Greetings, salutations, nanu-nanu. Geez, time does fly in summer! I still don't feel like I've caught my breath from my recent travels, because now, instead of soaking up the sun in the backyard, relaxing by my flowers (which are living! So far! Thrilling!), I hear the roar of engines in my driveway all day. It's just like I'm driving next to a stream of semi trucks all over again. But don't get me wrong, I'm very pleased with the result of this noise. Because by the end of the week, we'll have a concrete driveway in which we can park, grill out, play basketball, leak oil, play shuffleboard...and then, a real, live garage in which to store all our crap. Oh my goodness, it's like we're finally catching up to Levittown! The cockles of my heart are all fuzzy and warm.
And believe it or not, despite the noise, I'm making progress with the revisions--150 pages down, 180 more to go in the next two weeks. I'm trying to keep the poop jokes to a minimum, but they're sneaking in. We'll see what makes the final cut later in fall. The bad thing is that I'm neglecting the blog, because my creativity has been siphoned for the time being. I'll just have to rely on the old standby: regaling you with the dull and sometimes embarrassing minutiae of my life.
Basically, I can sum up the last week this way: Spy on new neighbors ... make homemade cherry barbeque sauce ... spy on construction workers in driveway ... water flowers ... "help" install new back door ... finish reading a new book ... spy on driveway guys some more ... try to keep up with and make sense of the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie ... spend a completely sober evening with old college roommates and still have fun ... and so on and so forth.
Yes, as my last "event" indicated, I spent a low-key, alcohol-free, yet engaging evening with friends this past weekend, and this thought passed through my mind at one point in the night: THEN--pass out on a toilet after eating quiche prepared for an entire roomful of drunk people by tipsy roommate clad only in underwear and an apron. NOW--fall asleep while watching Little House on the Prairie with same roommates. But? The Sunday morning high-starch brunch at a local diner was still the same, minus the headache and general crappy feeling.
While I was gone our other neighbor's 18 year-old son had a party. One of the attendees knocked on our front door around 10:30 at night and asked if the party was at our house. I mean, anyone could assume so, given the lack of music, booze, babes, cars, jello shots, and fun. I'm just relieved J didn't crash the party or buy them beer.
Anyway, I'll be back to blog again early next week if I don't melt in the heat. And no, it wasn't me that passed out on the toilet. I was the one who took the picture. Peace out.