bumblebees

My dad called us bumblebees back then.

He would watch us in the backyard, in the living room, in the basement, and say we looked as if we were searching for the next bit of honey, flitting form one side of the yard room carpet to the other.

I always think of the same image - obscured by water, looking up from the bottom of a lit pool into the dark night, 7 or 8 people poised and peering in at the edge of the chlorine, no care in the world that would resemble real life. College in the distance, no one paid attention to the weight of a wedding ring on a finger or the ache in the lower back brought on by a long month and a short paycheck. Everyone we knew and loved were healthy, and both of our parents, in the throes of wedded bliss, would be waiting at home for us with a cold meatloaf and an anxious microwave oven. Graceful and slippery from football camp and track meets we waited, not conscious of a little extra fat here or a little less hair there, our gazes intent on the surface of the water, the only interruption a small slice of hair in front of our eyes guided by the water dripping down our foreheads.

We would scan the slick veneer of the water, looking, watching, holding our collective breath trying to see the small splinter of wood emerge from the depths and then burst forth in a frenzy, the sound of wet feet on pavement punctuated with water freed from the swimming pool and battle cries as everyone broke the surface at once - arms, legs, water, laughter and a toothpick, all hurling upwards in the same instant.

Some things are sweeter than honey.

memo

Date: 24 NOV 05
To: One Whom Is Driving Home In The Snow
From: One Who Lays On Her Floor Using the Computer You Often Fix
Subject: blog

I give. I'm sending you the address. Stop busting my balls.

ftdo: KLK

back in the saddle

With 858 miles between Home #2 and the Original Home where I am currently laying on the floor, I have decided to recommence the official meanderings on this little old page. Perhaps it was the afternoon I spent picking out yarn with my grandmother (which isn't as exciting as it seems, mind you) or the fact that I was finally blessed with Pumpkin Spice Coffeemate in my grocer's refrigerator today, either way it just seems the right time to get off my cyber butt and put come things into cyber perspective.

A few official thoughts from this little town in Pennsylvania:

1. Nothing is quite as humbling as being 27 years old and waking up in a bunkbed.
2. Not many shades of yarn match a yellow coat in order to make a scarf-like accessory.
3. No matter how many times I see the death mask from "Saw II" snap shut, I cringe everytime.
4. Don't ever think that just because you grew up in a town that you will always be able to navigate yourself around it. Somewhere between my last year of college and my first year of grad school, I believe they installed streets that bear a striking resemblance to the staircases at Hogwarts (for all your Harry Potter junkies).

And with that, I bid you all a fond adieu - my bunk bed calls.

post-sickness, act one

After three days lying on a couch with my only companion being reality television, I have risen again to fight a good fight and walk away from the bad ones.

viva l'antibiotics!

thus ends my first ever blog.