My Fresh Hell
Life in Scribbletown.

A Week Without Music

2006-04-17

I'm back, though you wouldn't know it. Dusty relapsed on Friday morning and I stayed home with her and tried to catch up on work stuff. Which I'm still trying to do. Perhaps by tomorrow this will have happened but I'm not holding my breath.

I have lots to talk about and no time to write so I'll just have to hit a few highlights and let the rest of it sort itself out over the next couple of days.

First, though, an enormous THANKS to Smedindy not only for his guest entry but for the FIVE, count 'em, FIVE CD mixes that arrived in Friday's mail. My in-car music needs have been met for some time to come. One CD has a song with "Red" in the title and one with "Dusty" in the title. I haven't listened to that one yet so I can't give you the full titles and artists yet. But, isn't that a nice touch? I thought so. Thanks, man! You rule.

One of the things about traveling that is weird, to me anyway, is the way you adjust your life and general routine to the place you are. Maybe that's obvious and normal. I didn't really think about it much until I came home and resumed my real life. When you're somewhere else, you are kind of in a state of suspended animation. You still get up in the morning, but in a different bed. Noises are different. You still shower, but in a different tub with different water pressure. You still eat, but it's not your kitchen and the bagels are a different brand.

As the title of today's entry states, while in California, I was pretty much without music of any kind. My aunt's tastes tend toward '50's rock and roll (Elvis and all that '60's "Big Chill" crap) and new country stuff like….Rascal Flatts?…..or whatever the hell that band is called. Needless to say, I'm not a fan of country music. The old Johnny Cash type stuff, the hard-drinking, nose-punching stuff I can listen to (but not for very long), but the new country music that's full of people named Travis and Randy? Naaaaht so much. Also? Elvis is dead. Not that he doesn't deserve his icon status but when you've heard Jailhouse Rock about 5,678 times? You probably don't need to hear it for the 5,679th time, is all I'm saying.

I'm not the kind of person to tune out with a walkman device or even an iPod (which I do not own) and when you're away visiting people and have a talkative (and sick) five-year-old to entertain, you can't really spend your time with headphones on. So, the music mixes came at the best time possible and are definitely being enjoyed by young and old.

One thing Dusty especially liked about the airplanes was the snack service. We got no meals – which actually is fine since I doubt it would have been anything we'd have eaten – but we got snacks. Dusty, who is very interested in occupations these days, asked me, "Would you like to be a snack passer?" I declined though Dusty's adding it to her list of possible careers: Airline Snack Passer.

By noon on Friday, Dusty had recovered (but still couldn't go to daycare – rules, rules, rules!) so I took her to a local nursery where we bought plants and planting boxes. This weekend I installed the boxes on the deck railing and planted purple petunias, snapdragons, chocolate mint, peppermint, Genovese basil, parsley, something blue and fuzzy I don't recall the name of, and sprinkled in flower seeds: nasturtiums and a "sun mix" that came free with my previous order of plants 'n' seeds from a catalog. A project conceived of +and completed in an entire weekend! That's gotta be a first for me!

Sunday we had "Easter" lunch at my mom's. She gave Red and Dusty their very own Ugly Dolls (Jeero and Babo). My mother and I got along just fine, in case you were wondering, but she also can't stop being herself and sent me home with a grocery bag full of my old school papers and other stuff – school rosters, Girl Scout rosters, my sister's preschool co-op information. It uncovered some interesting tidbits from the past but 90% of it is in the recycling bin. Where it belonged all along, really. She can't bring herself to just throw stuff away; she has to have me do it for her. It's now or later, I suppose.

Okay, I really must stop. More later.

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1:55 p.m. ::
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