There are some excellent things flying around on the internets… these are my favourites from the last week, and you should click on them because I know from what’s good.

1. First of all, the very excellent Allie is finally BACK, yo – it’s been a long time coming, and I’m so very, very pleased to see her out in the blogsphere again after some time away… her absence is best explained in this post, which has got to be the best depiction of depression I’ve even seen. I get The Sads now and then (though I’m not depressed like this) and Allie nails it with her perfectly charming, hilarious, clever, and totally honest way. Check it out – you will like it.

2. Do you get links from Upworthy? You should. They’re things that matter… I liked this short video this week, even though I knew where it was going from the start.

http://www.upworthy.com/if-this-video-makes-you-uncomfortable-then-you-make-me-uncomfortable

On Facebook, a lovely friend of mine commented, Why is it that engaygements make me more chokey-uppy than hetero engagements?

I replied, It’s because they’re so ghey. *snort* And so lovely. And so earnest. And so brave. And getting so normal a little more every day.

It’s a wonderful thing to see this social shift in the world. I’m happy that b-baller, Jason Collins is proudly out of the closet now, but it ain’t no thing… live your life. Be kind to others. Enjoy yourself.

3. And life is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. Or what happens while you’re trying to prank someone at the gas pump. Man, I looooove being pleasantly surprised…

http://gawker.com/lame-leno-skit-turns-unexpectedly-amazing-thanks-to-inc-499730705

And here’s your random pic.

Sometimes I want to karate-chop them in the neck hard enough to make their teeth rattle…

…but when they’re not ferocious, they’re pretty darling(s).

Now, get off the internet and go outside and SING just because you wanna… life is short, you know. Try to have a good time. :)

G.G.

In the mornings I listen to a classic-rock music station, so I can get my local morning news and information, with a side of Bowie and Led Zeppelin all while I sip my coffee and get our day going. This also provides good and practical music education for the children, who are seamlessly absorbing all kinds of necessary excellence about bands gone by. That’s how come they know about Aerosmith, and Rush, and The Pretenders. (And it’s not a relic station – it plays lots of Green Day, Foo Fighters, Arcade Fire, etc.) I don’t quite know how my children know anything about Rihanna or that Beiber kid… they don’t learn about it around these parts, but kids pick up all kinds of crap information that seeps in from the outdoors – I’m here to keep things the rock pure and awesome. *snort*

Later in the day, I switch to a (blessedly commercial-free) rock alternative station, which spins all kinds of excellent tunes, both new and old. One minute it’s a brand-spanking-new song by Metric, or Florence + The Machine, and the next I’m hearing, I might like you…. better if we… slept… together sneering inside my ears, and just like that I’m in high school again, deep inside a fantastic Romeo Void. I love it.

And ever since Jack White is all all over the airwaves, being a proper rock star and everything, this station also plays lots of his older stuff on a daily basis – stuff by The Raconteurs, and stuff by The Dead Weather, which is always welcome ear-candy to me.

But there’s this one song in particular… [press play now]

Ages and ages ago, “Fell In Love With a Girl” by The White Stripes came on over the airwaves, and Oliver asked me if it was my favourite song. I said I didn’t have a favourite anything really, but that I did dig that song pretty hard. I remember him watching me dancing around the kitchen, shaking my head on my neck from side to side.

The next time the song came on, some weeks later maybe, he danced around with me in his little way… the time after that, his sister came to join us as well – she was late to the party the other times since the song is rather short, and it would always be over by the time she showed up.

These days, the very instant they hear the opening punk-like chords, they drop whatever they’re doing and run from wherever they are in the house, and burst into the kitchen and start twisting and jumping around, giggling and shreiking, as if we’re all part of an episode of Laugh In, and someone’s just uttered, “Sock it to me.”

Lately, they climb up onto the dining table and prance like wee ponies. Step-hop-step… step-hop-step… pump your arms between your knees… sway forward, and back now… errybody do The Jerk, and then Frug like your fucking life depends on it.

There’s some serious shimmying and shakin’ going on, and of course we’re doing The Twist like crazy, and there are fingers pointing in the air, and elbows all over the place, and aaaaaaaah… we are so funny…

It’s all I can do to keep from wetting my pants from laughing so hard, and I’ve wished I had my camera at the ready each of those times, but I never did.

Until yesterday…

…and you can bet your sweet bippy Madame snacked on a pear the entire time.

I have to say how dope it is ripping through this less-than-two-minute song with these little kids… they are SO funny as they strum their air guitars, and sidle their hips and strut all Jagger-like with all the seriousness they can muster. It kind of amazes me how much they like this song, though maybe it’s because I like it so much… but I’ll take it.

You can go ahead an play that song again if you want to – it bears repeating now.

G.G.

Last week while we were away in the woods for March Break, I read my friend Jennifer’s status update, saying the clothing retailer Zara had just launched their shopping online. I think I actually squealed. And Martin asked, “What?” and I breathlessly replied that Zara had finally built a shopping cart into their site. He just blinked at me and kept on eating his eggs.

Because he doesn’t understand.

The thing is, I love their merchandise for kids. Like, looooooove. Zara makes some cool looking stuff, with lots of good motifs, in colours, stripes, and wording that I can dig pretty hard. And though I don’t find them to be priced at such a steal, I think you get what you pay for. (And I love their sales times.)

My problem is the sales staff. I’ve been shopping in one particular location since my now-nine-year-old boy was an infant, and nearly every female person I’ve encountered in this store is the antithesis of helpful, and couldn’t be less friendly if they tried. I mean, fucking crusty, yo. I think it’s a store-culture they actually cultivate, since the manager-lady/Head Bitch only rarely lets a wee wry smile grace her lips… and then it’s only when she’s telling a customer “no” about something. If she could bring herself to be more animated, she might seem almost gleeful about it.

I’ve gently asked a salesgirl if she might look for a size I need of a shirt I’m holding, since they only ever keep one size of each item on the floor at a time (which makes for a very neat store, and I truly appreciate the aesthetic) but I’m always met with this fatigued and disdainful look that says, “Seriously?” from the kid not helping me, and I’m all, “But, I will BUY it if you HAVE one,” and the girl might begrudgingly wander into the back room, perhaps never to be seen again… it’s always hard to tell if she’ll be back.

Feeling like someone’s doing me a favour by letting me shop in their store? That makes me want to stab people.

Sometimes when I ask, “Might you have this skirt in a size 3/4,” the girl just blinks at me and relies, “No.” And though she didn’t even glance at my garment, she is certain there isn’t one in the store. Curious! When I ask, “Are you sure,” she gives me that look again that says, “Seriously?” and then I counter with a look that says, “Eat a bag of dicks.” Because I’m a fucking lady and whatnot, and I don’t want to cause trouble.

Besides which, I’m pretty sure the manager-lady/Head Bitch wouldn’t exactly help, if I asked her to intervene.

The line to get out of the store is so slow-moving, it’s dumb. And I can wait in lines… I understand when registers jam up. Or when there are new salespeople being trained. Or when someone is returning four hundred items to their store and it’s just taking HOURS to get through all their receipts and stuff, especially since the manager-lady/Head Bitch has to archaically sign every. single. bit. of paper, and stamp all the things, like you’re at airport international security or something, and it just takes forever and a day.

When waits are long, whether they be in restaurants, or stores, or wherever, what I always appreciate is catching the eye of someone, who might simply say, “I’ll be right with you” or “Sorry, it won’t be much longer” or something to that effect. But trying to get any one of them to make eye contact with you might require actually committing a homicide in their store, just to get their full attention. I mean, really.

This NEVER happens in my Zara locale. They’re not sorry at all that you’ve been in a line eleven people deep for the past twenty minutes. They do not care. And they take time folding and refolding garments to shove into store bags, because unlike you, they have all the time in the world. And if only one cash register is open at 11:30 AM, and a line is forming, they will not rush to open another one. Or maybe they might, if that long-lost salesgirl would return from the bowels of the store… I just don’t know.

I’ve stood in line countless times, exchanging glances with other annoyed ladies, each clutching their goods and looking to the heavens with heavy sighs. I looked at one such lady, and she shook her head at me and mouthed, “This is ridiculous,” to which I silently replied, “I know!” Someone else whispers, “I hate this store…” and yet another says, “Me too… but the stuff is so good…” and we all slump a bit with the knowledge that we will take this abuse for as long as is necessary. Because indeed, the stuff is soooo goooood.

And all the while, the salesgirl at the cash intentionally avoids eye contact with any of us, partly because she’s been badly trained and she doesn’t care very much, and partly because she is twenty-two, and she has no idea how to deal with adults in an appropriate manner. Like, with manners.

When I get to the cash, I quite nicely say, “You know… this was a really long wait, and it would be so helpful if you might just say it won’t be much longer or something… I mean, look at us.” I sweep my hand back to show all the people waiting, shifting their weight from one foot to another, completely agitated, all.

“Well, I had a problem with my cash.”

“Yes, well, you could have just said that once, and people would feel more patient.”

She closed her eyes and turned her head, and stated ringing up all my stuff.

“Um, do you know if the store might be working on an online shopping section on your site? I’d probably buy more stuff if you did…”

“Oh, I think so… in the future… but not now.” She smiles wryly at me with squinty eyes.

“Great! Well, I’ll keep checking on that.” I give her a smile that says eat a bag of dicks.

That was a year and a half ago.

And on Monday morning, I looked through their site and happily ordered a whack of stuff for the kids, in the sizes I selected from the menu, and it all arrived in this neat little box this morning, four days after I ordered it all.

Joy, of JOYS!!

I already know some stuff needs returning, and much like Gap and Old Navy, I can ship any of the things I don’t want back to them if I prefer… and in this case, I might just do that. I don’t mind going back to the Gap in person, or shopping at Old Navy – I order online to get the sizes I need, since what I want never seems to be on the shelves when I get there, and then I feel like my time’s been wasted. Boo! Suck!! Better to do as much online as possible, I reckon.

But I probably will ship the stuff back to Zara. If I never have to deal with one of those crusty salepeople again in my whole life… well, that would be fucking swell.

G.G.

We had some time, they boy and I, to be in the house alone together, since his sister was playing with a friend for the afternoon, and wouldn’t be home for a while still… this is a Thursday thing. First, he always asks me where she is, and then as he remembers, he quickly realises he has me to himself.

And then he starts talking.

And talking.

I love that he tells me all his stuff.

He: Can we take pictures together? It’s a bit sunny. The light is good… is it?

Me: *smiling* Yes, it is! You’d like to? Come.

I open my arms and lie back on the couch. He grabs me in a hug, and kisses my cheek, telling me he loves me. Then, he looks into the lens…

He strokes my cheeks and tells me my skin is soft. And he smells my neck. Romantic little thing. And then he looks into my eyes and asks, What’s for dinner…? Punk kid.

One day before too long, he might stop wanting to tell me all his stuff… probably, he will. That’s normal, of course, but… *le sighs heavily* I hope that’s not for a long time yet.

Oliver, my lovely.

G.G.

Sometimes, the best thing is just for one person to sit in front of the other and look into that person’s eyes and say, I’m sorry if I’ve been being a dick lately and then that person can look back and say, you’re not a dick and one person can nod her head while he shakes his head and you can press your foreheads together for a while, quietly apologising.

And one person can tell the other person how glad she is that they’re still friends, even after all this time, even after these millions of years, and how good it is to be understood, even when someone’s overall essence has been a bit dickish… and to be so very happy to still be liked. Because we go up and over the hills together, and down into the valleys together, even when it feels like we’re far, far apart and we’re not holding hands so much. No one wants to hold hands with a dick anyway.

But, holding hands is better.

We take our turns at being dickish, maybe. As long as we’re not both being dicks at the same time. Maybe we’re not really dicks… sadness has many ugly faces. Smiles are better, but they have to reach your eyes to really count. Tomorrow is another chance to be lovely. Try again.

I like holding hands with him. Still. Because I love him.

I love him.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

G.G.

Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.
Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday.

Monday. Taco Tuesday. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Wait… you don’t want tacos today? I thought you did. That’s fine. We can have chicken something. Or whatever. Um… what day is it, again? Oh, right. Wednesday. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Sunday. Monday. Taco Chicken Tuesday. Wednesday. Friday. Saturday. Sund…Wait – what happened to Thursday? Did we even have Thursday?! Now I feel crazy…

I find once Christmas is all wrapped up, trimmings unpinned, boxed and re-stored for another year, there’s not a whole lot to look forward to. Just aaaaall January and aaaaall of February. And sure, my kids birthdays pop up during this time, and birthdays are fun enough, but then it’s just back to the Dead Of Winter. And there’s Valentine’s Day, if that semi-cheesey Hallmark Holiday counts, but it doesn’t really. It’s not as if you get the day off or anything, so… suck.

These are the days that mostly consist of just putting one foot in front of the other. I schedule drinks with these people or those… sometimes we have to cancel because it’s just too damned harsh to deal with life outside. There’s the tres serene scene at my neighbour fox’s hot tub, available more often than not, but then it’s wrestling with the notion of ditching one’s big brown parka, and sauntering twelve paces from her back door to the tub, wearing only a bikini, a toque, and hugely ugly Sorels in the -20 temps. (Can you picture it? It IS a hot look… but still. You don’t want to catch a chill in the down-there place. *womp-womp*)

Sometimes I’m okay at dealing with the doldrums, but other days…

I had such a horrible tantrum last week, and I screamed at the kids too much, and was even reduced to tears once or twice (okay, maybe all day) because UCH! WHY? WHY?? WHY IS IT SO MUTHERFUCKING COLD ALL THE TIME??! E’SPLAIN!!! And I do myself no favours – I don’t get enough exercise, or drink enough water, or eat enough citrus, or get enough vitamin D. Or vitamin C. Or vitamin A. Or vitamins EFGHIJK, I’m so totally sure. I should go eat an orange and sit myself under some lamps or something. I’d go yoga or whatnot, but I can’t quite see my way to unzipping my fucking coat just now.

And the days go by, one by one, all looking and feeling exactly the same. What day is today? And we’re inside the house looking at the same walls, same clothes, same stuff… the cold makes it hard to want to go out anywhere. And after said Christmas and back-to-back birthdays for children, one’s wallet feels extra light indeed, so even deciding to bundle up and go somewhere feels costly in all the ways. Frostbitten fingers and noses. Visa cards on fire.

I’m being a bit myopic, I know… I’ve have some good times hanging out with my cool people now and then, and I’ve got a friend coming to visit next weekend (yay!) but it’s not at all like during the good weather months when I’m with my people every day, feeling the sun on my skin in the park, watching the kids run amok. Nay, these days are the polar opposite of those. (POLAR, yo.) Boo. Hiss!!

. . .

His mother’s funeral was over two months ago now, and though we talk about all of those feelings less and less, it all still hangs in the air, like a fat silence that we’re too tired to address. Still a bit… shell-shocked, maybe. There’s not much new to say about it anyway, so we’re quiet. With each other. So quiet, inside our same walls and same clothes and same meals and just putting one foot in front of the other, waiting out the winter.

There are moments when conversations feel more lively and interesting, as we discuss an article we both read, or something Bill Maher said. And we laugh at the funny parts of this movie or that. And then there’s retirement-strategy chit-chat that makes my eyes roll into the back of my head in that really unsexy way, and remember we need to register the small one for school this fall. And then some quip about free love comes up, and the next thing you know, this lady is lying awake all night wondering What. The. Fuck. and booking a waxing appointment the next morning to rip every bit of hair off her body. Because everyone knows the secret to a long, happy marriage is hairlessness.

And of course, that free love comment was totally innocent and glib, and I only ran with it because it stuck out so sharply against the flatness of tax-talk and blah-blah-blah renovation projects that totally harsh my mellow. And because my brain is frozen these days. As is the rest of me, because HAI, I’m hairless now.

Last week I had a tantrum and I cried about many many things. I stamped my feet and cursed the cold and the full moon and the harshness of winter until he painted a wall for me. (Of course, this sounds so simple – I could have painted it myself, but he did it for me anyway. Silently.) Because sometimes you can only rage at the one who is nearest to you. And I wasn’t even a little bit sweet about it. (Man, winter is really not my season.) Martin is good people, and last week I did NOT deserve to be married to such goodness. I mean, really.

But…

Now there is something new to look at while we’re being quiet, and I am busy contemplating how to dress it up and make it truly excellent.

A little bit of black paint? This unharshes my mellow.

Namaste, bitches.

G.G.

The other day, while I was busily wiping down the kitchen counters after lunch, moaning to myself about what (oh, what?!) to make for dinner, Oliver walked over to me, cocked his head to the left and said, “I was wondering if maybe around three-thirty or four o’clock, you might like to watch Harry Potter with me?”

I stopped pushing the damp cloth around, and stared at him for a moment. Did he… ask me for a date just now? Well, of all the cuteness…

Me: *smiling big* That a very nice invitation, Oliver, and yes please, I would love to watch Harry Potter with you at three-thirty. Wow!

He: *smiling* Yay.

Me: And you know what? That’s is exactly how you should invite someone to do something. You look a person in the eye, and say what you’d like to do, and at what time… and then you let the person say yes or no. That’s just how you ask someone you like for a date.

He: *high eyebrows* Really? But… what if the person says no?

Me: If you say it with that smile of yours, you’ll be hard to resist. *winks*

He: *winks back* But really… what if the person says no?

Me: Well, that’s okay – it’s no big deal if a person can’t join you when you invite them. But if they really like your company, they might give you an alternate day or time to go. *shrugs* You work it out. Or, you ask someone else. In any case, it’s nice to be asked. Especially in such a nice way. *rubs his head*

He: Oh.

Me: Yeah. But don’t worry about it too much.

He: I’m not worried. *grins*

Me: Maybe you should ask your dad and Ava Scarlett if they want to join us?

He: I was just going to, but I wanted to ask you first.

Me: Why me first?

He: Because I want to sit beside you.

Never in my life…

Me: Well that’s… that is just so nice, Oliver. Thanks.

He: I love you, mummy. So much. *squeezes me with his eyes closed*

Much of the time, that’s just what living with this boy is like.

Sometimes I just can’t stand it, and I worry my heart might explode from the pure love I feel for this darling and delicious boy. I hope he stays happy. I hope he gets what he wants.

And when facing the girls, and the bigger girls, and the women-girls in his future, I hope they’ll be kind. I hope I hope he gets more yesses than no’s…

G.G.

During the fall months, we ventured to the woods to visit more and more often, since time with my mother-in-law was indeed fleeting… it was good to be there so often, even though there wasn’t a lot I could do to help her, except just… visit.

We get to stay at the little cottage across the way, which is a truly wonderful thing. We’ve been pulling down stinky old curtains and making plans for lots of changes to come. It hasn’t really been touched much since the mid-sixties, so there’s LOTS to do. And it was a welcome distraction from the sad things happening around us that we couldn’t fix or change.

This kind of house-y stuff thrills me to the core. I busied myself by rearranging the furniture left behind (even though we plan to rid ourselves of nearly ALL of it) just so we can live in the space for a while, and decide what kind of pieces should be acquired, and where things should be placed. It’s a project – the kind of project I just adore.

First up was one bathroom which used to look like this:

I know. Carpeting in the bathroom. Gag me so hard. And it smelled just as you’d think – like old cottage with a side of dampness, and just a sprinkling of pee-pee. And stew. Pas bon.

But some cute little black and white tiles were chosen and laid, and the very glamourous avocado green toilet with non-matching tank and basin went bye-bye, and new white fixtures were installed instead. The walls got a few coats of matte-white paint, which makes the room feel bigger and so much cleaner than before. Amazing, I say. (I’m just so thankful the pee-pee carpet is gone.) There was a little pine table on a pedestal kicking around, so we placed it in there for setting things on.

Not bad, I agree… but we didn’t really have a good surface for proper use, since the sink is on a pedestal as well. (A lady really needs room to spread out all her beauty serums and whatnot.) So, I measured the floor space and determined there was room enough to stash this three-drawer art deco dresser that was left behind (this piece and it’s matching four-drawer dresser we will KEEP, thank you!) I made Martin help me drag that heavy sucker into the bathroom late one night (that’s when I do my best decorating, yo) and though I banged the shit out of my shin in the process, I just love how it looks and feels in there now. Especially with the Ikea sheepskin I picked up for the super-chilly floor. BOOM.

I love the glossiness of the wood veneer, and the little nicks and scratches here and there lend just the right look for the rustic cottage interior. Still a bit retro, and just a touch fabulous. And, I’m all for reusing anything we possibly can – these two dressers are so freaking choice, I can hardly stand it. The sheepskin feels glorious and tres glam underfoot, and it’s a nice textural contrast to all the hard surfaces. Plus, now we have a place to stash the towels and stuff.

I’m on the lookout for good-looking hardware like towel bars and the toilet paper holder. I think chrome might be the best idea, but it shouldn’t be too “fancy” or “city”. I’ll pass on any twig-inspired cast-iron looking things – it’s not necessary to invoke a woodsy feeling since we are in fact IN the woods already. There is such a thing as overdone.

And I’ll also look for a bigger mirror for over the dresser – maybe something with a white plaster look? Whatever – it can afford to be much larger than the one I found in the basement of the place, which is kind of puny, and isn’t my favourite. I. Like. Big. Mirrors (and I cannot lie) and the wall space available can take something BIG. The reflection will help double the look of the room, too.

I know the place the rhymes with Sinners will turn something up eventually – there’s no rush. My eyes are open…

G.G.

I had a lady-parts appointment with my doctor yesterday morning – all was routine – everything is just fine, I think. My plan afterward was to visit the Apple store to see about my broken iPad screen. (Fuuuuuck.) I have an appointment for that too, now.

But that’s all just dumb stuff. The reason I make mention of it at all is because I found myself wandering around downtown, on my own, with time to spare, and with my (semi-broken) iPad in my purse. For the first time ever, I left the house that morning with my husband’s gigantic home-use earphones in my purse as well. I dared myself…

And I wandered around the downtown core for about ninety minutes with nothing more than my bitchin’ new handbag, enormous sunglasses on, and even-bigger earphones even on-er, and I strode. In my own little bubble, full of excellent, poetic lyrics, and tasty beats – I felt almost alone, and I could see others, but they couldn’t see me. That’s ridiculous, I know – I know I’m not invisible. But I tell you, it’s kinda how I felt.

I say again – that’s ridiculous. While I waited for the light to change, a homeless dude on the corner said, “Aaarggg… you. You! You look like an assassin.”

I turned my head and smirked at him. “Thaaaaanks, man!” I thought that was cool. He just stared at me.

I caught a look at my own shadow on the side walk – a severe silhouette in my skinny jeans and tailored jacket and the futuristic cans on my ears – and I was reminded myself of a Helmet Girl. The silly scenario kind of made my whole day.

Blunderbuss on repeat. Because that’s just how I roll these days. (Excellent album, by the way.) And lately, this nugget of ear candy-mash-up also. Enjoy.

I’m know that I need to conserve my energy now, if I don’t want to get sick. Or collapse under the stress of things. I will do as many of the things I want to do, and almost none of the other things. Or, as much as I can reasonably get away with. At least for right now.

We’ve been in the car for long stretches lately, visiting his parent, hours from the city… it felt good to stretch my legs for a good long time, unencumbered and all leisurely-like. Seeing what I like, and not letting anyone see me. Kinda.

I danced on the way home.

Yesterday was just for me.

It was a good day.

G.G.

I have this friend who got in touch with me recently, saying there were some changes in her life, and she’d fill me in sometime soon… I said, “How about Monday?” And she happily agreed to come.

We’re not close, per se – it’s because we’ve actually only met each other in person a handful of times, but there’s something good and easy and safe and normal about her, where I feel like I can tell her things, and she will listen without batting an eye, and share in turn. When we meet, we never have a lot of time to hang out – a quick coffee once, or we meet on the street, clutching each other and just spilling all the necessary details out to one another in passing… I find it amazing to be intimate in such ways with someone I know so little about in reality. But, this matters not – we see each other, and we get down to the brass tacks straight away, without any bullshit, and with no reservations.

It is easy to be with her.

She was a little bit late in coming – as it turns out, she nearly cancelled due to the harried-ness of life… I’m so glad she didn’t though. Plus, her later arrival gave me more time to get ready, since my house was a shambles, and I’d spent part of my morning at preschool for Madame’s Halloween parade, and then I spent an hour with one of my foxes in her car, chatting our fool heads off, because for some reason, we just CAN’T STOP TALING TO EACH OTHER because there’s so very much to say, you see.

Anyway. I had some prosciutto in the fridge, so while shopping with Andrew, I picked up a (slightly under-ripe) cantaloupe, amongst other things. I cut us each two crisp slices and draped them with the ham. I had a chilled sauvignon blanc to go with, though she did non imbibe because she was going back to work – I did because that’s just how I roll on a Monday, yo.) Gorgeous, and civilised.

When she arrived, I hung her coat, and we got right into the goods. She had lots to tell me, and I let her, while I put plates in front of us, and put out napkins and cutlery. I set water glasses out. She talked and said she didn’t want to cry… I plucked a few tissues from the thingie in the kitchen and put them on the counter next to her and invited her to just go on. She kept on talking…

We ate the sweet melon with bites of soft, salty ham.

I finished before her, since I was mostly nodding while she talked, and then started making the giant Monte Cristo sandwich for us to share. (That’s a gorgeous ham and cheese sandwich set to grill after being dipped in an egg wash – I add thinly sliced tomato and basil – it’s like grilled cheese on French toast with ham and a smear of Dijon mustard. It would be kickin’ with a small puddle of maple syrup too, I’ll bet.) We had salad greens in the fridge that Martin has washed the day before, and left over vinaigrette. Simple. And so nice.

But this is not about food. This is about nourishment of a whole ‘nother kind. This awesome lady is my friend, and I cherish her. We had a lovely time.

She was all worried that she came over and dumped her life into my lap, which was silly. I was happy she could divulge. It’s better to get a weight off – a lady feels mentally exercised and tends to sleep better when she’s not all in her head. It’s a good thing. That I could do that for her today makes me feel helpful. She’s a good, wise soul, and she seems to think I am too. Sage, even. *snort* When really, I’m such an asshole she’s the one who fills me up. We traded all the interesting bits, and not the minutiae about kids and life that I find so fucking boring most of the time, and heard each other. And we also laughed our fucking heads off, so hard we almost couldn’t breathe…

Sometimes, that’s all you need. And then, coffee.

Never mind the fact that I almost never sit down for lunch, and that I too often wander home eating a cheeseburger in one hand, toting a sachet of fries in my purse… it’s awfully good to sit down. And have a meal that makes sense. And have lovely company with which to share it. With the comings and goings of the small people, I don’t really have time enough to have lunch out with friends. (Maybe next year.)

I tend to tidy my house better, if I’m expecting company (of course) so that’s another win. I like cooking for others. And since my husband has gone gluten-free, I almost never eat sammiches anymore. Boo! Suck!!

I do so love my friend. We fill each other up. Really, that’s the best, best thing.

This was a good day.

G.G.