Desert Magnolia

Daughter is settled. Mama is adjusting to the new reality. Hubby is exhibiting signs of missing the girl, too, which is to be expected. They were joined at the hip from very early on. Share a love for soccer, a similar sense of humor, and pretty much no patience for BS. It's cool, their relationship. A girl with a strong bond with her dad is in a good place, in my mind. I loved my dad fiercely, and there was never any doubt he felt the same about me. It made my decisions early in life easier knowing no matter how badly I botched things, Daddy would be there with a hug, a smile, and some good advice for me while I brushed my skinned knees off. While there, I stayed in a hotel in Sekonk, Mass. Daughter goes to school in Providence. It's really not that far, just about 20 minutes on the freeway, but a state line is crossed. And recrossed, and crossed again on the late night trip back. Daughter has a really sweet roommate, who also plays soccer, and honestly seems to be t...

For some reason I've always assumed I have no accent, that I'm a sort of civilian version of the newscasters 'round the country who also lack discernible accents. But I've been recently told that I'm mistaken. And that I talk way too slowly to try to get by in Rhode Island without raising an eyebrow or two as people try to figure out where I'm from. They know for sure I'm not from there because: A. I use more than four words to answer questions most of the time. Locals don't. Ever. B. I fully enunciate words. Locals clip and skip. Always. C. I speak very slowly compared to the locals. Very. Enough so that they look at me like we might be operating on different time planes. Seriously. Nobody actually held their hands out and wiggled their fingers in a 'hurry up already' motion, but they were tempted. I could tell. It's good to know these things about oneself, yes?

It's time for me to fly, literally. To RI. To visit/settle in the Daughter. Time has flown, and I am totally jazzed to be headed her way. Miss her. Want to see for myself that she's well.  All that. I confirmed my hotel reservation  just now and am already impressed. Very nice lady answered with an accent you could cut with a knife..that made me immediately feel like a drawler...:-) This has happened before, when I lived in California, which was most unexpected as I'd always assumed my speech was kind of newscaster neutral, but I was wrong. Kind lady with bracing accent gave me some good practical advice re: which exit NOT to take...apparently many many people get confused when the exit #'s reset going from RI to Mass. I would have done this as well, of this I'm certain. Take care, all, and know I'm thinkin' about ya as I learn about RI and where my girl will be hanging out getting her horizons broadened over the next four years. Stevie

Lunch today was inspired by our garden's bounty. On the menu? Edamame. Greek salad with fresh cucumbers, tomatoes, basil, avocado, red onion, kalamata olives and mozzarella. Dressed with a lemon and olive oil dressing, which, as it turns out, contains a fair amount of garlic. Because early this morning when I was assembling said salad, I must have been in a garlic mood. Take a sip of the lovely, deep Guatemalan blend coffee, add a little garlic. Take another sip of java, add a little more, and so on. I've been known to do this while sipping wine and making dinner, too, so it just must be how I roll when I cook, a.m. or p.m. It's safe to assume that our building is, and will continue for at least the duration of the afternoon to be, vamp free.

Friday was clearly, as I've addressed, a dark day for me. But by late Friday evening, after an evening out on the quad at Hubby's school enjoying Rudy's BBQ at a Welcome Back faculty dinner, things began to lighten and brighten a bit. Thank goodness for this, for with the lightness and brightness came the ability to breathe deeply once more and move forward. By Saturday morning, my energy had risen, and I'd decided the only course of action was action itself. Which I followed, and which resulted in a long, hard run with lots of hill work. In the heat. After lunch and a long shower, I opted to head out to take care of a few errands, to cross some things off my list, and then to return home to nap and nest. I felt the cumulative emotional fatigue coupling with the post-run exhaustion, and knew my nap would be lovely. In a cool house, with the kitty curled up next to me. If I'd stuck to my grass roots plan, the day would have been perfect, really, but I veered ...

Things that contributed to my mood on Friday? Hair ambiguity. I'm in the process of growing out my layers, and while it still feels short short, it's actually grown a bit, and looks pretty good due to Sweet Melissa's trim and highlight ministrations last week. The crux of my problem stems from the bigger, 'should I really grow it out at my age, or just keep it short?' question. I haven't really worked that out, though am practicing envisioning myself with a slightly longer than chin-length do, very chic, that will, when we finally get there, make me glad I stuck with it. In the meantime, every time I walk by a mirror I go, 'Ugh, how long is it going to take until I actually like my hair again????' My emotions, on Friday, courtesy of www.stuffintheair.com PMS . I'm not going to blame my emotional, mental state, and screwed up cycle on the obvious, but isn't it strange that this summer, one in which Son graduated from college and just depa...

I posed this query last year when I began mine. As I look back over the last year and consider why I started to blog, I realize I share the compulsion that many of my favorite bloggers possess. But I am decidedly less interesting in many ways. I have no social anxiety to speak of. Don't hide in bathrooms at conventions, don't shy away from daylight, am not recovering from any controlled (or legal) substance abuse, haven't been molested or assaulted or invaded with cancer or driven to mar my body with tattoos or excessive (read in places you cannot see in public) piercings. I enjoy some stuff that is considered cliche if your daily yardstick of normal includes balancing your meds while wrenching, then sharing, heartbreaking stories of childhood or adult trauma of any nature from your core, or if you cannot decide if you are happy in your own skin and are trying on figurative new facades on a regular basis. My lack of quirks may doom me to blogospheric mediocrity, in ...