I happen to think granny glasses chains (actual name? seems somewhat insensitive ... ) are cool and useful. My mom refuses to get one even though she often does not know where she left her glasses—she’s farsighted—and then she can’t read her menu or coupons or calendar. I almost always know where mine are since I am nearsighted and they are usually on my face. If I do happen to put them down somewhere besides their designated place, I can’t see to find them. Then I have to employ the assistance of the sighted people around me—usually my kids. They are not very good at finding things. Typically I just feel around until I locate them. Not the kids, the glasses. Sometimes the kids. But they don't feel anything like glasses, so there's no real confusion. Lately I have been taking my glasses off more often because I’ve discovered that I enjoy the world all soft and furry sometimes. It’s so much more relaxing that way. But where to put my glasses? The granny chain! And it’s pretty. And it was a dollar. Yes, I said “dollar.” You read that right. My mom doesn’t like it. But Mem thinks it’s lovely. Yes, she is 89. What’s your point? Steve (not his real name) guffawed when I showed him. He totally likes it.
I checked this book book out of the library. Because if there’s one more thing I need, it’s another book to read. I LOVE this writer. She is inspiring in the way Alice Munro and Louise Erdrich are inspiring. When I read their work, I am left thinking how did they just do that? Ever read The Interpreter of Maladies? Run out and do it. Speaking of too many books to read and not enough time to read them, I recently subscribed to BookBub. They send you daily deals on eBooks. Most are $2.99 or less. Some are FREE! Because if there is one more thing I need, it’s another book to read. (I totally do not have time for any more books. My book-acquiring habit is a sickness, people. And there is no cure.)
In our old house, we used to have a lovely breezeway. It was large and spacious and roomy and ample and a bunch of other words you can find in the thesaurus. Now we have this, which the kids call the breezeway but it’s more of a tiny, insufficient entryway. And while it is lovely in its own special way it is also small, cramped, confining, circumscribed, crowded (oh alliteration!) and a bunch of other words you can find in the thesaurus. (Which I did. I love a thesaurus.) This space is always a disaster. I have attempted to employ numerous and extremely clever organizing techniques, but to no avail. This space insists on chaos. Yes, that is a cardboard box. And, yes, that is a big bowl of compost. (It is too damn cold to walk to the mulch pile.) I sort of hate this breezeway. It’s not even a breezeway, for crying out loud.
In the top 5 annoying things in my life, one of them is getting people out the door. I don’t mean Steve (not his real name). He can do it very efficiently. (He is such a good boy.) I mean the kids. (Had you figured that out on your own?) I don’t know if it is a symptom of being homeschooled and therefore not being trained to get out the door at a designated time regularly or what, but it is PAINFUL, people. I have nothing of worth to say regarding this topic. I can offer no advice to those similarly suffering. Only that it is incredibly annoying. Oh my god, is it annoying. Every day, for the love of all that’s holy—more than once some days. It’s terrible. (Can someone just help me?)
This is the shower that lives in what was once a half bath. The shower was once a pantry which this small kitchen in Mem’s house really requires. But we changed it into a shower when Mem could no longer navigate the stairs up to the full bathroom. I know I will utilize this shower in the summer when we come home from the beach and I do not want salty, sandy, seaweedy children tramping through the house, but right now, we store extra food and beer in here. When we need to grab a new bag of snacks, we say, “Go check the shower.” Or, “Go get the cookies from the shower.” Which sounds nonsensical. But it totally is. Sensical, I mean.
What crazy stuff happens in your house? I’d love to know. Wait—is it only us?
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