Friday Five

Taking a page from the brilliant and lovely Amber over at The Believing Soul who does a Thursday Thirteen, here's my Friday Five, in no particular order:



1. Spring is trying to be sprung here on the pond. The heron came back yesterday, always a good sign. The air smells different now than it did just two weeks ago, before I went to Portland. Soon, green things will be peeking their heads out and I will be prowling the aisles of nurseries and greenhouses, inhaling the smells of growing things. If they have them yet, I'm going to buy a lemon tree today so it can fill the house with the smell of promises.

2. My son called yesterday, distraught after yet another disagreement with his dad. It breaks my heart to hear and see him beaten down over and over, his self-image battered by The Wasbund's opinion of him. I've suggested that Evan move here. Many times. Yesterday he said he was considering it. It would be a major miracle and one I'm praying for. We'll see what happens.

3. Barb and I are have been invited to lunch today at the multi-million dollar home of an acquaintance of Barb's. This woman wants to write a book of the sort I already write, so Barb promised to introduce her to me. This should be big fun. Barb and I have been practicing not appearing to be wowed by the multi-million dollar surroundings and we've promised to pinch or kick one another if we notice mouths dropping open or drool forming.

4. The salon dramas continue. Yesterday we had "the mystery of the missing pregnancy test." Someone had left a pee-stick thing in a drawer a month or so ago. It was left from a two-pack, I was told. One of the girls wanted to use it yesterday, and it was gone, leaving just the empty package in the drawer. The girls were wild, absolutely wild, with theories, and made a list--a written list--for God's sake. They asked every staff member, including me, whether they'd taken it. I told them if I were pregnant we'd be alerting the media and preparing to create a shrine to another IC. They didn't seem to think that was as funny as I did. When I left, they were still interrogating one another over it. No one cared about the pee-stick thing, they wanted a story to tell. (sigh)

5. The "Not That Kind of Girl" stories and the memories they've stirred up have taken over my head since the workshop. When I get ready to write one, I think of the girls I knew growing up, choose one, and slip into a kind of meditative state where I can see and hear and smell the times we spent together or the stories I remember of their lives. There've been a few I've passed on after looking carefully at the memories, not ready to write them. But mostly I just start typing and let the story form itself. I leave it for a couple of hours, then delete as many words as possible and post. Hours slip away unnoticed and I'm as happy as if I had good sense.