Look what they want to sell me! And I have been coveting this for three or four years now. Did you notice the occasional tables made from big, fat logs? Or the much-maligned chair and a half? Woody Woodpecker could die happy in that living room!
However. I cannot justify to myself, paying close to three thousand dollars for something to sit on. Any more than I can justify to myself, sleeping anyplace more glamorous than Motel6 when I am on the road. It’s a bed, for crying out loud. And a room with a door that locks. Throw a Ghirardelli square on the pillow and leave me alone until the morning!
Yes, I am a wee bit cranky today. We will blame that on a dream that I had the other night, where the me that I am today was having a lovely private moment with the children’s father as he was about 20 years ago. It reminded me of just how much I have lost and how intrinsic is that need to be appropriately intimate. Those of you who are married, please be especially kind and tender to your beloved today, and every day. Count each day blessed in which you are privileged to love and serve and enjoy one another. Those of you who like me are enjoying the relative peace that comes with single blessedness, remember to give thanks that you are not unhappily yoked.
Another reason/excuse to feel cranky. A comment in passing from LittleBit while she was making herself a sandwich after church. Something along the lines of “I think we should clean this place up and have the missionaries over for dinner so we can have an interesting gospel discussion and it not just be us.” Or words to that effect. She was talking, Fourthborn was paying a rare and most welcome visit, and I was waiting for my leftover potatoes to finish nuking. Definitely not in full-listening mode.
I give LittleBit full points for saying “I think we should clean this place up”, meaning the two of us, but while her heart is in the right place, her body is seldom here. And neither of us is fond of emptying the dishwasher, which means that when it gets fed, I am the one doing the feeding and the running and the emptying. She does take the trash out, often without having to be asked or reminded. But we, to all intents and purposes, means me.
And I don’t want to.
I am quite content to live out of boxes for another three and a half months, until I make what I devoutly hope is my penultimate move. I have no overwhelming desire to fix this place up as I did the last one, knowing that I will have to do it again in a new place in June. So the good dishes are going to stay packed away until I can display them properly, and the good linens will do the same. And then I hope to live in my friend’s duplex until I can buy a place of my own [or, should Brother Right make an ironic appearance after the last box is unpacked, a place of our own, as soon as my lease would be up; a year’s lease also guarantees that I won’t marry Hubby No. 3 six weeks after we are introduced, as I did with the children’s father].
So, there will be three or possibly four more drive-by-foodings of the elders in this ward, even though there are now two sets of them and if I fed both sets we would not have to worry about the third-adult-male-priesthood-holder problem. I don’t want to bug Brother Sushi to do the honors, and I don’t want to play guess who’s coming to dinner.
I have rescheduled the colonoscopy from this coming Wednesday to the one after that. My co-payment is $250 [insert horrified gasp here], so this will have to wait until after payday on Friday. But I will get that back in a few weeks from my MER account. I blew through my MER estimate by the end of June, last year; it looks like it will be the end of March, this year. So no shopping in the bookstores on Friday for me, and no neat little tschotchkes when the dinner group takes a walking tour through a lovely revitalized neighborhood of BigD on Saturday.
I am grinning a little at remembering the smugness with which I told LittleBit recently that adulthood is pretty much all about delayed gratification.
Another dozen rows on the Stripedy Stocking at church today, and I am about to put in a movie and knit for awhile on Middlest’s sock, as I had another of my extended naps this afternoon and will not be falling asleep again, anytime soon.
I keep thinking that it’s time to share Part II of my conversion story, but I think I need to ponder awhile longer.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!