talking too much, laughing too loud, snacking all the way
Sara...
...is a happy, ordinary, middle-aged, suburban woman who paints odd pictures, gardens in a straw hat, lives with the love of her life, is owned by one cat and the ghosts of several others, and walks a little funny 'cause she has a fake leg. She started this website because there's more to life than what we lose, and we need to let each other know what's possible, even if it's only a happy, ordinary life.
Make sure the subject line of your correspondence is clear and specific. I do not open e-mails from strangers unless I can tell in advance that I want to read them.
There's no rhyme or reason to what I choose when I buy. I pick what moves me, different things on different days.
This one looks like a planet.
This one imprisons a frozen flame.
And this one, barely paler than my skin, giggles all over with polka dots.
See? I still have quite a few marbles, lots of different kinds. And I know just where they all are. And I know just how to hold onto them, too, firmly, but not so tightly as to block the light.
(I think that one looks like it's made of grape popsicles swirled with cream. What do you think?)
This was just one of three fat grey squirrels farming in the deep, rich, treasure-colored leaf cover with which the season has adorned our front yard. Recognize any of those leaves personally? You've seen quite a number of them before, though they are not where you last saw them.
Why was I filming squirrels from my studio window today? Why yes, I was indeed out of clean underwear and therefore unable to leave the house. And no, my reluctance to leave the house without clean or, alternatively, any underwear at all is not the result of some fear of ending up in the emergency room and making a bad impression on medical personnel, in spite of everything our mothers may have said. It's for me, okay? Underwear, particularly clean underwear, is a gift I give myself.
It is nonetheless quite gratifying that others can get something out of my little present to myself, too, though. There's the whole thing about not smelling, of course. And, look, sometimes there's also free squirrel footage.
In a snarkish little call-back to an earlier post, I was going to scan my "I've voted! Have you?" sticker and post it here, but when we got done voting at 11:30 this morning, we were told they had already run out! Wow!
So, I had to make my own graphic. I know it's a bit late in the day -- certainly on my coast, anyway, but if you voted and didn't get a sticker either, or if you just want another way to be smug with me in public, feel free to copy and deploy the following at will.
HIM: We did it! We voted! It's all over now!
ME: Yes! And now there will be peace, for tomorrow begins the Great Shutting Up!
This conversation took place in CVS approximately a month ago, give or take a week.
ME: You know, this year I'm thinking of giving out some cute, cheap little toys instead of candy. Kazoos or something. I always liked stuff like that every bit as much as candy, and I always feel guilty giving out candy.
HIM (noncomittally): Hmm.
ME: But the thing is, we didn't get any trick-or-treaters last year, not one. In fact, the whole time we've been living here we've only ever had one set of trick-or-treaters. If we don't get any again this year, then we'll be stuck with a bag of little toys.
HIM: Oh, just get candy.
ME: What kind of candy? Since we're probably going to end up eating it ourselves, and since I probably won't be able to eat any at all, we should get something you like.
ME: Okay, great, then we'll get Reese's. Should we go ahead and get them now? We could wait 'til closer to the day, but then what happens is we forget until Hallowe'en night, and then we end up rushing to the store and by the time we get there they've taken all the Hallowe'en stuff away and are putting out the Christmas stuff already.
HIM: Let's get it now.
ME: Okay. (crosses to display and grabs bag)
(a few minutes later, at the checkstand)
CASHIER: If you buy two, you can get the second one free.
ME: Oh, I don't really think we should do that. We never get that many trick-or-treaters, and we'll only end up eating them ourselves.
HIM: (goes back to display and grabs second bag)
(a few hours later, at home)
HIM: So, where did you put the Reese's?
ME: I'm not going to tell you. Those are for the trick-or-treaters, unless none show up. We don't need to be eating them now.
HIM: I really want a Reese's.
ME: Well, I hid them in plain sight. I'm not going to tell you where, but if you find them on your own, well, there's nothing I can do about it, is there?
This is where I hid them in plain sight. See the bag on top of the fridge?
This is what the inside of that bag looked like well before yesterday:
We had no trick-or-treaters this year.
2. Studying forensic science.
This may be why we had no trick-or-treaters. (Click to enlarge.)
I bought these gel-cling decorations at the local grocery store. I was particularly delighted with the bloody hand prints.
Problem is, kids today are so sophisticated. Even though I have by now surely watched every single episode of CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, a fair number of CSI NYs and CSI Miamis, and long before either of those the entire first and second season of Waking the Dead, I don't seem to have gotten the blood spatter right.
Look at that top photo again. I was flummoxed by the dripping slash splashes, had no clue where to put them. The dried blood also confused me. I just don't have enough information to confidently choose whether those should be closer or further from the center of the splatter, or how far apart any of it should be in the first place.
Obviously, I need to watch more TV, 'cause I'm just not getting it. And on top of all that, I had to limit how many decals I put on the lower pane of the storm door, within reach of the kitty.
Clearly, the local children were not impressed. Fortunately, we had already eaten all the candy anyway, so not really a problem from our perspective.
3. Spending time with animals.
(Some of my readers, and you know who you are, are rodentophobes and may wish to skip this section even though I assure you no rodents real or imaginary will pop out of your monitor from this website and attack you unless you let them. You've been warned.)
At the West Concord 5 & 10, scene of so many pleasant shopping experiences, I recently discovered that no, I did not have everything I needed for Hallowe'en, or indeed for any time of year. Because any season is the right season for a Jumbo Rubber Rat.
Especially a Jumbo Rubber Rat that squeaks.
I know it is a Jumbo Rubber Rat because the label on its tail says so.
The label also says other things, for example, that this Jumbo Rubber Rat was made in China and cost less than four bucks.
I do not understand everything on that label. I do not know whether those round symbols in the upper righthand corner are meant to convey recyclability or that this Jumbo Rubber Rat is himself made of recycled materials.
Either way, I'm glad I got the Jumbo size. I don't think Sam could give a rat's ass. Or a cat's ass. Either one, actually.
4. Learning to embrace my inner demon.
A couple of weeks ago, it was a brilliantly sunny autumn Sunday, and since I wasn't passed out or throwing up, my true love and I decided to go to Harvard Square to explore the annual Oktoberfest celebration.
We didn't get very far because in my now once more oversized suction socket, neither crowds nor cobblestones turned out to be that much fun to hobble around among at a pace slower than a desert tortoise's. However, we did have some fun. My true love enjoyed some Indian food, and he bought me a present.
Why, yes, that is a fiendishly lovely (though cheap and mass-produced, of course) red and black mask from Italy, where they know how to make such things.
No, I won't show you what I look like wearing it. That could be too revealing.
5. Figuring out how it all fits together.
But let's take a look at the other arm of my perfect red leather chair. It's been awhile since you've seen it, and work has progressed.
Perhaps you can guess who the artist sculpting away at it might be.
Warning: This post is full of naked blueberry porn which may or may not relate to the story in progress where it appears. For example, um, click to enlarge this:
Yesterday, when I was finished being MRI-ed until I could be MRI-ed no more, it was still only 10:30 in the morning. Amazing! I would have time to get to Hutchins Farm right as the farmstand opened, and thus have a real shot at scoring some fresh, organically grown blueberries picked that morning.
When I got there, the young lady was just putting out the signs. I rolled down my window.
"So how are the blueberries this morning?"
"No blueberries 'til tomorrow," she told me sadly.
"Then I shall just have to be here tomorrow," I replied. "Thanks." And off I went home.
(Click to enlarge.)
This morning, though, I was incapacitated by vomiting, cramps and exhaustion. The cramps were so painful they made me momentarily treasure the knowledge of my own mortality. As I retired to bed with an ice pack, it was clear that I was going to be unable to make it to the farm.
"Would you like me to go?" asked my faithful true love.
"Oh, yes! But you have to get there right when they open. Otherwise they'll run out."
Thanks to his trusty GPS, my true love was able to arrive at his destination with time to spare.
"The girl was just opening up the doors. It was a little bit early, like maybe three minutes before eleven."
"Oh, perfect! And was I right? Was the competition fierce?"
"Well, there was this crotchety old man with his wife, and while they were looking over the blueberries, he was complaining, 'They opened early! They really shouldn't do that!'"
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