easily the most stressful form of transportation to observe.
Watch FOX News without my blood pressure spiking significantly.
Enjoy a trip to the mall.
Hide my emotions from my face.
Open wine bottles without seriously messing up or losing the cork.
Let my feet touch the bottom of a slimy lake or river without wanting to vomit. I can walk barefoot on rocks in a stream all day long, but please, please don’t ask me to put them in the green slime. See: Trip to Rivanna swimming hole, circa summer 2010, in which I bailed and sat on a log near the very pregnant and beautiful Cate.
Kill animals or watch animals being killed. See also: Kill people or watch people being killed.
Tell a joke without making an allusion to Liz Lemon or a member of the Bluth family.
And these are just a FEW of them! I can’t do so many things. Lenten conclusion? Jesus is OK with this list.