Monday, September 21, 2009


I stayed up too late last night. When I finally crawled into bed, three hours remained before my morning would begin. I closed my eyes, blocked out Aaron's raucous snores and drifted into an incredibly lively dream world--only to be jolted wide-awake one hour later. Hail is noisier than Aaron's snores.

The long-winded hailstorm stole another hour of sleep and I dozed until my alarm scared the crap out of me at 5:00 a.m. Wearily I got ready, chauffeured Alex and Natalie to seminary, drove through lightly falling snow to the deserted grocery store (my preferred shopping time), picked up necessary edibles (which means half the store because I have teenagers), and went to my 7:00 meeting.

At this point I must confess that I have no recollection of the business transacted at said meeting. I'm hoping nothing was assigned to me. I'm fairly certain I made up at least twelve four-syllable words, used them with alacrity, and glared disparagingly at anyone who looked the least bit confused by my speech. I'm hoping none of the imaginary words rolled easily off the tongue. I have one colleague who uses such words simply because he likes to say them, but never has any idea if his usage is correct, nor does he seem to care. And I'd prefer to have my fanciful solecism forgotten forthwith.

I believe I attended and participated in (at least in the corporeal sense) two or three rehearsals and lunch meeting. All recollection of these events is spotty, at best. I returned home, spent one hour playing Solitaire (yup, got lots of work done in that hour), then taught piano lessons for the remainder of the evening. Naturally, the lessons went well, as I am an amazing teacher and can mesmerize any student with my prowess, even if I catnap during the lessons--which I did not.

In spite of the zombie-esque feeling which led me through this day, somewhere between lessons and 6:00 p.m., I made delicious chicken noodle soup with hot bread for dinner. It is immaterial whether I remember making it or not. Clearly, cooking is something which requires no conscious thought. Also, a rather lovely chocolate cake appeared later. I remember telling an online chat friend that I was making one. I do not recall actually making it. Regardless, it tasted very nice.

The obnoxious plethora of imaginary but most creative words, followed me throughout the day. It's a mercy that tomorrow I will remember none of them, and should anyone remind me, I will simply fix that person with my haughty, super-heroine I-can't-believe-you-would-even-consider-such-trumpery gaze, and the accusation will be immediately forgotten. And if that doesn't work, I plan to look confused and be a little embarrassed for the person who is so obviously mistaken in their memory of our conversation.

In the meantime, if I said the word phenolanolin in a previous conversation with you--don't look it up. It's not a word. It means nothing. And it's definitely not the chemical in turkey which makes you feel sleepy, nor is it a hormone produced by the thyroid which regulates growth.

And now I believe I will go get a drink of water.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Dear contractors working on my bathroom:

I do not like the untimeliness of your arrivals. If you say you will come at 8:50 a.m., I expect you to be here at 8:50 a.m. If you come later, I am tardy for my rehearsals--not good. If you come earlier, it is likely someone will be in the shower or frantically trying to get ready for work--not good.

I do not like the incessant mess you leave behind. I understand you are deconstructing and reconstructing my bathrooms, but I see no reason for there to be construction mess in my living room, bedroom and kitchen.

I do not like it when you leave your Mountain Dew bottles on the back of my one surviving toilet, and on the floor of the upstairs bathroom. You brought a HUGE trash can with you. Surely you can put your bottles in that.

I do not like the way your power tools make a very loud noise, followed by moments of complete silence, followed by muffled manic giggling. It makes me very nervous and I would like you to stop that.

All this, however, I will continue to endure without complaint if you will please, please, please, turn off the country music. Seriously. Three weeks of it has nearly driven me mad. It's time to listen to something else, my friends.


P.S. If you do not honor my request, I will be forced to start practicing while you are here--and I can practice for hours...I'm not kidding...