Stopping by the 'rents

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"I might be going crazy."

"We've known that since you were five and changed into a new dress before and after every meal."

"Dad, that's not crazy. That's knowing how to make an entrance." I toss my hair over my shoulder and then laugh at myself for doing it.

"Ok, ok," he says shaking his head at me. "So, what is it this time?"

"I can't find my hammer anywhere at my house."

His eyebrows rise. "Did you check your toolbox?"

"First place I looked. See? That fancy private university degree you paid for comes in handy sometimes."

"Hey, since you brought it up, when am I getting reimbursed for that?"

"Dad," I sigh. "There are more important things at hand than the tens of thousands of dollars you spent on my education. I really need to find my hammer. Did you use it last time you were at my house?"

"Nope." He answers without looking up from his book.

"Are you sure? Focus. Pleeeeease. Hammer?"

Looking up over his glasses he squints. "Oh! I think it's in the garage. I told you that last weekend."

"No, no, no! You told me you left the pliers in the garage."

"Right. Same thing."

I snatch the book out of his hands. "Who are you? My real father would never say a hammer and pliers are the same thing because my REAL father spent hours with me in the garage going over the importance of knowing the name and use of every tool ever made. I want my REAL dad back."

"Sweetheart, about that. Maybe it's time we have a little talk..."

Cutting him off I say, "Not funny. I'm leaving."

Between guffaws he tells me he lovees me and before I have a chance to get out the door he shouts over his shoulder for me to wait. "Heeeeeeey, did I tell you I left your hammer in the garage last weekend?"

"Love you too, Dad," and I slam the door.

Sneaking back in

There's no good way to get back into posting after taking a few months off. None. Too much to explain about not writing and no real good reason for having stopped in the first place. So, to avoid being all dramatic about it I'll just sneak back in with a few random sketches.

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Commute

Moving toward home
the morning’s worries,
8 hours old and starting to mildew
slip back into rotation--
iron unplugged?
trash left out?
food dish filled?
Head down, burrowed deep
in the dark pockets of my head
I walk through
the after 5:00 emptiness of the hall
letting tiles stretch into lines
trailing
behind my heels.
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Into the Cold

Pushing open the door
fresh air slaps me,
steals away daydreams
of your fingers deliberately
tracing my outline onto
soft cotton sheets.
I freeze--
half inside
but almost gone,
and smile at the shock
of snow,
boldly blowing through
the edges of my red, wool coat
hitting the heat of my chest
and melting
away
quickly.

Sheets, blankets, pillows, DUVETS

I have a thing for bedding. Egyptian cotton, jersey cotton, organic bamboo...I love them all. But I especially love my bamboo sheets. Green Earth Bamboo says it is "softer than cashmere, silk and Egyptian fabrics" and they aren't lying. It's like having satin sheets without being sleazy.
But my love does not stop at sheets. No, no it does not. I love duvets and comforters and blankets and throws and quilts and pillows and shams and bedskirts. Even those mattress covers make me smile all mushy gushy like. Every year for about ten years I've been buying myself a new duvet or comforter not just because I get bored of mine but because there are SO MANY out there that are deserving of love and if I stay with one too long all the rest will get jealous.


Usually I just hit up Ikea when the desire for a new duvet hits me because really, I can't afford to scoop up $300 Anthropologie ones like this every 12 months even though it gives me butterflies in my tummy just thinking about curling up with it every night. Even the name is dreamy: Featherfew.



And then there is this beauty. "The Wentworth Collection." C'mon! If Wentworth wasn't a street near the house where I grew up this one would make me feel like royalty. Srrriously. But again...$280? No can do, buckaroo.

But then...THEN...there came the pin-tuck organic cotton duvet in Clay. Perfection. And not a gazillion dollars. And mine. It's mine! All mine! Well and Sketti's, too, because she fell in love at the same moment I did and we are kind and sharing people and there was plenty of duvet love to go around. UPS assures me it will be waiting for me when I get home and I really, REALLY can't wait to go to bed.

The Return!

Miss me?

I'm back.

Not that I ever actually went anywhere.

I just sorta took a vacation.

Or rather, staycation.

Of the blogging variety.

But I am back.

And I missed you!

But thank goodness for Twitter, right?

Inadequate templates

Whenever I get a new cellphone my mom insists on getting the exact same model so she doesn't have to figure out how to work it by herself.

(FYI that statement really has absolutely nothing to do with my post other than the fact I'm going to write about a feature on the most current phone. Whatever. It's my blog I'll cry if I want to! Er...do what I want?)

Last night when I couldn't fall asleep I decided to putz around with my phone, mostly because the computer was too far away. If you hit about 17.5 buttons you can get to the option to insert some template text into a message. Scrolling through the list almost all of them feel really abrupt. Who wrote these things? I'm pretty sure there's only one that sounds anything like something I'd actually say. I'll let you figure out which it is...

Call me back.
Where are you now?
I am on the way. Please wait.
Urgent! Please contact.
I love you.