Two for One, or The Accidental Buddhist
Posts piling up. Here's a sample.
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Two (or three?) Mondays ago. Most of my fears are settled. People return my calls, and they all have good news for me. A time is set for the evaluations. My financial aid is credited to my account. My textbooks are on their way and I'm saving almost $100 buying them through Amazon. My laptop is back, repaired, and free since it's still under warranty. Lottery numbers, anyone? I'm hot!
Wednesday comes, and I'm crashing back down. I can't even name it. The boyos are bored and cranky. I'm getting a cold. I can't think straight. I can't write, and that's like being unable to light a cigarette. I read, sinking into blogs, into novels, into anything black and white and not a part of my life.
Emails pile up. I'm supposed to be working on a tattoo design for a friend and she's wondering where it is. Clowncar emails with fantastic news and I'm pathetically slow in responding. Rain cancels a get-together with a neighbor who criticized Jack and I'm relieved. I don't even attempt to reschedule. I haven't bought food since before RockyGrass and I'm scraping the bottom of my pantry. (Not that we're starving. You haven't seen my pantry. I perform miracles with prosciutto de Parma one night and Thai vegetables the next.)
I make a chocolate cake because Jack tells me he wants to learn to cook and bake, 'before you're gone forever.' I swear, I didn't start out to make my boyos existential. He's just incredibly insightful. He asked O and me the other night if we played together as kids. O said, 'No, we didn't know each other.' Jack thought for a minute and came back with, 'You guys are lucky you found each other.' The boyos will be five in about a month. I'm really, REALLY too stupid to be their mom.
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And last Sunday:
Life in Colorado is green. A little too green. Green outside is fine. Green outside is right. Green inside though...
We have a basement room we rarely go into, filled with my old things. The boyos had made a mess in there at one point, so there were clothes on the floor and some quilting fabric and artwork from high school and college. Not anything I need, but stuff I can't really throw away. We'd just closed and locked the door to keep them out.
O noticed a musty smell when he ducked in there to grab my sleeping bag for Rockygrass. And I could hardly sleep with is mildewy smell. But it's a very old sleeping bag, no stranger to damp Illinois basements, so I didn't think much of it.
Today we decided to go in there and clean. I picked some cloth off the floor and it felt cold and tacky, almost damp, like clothes taken just a few minutes too early from the dryer. I noticed the paint on the walls bubbling out. And then I knew what had happened. The room had flooded. Not a grand flood -- we would have noticed that. No, a seeping in the walls and floor. Rising damp.
A moldering eucalyptus wreath left green fuzzy stains against the floor molding and wall. The brown carpet was green and fuzzy as well. And there was a cardboard box of my clothes that I didn't unpack after we'd moved...
The worst though was an old photo album from high school and our wedding guest book. The mold seemed to like leather the most. And I still need to go through another wardrobe box of my business suits. (What DOES dry-cleaning cost these days?)
I ended up throwing out seven bags of memories and old clothes. But, I don't feel so bad about it. Everything is changing. The boys are going back to school and so am I. The bookstore is closing. I hardly recognize my old name anymore.* Maybe we'll even get out of this house one day.
Hey, so I guess this makes me an accidental Buddhist.
*I thought I was going deaf at RockyGrass. Clowncar and Lil Hux had to call my (real) name two or three times before I'd hear them. Then on the second day, someone shouted 'Nancy' and my head shot up. That's when I realized I wasn't deaf, I was just unused to my own name.
P.S. Cheesy, I'll get to your meme next.