Day in the Life of an Idiot

 1.  Met a Deatheater at Menards.

Technically this happened on Thursday morning, but it's worth mentioning. I went to Menards to buy a quart of paint to finish off the "Pinterest" Project that Shawn and I have been working on (we converted an old, cheap dresser into a bookcase.)  It was wicked cold on Thursday so I bundled up in my usual ultra-winter attire, including the four foot long Gryffindor scarf my penal Keri knitted me. I got to chatting, like extroverts do, with the guy mixing my paint.  It started innocuously enough about why Menards doesn't sell half-gallons and eventually he asked, "So... that scarf?"  I ducked my head a little awkwardly, but nodded, "Gryffindor."  He smiled and pointed to his forearm tattoo: a Deatheater!  I gave him a serious look and said, "You do realize we're mortal enemies."  He smiled and nodded like that was the best thing ever and added, "I'm going to get Mischief Managed' tattooed on my ribcage."  I gave him the thumbs up, "Dude!" and we discussed CONvergence, and, yes, yes, of COURSE, I gave him my business card.

2. Fell in love with a Swedish Schizophrenic.

Shawn found a BBC/Netflix show called "River," and I we binge watched all six episodes in this series over the weekend.  River is the title character of this police procedural and is a Swede, living in London, who.. sees dead people? Maybe, but, more likely is schizophrenic. I can't even begin to tell you how good this show is.  If you like British cop shows, put this one on your list.  It made me cry (and laugh, and sometimes cry-laugh at the same time.)

3. Celebrated Valentine's Day with a Nap.

Best Valentine's Day ever.

4. Finished our First Rag Rug.

Technically, most of this honor goes to Shawn, who has been banging away diligently at the loom, but I do my part every time the loom needs advancing--and, of course, I provide entertainment and company.  But, Shawn used up all the green fabric she had for our first test rug. We have no idea how it's going to look off the loom, but, besides one little glitched thread, it looks damn fine still on it.  Shawn and I are trying to decide what comes next.  A hit and miss?  Another "solid" colored one?  Regardless, it should be fun.  The loom is tremendous and we've been enjoying the heck out of it so far.

5. Managed not to Axe-Murder the Burgeoning Teenager in Our House.

What is it about pre-teens that makes them so damn prickly? Hormones, I know.  It's still a pain in the butt--or rather he is from time to time.  To be fair to Mason, he was mostly quite lovely.  But he's like that girl of the nursery rhyme.  When he's good, he's very, very good, but when he's bad he's OMG what. (I might have paraphrased that a bit.)

My folks came up to visit Mason (and to deliver two dressers -- my folks are perpetually "downsizing" their possessions.  It's some weird Me Generation thing, I think.)  Shawn took the day off too, and we headed out this morning to Shady Acres Herb Garden and bought a couple hundred dollars of herbs... Dude!  No, not those kind... anyway, we spent much of the afternoon getting some gardens ready and even planting some things.  We have a spiral-shaped herb garden, and I always try to outline as much of the stone path as I can in johnny-jump ups and parlsey.  It makes for a nice boder.  I got about half-way before we all got too hot and had to come in for lemonade and several games of shoots-and-ladders.  

The memorial garden for Ella is starting to come together.  I've only got one line of the poem Sean M. Murphy wrote on the anniversary of her conception, "Samhain Girl" because I have to mix one or two bricks at a time.  Still, I planted some kid-friendly flowers -- strawberries, day-lilies and a russian sage -- in the hopes that it will be the kind of place that Mason will like to play in, too.  He's been very funny about his sister.  He knows about her because we talk about her, and of course, he's been very active in helping plant this garden, which we all call "Ella's Garden."  The other day he said (much to the mortification of his mother, who is a bit more senstitive about all this -- I process by talking; Shawn doesn't.), "When I die, I hope someone writes a poem for me."  

My response was, "I hope so too."  Shawn reminded him that he wouldn't have to worry about that for a long, long time.  But, I don't think he was freaking out about death at that moment (he has on other ocassions, as any kid will).  I think what he was really wishing for was for someone to remember him.  I think, in a lot of ways that's the measure of a life, being remembered.  That's all I really want, too.  Someone to sing a dirge or write a poem or, hell, think of me on a sunny day, you know?

Mason has really started to want friends, generally.  He doesn't actually have very many because we can't afford pre-school (hence the pre-K public school option that starts next fall) and I suck at making friends with adults with kids.  I tend to askew fake friendships -- I don't have a lot of lesbian/gay friends because I tend to prefer to have more in common than sexual practices.  My friends are genre fans and genre writers.  Not nearly enough of them have kids Mason's age.  As I was telling a friend we met up with for a picnic dinner on Thursday, I think that the other stay-at-home moms can tell I'm a lesbian and don't tend to try to make friends.  Plus, Mason and I go to places where there's casual attendence -- we've never done ECFE or that sort of thing -- though we do hang out at specific parks and such like.  I know that this friend problem will be solved once he starts school in the fall, but I wish there was something I could do about it now.

Oh, yeah, and SHE made a few bestseller lists.

And I dyed my hair blonde.  Interesting social experiment note:  only men have commented on my hair color change.  The men at Wyrdsmiths mentioned last Thursday (though none of the women did.)  My male barista, Paul, commented on it when he saw me.  My FATHER said something... a stranger that I see at Cafe Amore on a regular basis (male) also said something.  Very strange.  The only woman to say anything has been my mother.