Pumpkins Lined the Walk to the Front Door

I crashed on the bed last night with a stomach full of good food (sparkling blood orange juice! grilled salmon! rosemary carrots! gorgonzola! cobbler!) and my mind still at NieNie’s charming white house and her just-right Welcome Autumn Party.

In fact, even now—the morning after—I’m still basking in the glow of the candles on the table and the laughing—oh, the laughing! 

Thank you Stephanie. 

At the table, Collin said, “Now, you know this party never happened if you don’t blog about it.” With all the bloggers at the table—both little and big—I’m pretty sure he was mocking. But still, I blog this morning because I would hate to think it never happened.
 
One year ago today.
Two years ago this month.

Misplaced Freckle

He thinks he's flat, static, and transparent. But I am confused by his flecked, blue eyes, his fickleness in his twitching precisely as he slips into dreaming, the emotion in his confident dazes where he sees no one, lost in his thoughts; he ignores even my hand waving in front of those same flecked eyes. He's surprised when I ask him what he means by that phrase, his half laugh, or his corner smile. It means what it means, he says. Nothing else. Where's the deception? In the cowlick on the crown of his head and the misplaced freckle on the bridge of his nose. I could swear it was there yesterday.

Time Travel

I just ate midnight cereal. It's my ritual during late homework nights. I started the ritual in high school. Tonight, as I sat at our water-stained kitchen table eating frosted minis, I felt sixteen again. I had later homework nights then than I do now. Explain that.

I'm sitting cross-legged on the orange couch now. I'm not tired, but I'm going to go to bed soon.

My arms are tired though from swimming laps during swim class today. We had to blow bubbles in the water then turn our head to the side to take breath. No looking up, only to the side. It time-warped me straight back to the McClintock High School pool and swim lessons with snotty-nosed kids and kick boards. My mom sitting on the side of the pool crocheting the edge around a baby blanket. I dreaded putting my face in the water but did so without complaint because I didn't want to be the wimpy kid. Today, it was a pleasure. I didn't even have to pretend that I liked it. I daresay blowing bubbles was therapeutic. After awhile, the formality of "teaching breathing" was done and we had free time to swim as we wished.

Free time. I liked that. I liked when my teacher said that today. Those two words took me back to my elementary computer lab. After typing drills, we had free time. I wonder what I did during computer free time in third grade. I don't remember. I was never really into Oregon Trail.

Tonight, during computer free time on the orange couch, I wrote a letter.

Dear Thursday,

I can't wait to wake up to you. If you bring freshly-picked pears for breakfast, I won't complain. The tree is in the backyard. Goodnight now-- even though I'm not tired. See you in the morning.

Love,
Laura

Labor Day

Today is Labor Day. I made plans to play. I was imagining a summer finale event. Maybe a picnic up the canyon? And maybe even a little four-wheeling adventure? I'd bring popsicles and watermelon to make sure we've had enough of both before fall blows in. It was the most perfect idea...

But he says Labor Day is for labor and is therefore busy working. He's a part-time handyman. Have I ever told you that? During school to get us through school, he does odd jobs for anyone who needs odd jobs done. Today he's building a sprinkling system and fixing someone's couch. Labor day is for labor? Sad day. I was all up for a party.

Because he's busy working, I've been busy painting. For me, it's a painting day this Labor Day. I love color. Always have, always will. I know the design trend says Scandanavian white is the look to aim for. But today I painted with a  few walls in our house with Fire Dance Red. If my house were all white, I'd miss color.

Tangent: We had friends over last night. They have a daughter who is approximately seven. When her mom purchased new paint to redecorate their office and paint over the gray that was there, the daughter said, "Mom, I think I'm really going to miss the gray." I want to raise kids that miss color when it's gone. 

Our little house has been my favorite project this summer. I've been making myself a home and I had no idea how thrilling it would be. I can't wait to invite you all to my housewarming party; I'll even hold a virtual one so that all can come.Just a few more little projects-- and we'll have a ball. A housewarming ball.

And to keep with the painting day today, I think I'm going to go paint my toes now. I'll probably paint them Cardinal Red.

I work hard on Labor Day too.

Because I Just Love All the People

I have a nephew. Well actually, I have five nephews. No nieces, yet. Soon though, I'll have a niece. These are things that surely captivate you.

Back to the nephew. I'd like to tell you his name, but I don't know if it's appropriate/legal/ethical to say a child's name on a public blog. But I trust you and for some reason, you knowing his name is important to me. His name is Owen, age three. (Isn't that the perfect name for a three year old?) I'm not going to tell you where he lives though. This cuteness needs to be kept private with a life of his own-- untainted by blogging and the internet. 

But, I have to tell you this story. My sister (his mom) told us the story last month while we together as a family on the coast of Oregon. Someone commented that Owen was just the nicest little boy. He shares with people and other children alike. He gives, laughs at everyone's jokes, and genuinely wants to make people happy. I know people in their twenties who have yet to master these traits. Wait a minute, me-- I'm talking about me.

The story proceeds:

A few weeks prior to the Oregon adventure, Owen's mom (my sister) said to Owen, "Owen, why are you such a nice guy?"

And he responded-- simply, sweetly, "Because I just love all the people."

I've thought about this just about everyday since my sister shared it on the beach.

On Hiccups. Part 2.

Just kiss. A good kiss sends hiccups to Bermuda. Works like a duct tape-- consistently, every time.

Call it genuine bliss, call it whatever you want, but I just know that I love getting the hiccups.


Thanks for the twenty comments. I'm back. It's proof that comments get rid of blog hiccups. Talk about weird, I know. 

In thanks, I want to comment on your blog. Invite me over to visit. Where do you write?

On Hiccups

It happened. I didn't post for a whole month (almost?).

Think of it as a hiccup. Maybe think of this whole last summer of The Thursday as one ginormous hiccup fit. I posted a couple and then hiccup. Post. Post. Hiccup. It's the kind of hiccups that I just haven't been able to get rid of. The kind where drinking a cup of water upside-down doesn't help. And even holding your breath (He swears by it) doesn't work.

Speaking of hiccups. Last week, I was a hiccupping crazy girl. Hiccupping and hiccupping every day, a couple of times a day. These were real hiccups, not blog hiccups. When I was relaxed, a hiccup would whiplash up from my waist. And it hurt my neck. That's when I would ship the hiccups off to Bermuda. Although Bermuda might be far too nice of a place for hiccups. That's what I found out when I Googled for images of Bermuda a second ago. Anyway, I'm a nice person-- I'll send my hiccups to lovely Bermuda.


Moral of the Story. (Does there need to be a moral?) I know how to get rid of real hiccups (and send them to Bermuda if I want to). No really, I really do. And this isn't some kooky little trick like: Swallow 1 tsp. white table sugar, dry. Repeat up to 3 more times at 2-minute intervals if necessary. (Thank you ehow.com.)

My brother, a doctor and therefore entirely trustworthy, brilliant, and knowledgeable about hiccups, told me how to do away with hiccups. And me, I'm the testimonial girl. I worked this little cure all last week. It's a fool-proof method. It works every time. Wanna know how? If twenty people want to know, I'll tell you.

I like secrets and I like twenty comments on a blog post. And I think that twenty comments will get me over this ginormous blog hiccup fit.

I dare you to jump over here from your rss reader and ask me about hiccups.

Double-dog dare.