Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Snapshot of a Summer's Day

5:45AM: Cat, with a calculated reminder of her dominance over the household, leaps loudly onto the window sill with a chortle to the morning birds actively chirping through the already-warm morning. Recognizing that she hasn't completely woken me, she thunks back down off the windowsill with an inexplicably concentrated weight akin to a rhino leaping off a diving platform. She lands loudly, then looks to see if I've woken. I wake enough to stumble into the laundry room where I dutifully pour her fresh breakfast, close her in, and return to the bedroom hoping that since I never fully opened my eyes I'll be able to return to sleep.

8:30AM: I awake again to find that this (for once) worked. Decide to eek more laziness out of the morning--since a three-day weekend is never enough when you've had company.

9:15AM: Wake yet again with a sense of feeling panic, shake Aaron awake, he bolts into the shower and off to work in a frenzy.

9:30AM: Let cat out of the laundry prison (she's annoyed), give dogs morning biscuits, make myself a cuppa Irish Breakfast tea (milk and sugar), begin to read about defining elements of the romantic movement in literature. Find myself deeply drawn to the purpose and idealism of romanticism.

10:15AM: phone rings, machine answers. Blockbuster's soul calls me to remind me I have a movie past the due date ... my soul ignores the plea. Mental note to look into Netflix.

10:20AM: BeautyFirst automated computer calls to remind me that today is first Tuesday, all merchandise 20% off for preferred cardholders. Consider the surrealism of an automated phone call to remind me to buy my vanity products.

10:30-11:30: Begin to read about Wordsworth--find an eerie similarity in events which influenced his poetry and general revolutionary ideology, and the political climate of today. Wonder if today's literature will respond with its own singularity.

11:30ish: While checking e-mails I find myself compelled by the figures that move past my window. A squirrel clearly exasperated by a misplaced stash does everything but scratch her head in puzzlement. Several branch hopping birds. Two women in cars traveling in opposite directions stop in front of my home and shout an inane conversation back and forth at each other. One couldn't call the other as expected ... something to do with a car seat that didn't fit a kid ... blah blah blah. They part. A very fit woman I've never seen in the neighborhood jogs by clutching an iPod. A woman walking a bichon frise passes a gentleman who always motors past my house in a wheelchair. I have always wanted to know more about him ...

2:00PM: Aaron picks me up for an appointment with an attorney--I'm late. I grab yesterday's backpack, today's purse, a bottle of water, directions, my missing mascara, and somehow grasp them all as I hop into his car. Driving through town I take the time to really observe some of the beautiful architecture through Portland. Feel a groundswell of local pride. On the way home argue with Aaron about who is funnier.

3:30PM: Return home. Call friend, Stephanie, to ascertain that I am, indeed, funnier than Aaron. Check e-mails. Realize I'm totally screwing up an on-line writers group I vaguely committed to. Haven't even bought the book.

4:00PM: Head out to post office. Get there in time to be at the tail-end of an endless line. A woman plops her toddler, clothed only in a diaper, onto the counter. I glare so hard I think my eyes will burn holes in her. She proudly scoots the baby's butt all over the counter while asking a plethora of inane questions. I sigh and posture to no avail. She leaves proudly displaying her baby's ability to say "bye-bye."

4:30PM: Arrive at Beautyfirst. Waste a good 40 minutes reading ingredients on shampoo and conditioner bottles, because after all, this is preferred Tuesday and I must take advantage of hair care discounts. Marvel at the shit they put in shampoo, wonder if any of it really makes a difference. Return with a package that weighs as much as a suitcase of gold bullions.

5:00PM: Pull into gas station. Four of us arrive simultaneously, each car pointing in opposite directions. The attendent becomes frazzled, begins to run and huff. He takes care of everyone out of order. Filling up with regular unleaded costs $22.80 (and I wasn't empty). Have an internal debate with Aaron's theory that gasoline should cost more. Ponder the reasons mass transportation has never been widely implemented in the U.S. Imagine Disneyland's monorail down the center of every freeway. This was my "idea ahead of its time" in third grade. I won an award from ARCO.

5:15PM: Return home. Neighbors have a multitude of plastic toys, loading camper, Jeep, garbage cans, and Ford truck spread out to the boundaries of our property line--they're letting off remaining fireworks. Go inside and read more Wordsworth.

6:00PM: Decide to practice yoga, pop in a tape. Practitioner on tape seems boneless, able to insert head through legs. Happily I find myself considerably more flexible than two days ago. Revel in the sensation of Nameste'.

7:15PM: Get distracted from sauteeing fresh veggies in an iron Le Cruset pan, and start my first ever kitchen fire while on the telephone with Heather. Aaron yells at me as he batters the flames; I laugh. Ruin my favorite pan.

8:00PM: Return calls, search the internet for websites on romanticism--do that thing where you dive deeper and deeper into irrelevant topics.

10:00PM: Pop in Beyond the Sea, decide it was uneven and poorly edited, but still got a bad rap. Ponder the life of Bobby Darin. Begin to internalize the prospect of mortality.

12:15AM: Sit at the edge of bed and ask Aaron what he thinks constitutes "star quality," and if he ever is overwhelmed by the the largeness of the Aaron within him. Without really answering, he asks me to scratch his back and falls asleep.

12:30AM: Google Bobby Darin and Sandra Dee, ruminate on the transience of life. Follow up on what happened to their son, Dodd--wonder why I care. Try to find a link between romaticism and the essence of Bobby Darin. Give up and hit the link to blogspot.

12:45AM: Cat reasserts her dominance over my universe by chortling as she leaps onto my lap and then this keyboard as I attempt to construct this post. We compromise as I plop her onto my schoolbooks that straddle my desk. She still wins in the end.

1:18AM: finished.


At 7:08 AM, Anonymous Sandy said...

While reading this I really felt like I was looking out the window watching the people walk past your house. It also reminded me of a few people I see on a regular basis while I drive to work -- a lady in the park, walking backwards....a man in the same park sitting on the log bench, facing his van, drinking his coffee...a cute elderly man (he must be in his 80's) that walks up to a (drive-up) espresso stand. I wonder about them all - wanting to know more.

Oh, and I've never understood why you can't pump your own gas in Oregon. I always go to the self-serve and think living in Oregon would drive me crazy for that alone.

As to who's funnier, you or Aaron? Hmmm....

At 6:00 PM, Blogger Emily said...

My friend, Heather, the one in school for her library science certificate who you met at that awful Matrix movie with us, is the biggest Bobby Darin fan. She's read all the bios and owns a number of his LPs.


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