news, big and little

So, given that New Orleans is already a dozen feet under sea level and drops every year, and that they may not be able to suck the water out of it for months, why has living there seemed like a good idea?

On to news of less national importance: I've been sick, but now I'm mostly better. I slept for thirty-three hours. I recommend that for anyone. Poor Anastacia had to do my Sunday School lesson and run FHE all by herself. She deserves a medal. I will give her ice cream novelties instead.

shopping

Anastacia had all four of her very impacted wisdom teeth surgically removed yesterday. So, of course, today she wanted to go shopping.

I probably shouldn't have let her, since she's still on heavy narcotics, but I'm glad I did. We both spent an amazing amount of money. It was all on work clothes, which excuses anything--right? Now I have three suits and a bevy of attractive work-appropriate high heels. Anastacia bought two dresses, a suitcoat, four pairs of pants, two skirts, about seventeen shirts, and a pair of shoes. At retail, the total came to something north of $1100.00. By dint of excellent sales and wise use of coupons, she paid less than $250.

Yeah, I know. I want some of what she's having. Hydrocodone, I think.

the other side

Well, the garden is beautiful, but I did promise to live by house rules. Which means that today has been designated as "Clean Your Room Day" by the powers that be. And lo, my room is clean. It's not so bad, really. I'm almost tempted to take down my blinds and figure out what the devil is wrong with them, just to round it off as a strictly domestic morning.

But there is fresh cheese bread in the kitchen, and the grapevines and the plum tree are loaded with small, tangy fruit unlike any I've ever gotten from a grocery store. The plums are red and heart-shaped. The grapes are tiny and green and sweet.

In another few days, I'll be reduced to regaling you with the weather report. There's that little going on right now.

perfect

I spent a few hours writing in the backyard, by the fountain. The grapes are ready on the grapevine. It is silent outside, except for the occasional boom from the northwest. (Someone blowing something up, no doubt--it doesn't pay to inquire in this town.) But there is nothing finer than watching the still garden while a dozen monarch butterflies trade places on the beesbalm, and the birds don't notice you until they're close enough you can read their expression as they sheer away. There is a thunderstorm blowing in from the west, but the sky above me is blue and dappled with thin currents of cloud.

And all this is much more distracting than the kitchen table, so back I go. I really have to finish Chapter Fifteen.

free

Small Child has gone to school. I am a free woman. I spent yesterday sitting at the kitchen table and trying to organize the self-perpetuating pile of paperwork that was threatening to eat my desk. Somehow, that's not how I envisioned my return to luxurious unemployment.

On other news . . . oh, wait. There is no other news. How about the rest of you? Certain close relatives who shall remain nameless haven't posted for a week or two, so why not use the comments section to update the class?

rat paraphernalia

The rat stuff has arrived. Eddie is assembling it in the middle of the living room. Very chic accommodations for these little rodents--I'm impressed. We go to Santa Fe to procure the animals themselves this evening.

cake

The cake was perfect. We are geniuses. I want a medal. Anastacia should actually get one--she hit upon the perfect frosting. I was responsible for the flowers, which were pretty decent. If I do say so myself. If I ever get around to figuring out how to post pictures, I will put some up for all to see.

zero hour

This is it: the wedding cake is due this evening. Wish me luck.

more rats

Eddie and Small Child and I went to the pet store today to scope out rats. They aren't bad little beasts. Red eyes, which I cannot approve of, but not bad otherwise. I did get pooped on, and even that didn't materially diminish my enthusiasm for the little beasties.

Eddie is awaiting an enormous box of rat paraphernalia, including 50 liters of bedding. I'm not sure precisely how big a bag that will be, but I look forward to seeing it. The rat condo is a three-story plastic structure with a built-in exercise room, deep tub bath, and maid service. There are ramps instead of stairs, though--probably an ADA mandate for prefabricated housing.

I have been offered the honor of naming one of the pair. Joseph has suggested Plague-Carrier, but it lacks a certain charm. I like Poppy, or Brutus. Ed was determined on Eris and Fama (Discord and Rumor) until Mom flatly refused to countenence their metaphorical presence in the household. She wasn't much more taken with Tony "the Hammer" and Jamie "the Rat."

I am relieved that rats eat their food dead. Eddie's late lizard Herman ate live crickets. There's one still hidden under the dishwasher, and I got into the shower this morning, turned on the water, and had a very distressed cricket try to climb up on my leg in an attempt to escape the spray. I was almost as distressed as he was. As any self-respecting woman would do, I jumped out of the shower, threw on a bathrobe, and forced Eddie to remove the insect before I went on with the shower.

I do not anticipate having this problem with rat kibble.

rats

Smallest brother is embroiled in negotiations with Dad; he wants to get a rat. Dad says that if he ever smells the rat, the rat will be killed and fed to the neighbor's dog. That reminds me of my brief experience raising rabbits, although the threat in that case was that WE would eat any of my pets who did not comply with family policy. I'm grateful Dad hasn't gone that far.

finally

After nine months, I've finally been (re)offered New Job. My investigation is finished. They are making me a badge and buying me plane tickets. I have a start date. Finally.

So now I no longer have to live on my meager savings for an unknown number of months, I can spend it on new jeans, which I desperately need, and a new suit, which might be a good idea. Seeing as how this will be the first paying job I've ever had with a dress code more demanding than No rude slogans on your teeshirts.

it's tomorrow

No, I won't give any information about Ingrown Toenail Man. That wouldn't be kind. Alden, you should know that story, since you were responsible for it.

On a nearly unrelated topic, the washer broke last night and I have no clean clothes. I'm trying to figure out whose drawers to raid.