It is the Sunday night of Memorial Day.
I haven’t attended a cookout, gone swimming, attended a concert, or had dinner with family.
To be honest, I don’t like much of the food that is eaten is cookouts, other than corn, and it’s too cold to swim. Taylor Swift was last weekend, I need to get over it.
My daugher just blocked me on Instagram, she’s nineteen and she had warned me she wasn’t going to let me follow her. But she did, and then two days later, she didn’t.
My husband spent most of the weekend talking about buying a lawnmower and is now working so he can pay for the lawnmower he bought for our tiny, tiny back yard.
My son answered my afternoon group text where I announced I was turning off my phone for a little downtime to ask me why.
He probably still likes me because he is a thousand miles away, so I don’t expect much from him.
On these three day holiday weekends, I want to play frisbee with a large group who knows me well and doesn’t mind that I’m not that good. I want to sleep in late, stay up late and not be the one to do the dishes, unless, the dishes are at someone else’s house, (I’d like to make it clear I am an excellent houseguest because I’m coming across here as kind of a jerk).
I want my challenge to be finding the summer placemats and getting the kids to put away their laundry.
But we aren’t part of large family, and none of us can throw frisbee farther than twenty feet, except Colin. He’d rather throw a football and is currently, like I said, far away.
I like to get up early, I don’t mind doing dishes with the radio on. Besides, it’s just me there aren’t many dishes.
I think life is harder now, than it was, years ago. Or maybe it just feels that way, tonight, on the cusp of summer. Maybe because it’s a holiday weekend, and there’s pressure to have something to say when when someone asks me at work on Tuesday morning- “what did you do?”
I’m not sure what’s coming next, except that if I don’t walk the dogs soon, they will wait patiently until I am ready. I really, really, really like dogs.
Tomorrow, I need to take a ride to the beach, hop on my bike, or head over to the Ponkapoag Pond in the morning. I have a whole day left, and I’m sure as hell not going to spend it negotiating with Katy regarding social media or nagging Sheldon about a lawn mower.
Well, I could, but I won’t, because I did that today.
Life is short. I can do better.
Postscript
I wanted to follow up about yesterday, the event detailed above when at 1 pm, Katy, a newcomer to Instagram at the age of nineteen years old and all around wonderful human, blocked me.
That funk resulted in a cookie binge, a shower that consumed all the hot water of East Milton and an entire bottle of lavendar calm body wash, (no help at all) and a google search about the cost of living in St Croix, because I went there with my parents when I was twelve and had a delightful time.
I am happy to share, I have been reinstated. It was all a minor misunderstanding which if I tried to explain, I’d probably get blocked again.
And today, I’ve done better.
Thanks for reading.
Sunday in May.
May 22, 2023
It is the middle of May, The air is warm. The sky says close to sunset; the dogs have been fed and are barking at a child on a scooter.
This afternoon there were no birthdays or trips to Shaw’s Market, though we should have done something about the lawn.
There have been three walks around the block twisted in leashes and clutching small bags, a trip to Marshalls to buy a belt with my dear friend, Chris, a long shower, and maybe a face mask when I’m done here at the table. I’ve chosen my clothes for the morning, I’ve packed up my lunch for tomorrow afternoon.
I’m moving slow on a Sunday night because I truly believe I am ready for Monday.
My daughter is home from college, but she’s out for the night. My husband is working. The dogs have stopped barking and in an hour they’ll be looking at me and then looking downstairs towards my bed.
The washing machine is almost done, I need to remember to switch tomorrow’s skirt to the dryer. I need to remember to check in on my friend to make sure she made it home safe to New Jersey. I need to check the calendar for my next dentist’s appointment so I can ask for the time off from work.
I’m moving slow on a Sunday because I am ready for Monday, and everything else that is heading my way.
It is the middle of May. The air is warm and just outside my front door, I smell peonies and lavendar. There is an evening ahead, and hours and hours before morning comes.
Ch ch ch changes
May 13, 2023
Recently, the face of my Apple watch switched, from rotating photos taken over the years to a black, white, and red, cartoon of Mickey Mouse. At random times, Mickey will crow the time in a squeaky, strange, Mickey Mouse voice. This doesn’t happen often; so far he hasn’t interrupted a zoom call at work, or my sleep, but it’s something I need to fix.
Sophia, the Most Lovely and Graceful Dog is gone. Chanel, a squat American Bullie, and Bernie, short for Bernadette, a French Bulldog pup, given to us by Colin last week, have been using their time in the garden to hunt for rocks. (Sophia felt time outside was for sunning, barking, and taking treats- she was good at doing all three at the same time. People would bring snacks to our fence and pass them to her, she would daintily accept their gifts and resume barking until they slid another cookie through the posts and so on.)
Nellie and Bernadette spend their time the garden hunting for rocks. Often, one or both will bring the rocks inside so that they can roll around the floor, fighting over treasure. As soon as one of them gets bored, or hears someone go into the kitchen, the rock is no longer desirable. They bark at people, too, Sophia left a legacy.
I need to start wearing slippers at night again, random rocks are almot as bad as stray legos in the middle of the night or anytime, when stepped on by bare toes and feet.
Sophia was dignified and aloof, but would say hello most mornings when she stretched. She’d wag her tail and open her mouth and out would come something like “arrrrrrrrrrr”. Sometimes, I would be permitted to rub her belly, but for the most part, she was done with me until it was time for our cookie party. The tradition continues, but the parties are shorter with Nell and Bernie as guests. Bernie throws up seventy-five percent of the time she eats anything that isn’t dry dog food and Chanel is a little thicker these days.
I’ve been in a funk for the past month. On the longest day, I would walk into joy when my dogs heard the door open.
They’d jump and crawl on my chest, roll around the floor, present me with rocks, stray socks, a fork, and one time a jar of very pricy moisturizer, (not sure how Nell managed to fit it in her mouth, but I was happy to see it).
When I came home to Sophie, she’d nod in my direction, and jump off the sofa so I could let her outside.
I switched smoothies. From chocolate mango almond butter, I’m trying to like green juice, which isn’t half bad if you add some ingredients that aren’t green.
There is only Sheldon and I here; first spring without the backdrop of the high school calendar. Now that I’m used to Katy away at school, she’ll be home on Tuesday night.
Strange spring, this season. I’ve been feeling a little sad for a while, and usually, for years, actually, (with exceptions, of course,) I’m pretty damn happy.
Being sad has felt foreign and heavy in my chest I didn’t talk about it because I couldn’t explain it and I didn’t want to talk about it. Most days, I wanted to go home, go to the gym, and go to bed. Some days, the only time I felt happy was when I was flopped on the sofa with sixty pounds of puppy bouncing around my head.
It occurred to me, tonight, walking at Cunningham, that I felt a little bit better than I have in a while.
I was listening to the new music playlist, I was anticipating an evening of a good book and a good show- “Single Drunk Female”.
It occurred to me that when I’m struggling or even just grouchy, that’s okay.
And if I want to feel better, I don’t need to wait until I look inside my heart to realize it is light and all is right with the world again.
I can listen to more music, go for a swim, tell a friend, spend a day with the dogs, make that new snack on instagram that involves cottage cheese, maple syrup, strawberries, and graham crackers, and a blender.
Being happy can’t always come from the inside.
And sometimes I just need to be sad.
It’s been a strange season, this spring.
I’ll let you know how the cottage cheese/strawberries/graham crackers/ turn out, unless it’s disgusting,
Everything’s gonna be allright.
Well, actually, it already is.
Peace,
Julie
julierichmond 