In recent weeks the weather has shifted to oh-so-lovely and so has my outlook on life. We had a few hot days there for minute (in February!?) and the whole town forgot about winter. The azaleas bloomed, people flocked to the beach, and suddenly the neighborhood came alive with joggers and children and sunshine. It was marvelous. It's still nice out, though the temps have dropped again, but since everyone has already committed to winter being over, we're all still walking around in t-shirts out of principle.
Brett and I are both sick this week. He started it. There we were, discussing my new favorite Turkish tv show when he felt a tickle in his throat. "I'm going down LUE!!" he shouted with a high degree of drama. Have I told you my theory on men turning to mush when they get sick? I've decided the fault is no one's. It's that women are used to feeling crappy. We have a list of symptoms that coalesce with our very existence. Men feel great all month long. It's no wonder a cold seems awful. It's all in what you're used to. Anyways, Brett wallowed around about the throat tickle and then became snotty. (As in mucus-y, not spoiled.) The next day he passed his germs over to me and I have carried them with a high degree of a grace and strength.
Meanwhile outside, Contractor Dad has started and nearly finished an unexpected addition to our home. The little toll booth was too narrow for our lawn-mower to go inside, so we looked into putting a large shed on the back of it. Dad had some kind of deal on one, so that was easy. But then the deal fell through at the same time that Dad ran out of things to do. "I'll just build one," he said. But he is a creative dreamer in his own reality-based way (because nothing is impossible for Chris Union) and he said, "You know what we could do...?" Zoom ahead about three weeks and we now have a legitimate garage with big recycled windows and doors and lumber - which makes his hippie, "one-love", "save the planet" daughter very happy.
Mom has begun her latest exercise regimen. After her last attempt at physical movement, her pants became too tight, so she threw in the towel. "I bulk up fast!" she says. And even though she was only doing some fast walking, she claims that her gluteus medius got so big that she couldn't zip her pants. I believe her, but the family has ridiculed her. This time around, she says she's going to stick with it even though exercise makes her fat. "I'm a medical anomaly."
I don't know what goes on over in Ellen and Lee's place. I imagine high-pitched noises and sandwich jellies. In pet news, Ferguson slept his first night on our bed with both pups. We don't know how he escaped the laundry room but the pups did great and let him stay. Nora is much to sensible to attempt such things. Ferguson is just the most wonderful, but he is not a sharp crayon.
As for school, I'm wrapping up my winter quarter and registering for the summertime. I have finished all of my core courses and am moving onto electives and thesis-type classes. I'm officially headed to Maine in June for my "Residency" (snotty in the spoiled way) and we're tacking on a visit to Alex and Jessie while we're up there. With my final wedding coming up in April, I've really got to get moving on coming up with a new plan for my life. I have a few ideas, but they wouldn't result in a paycheck for a long time, so the real question is, do I want to have financial security now or later? Even though Brett makes a good salary, he's all worked up about my life plan because he's grown accustomed to the double income. "Now is not the time for whimsical purchases," he said to me with a straight face as he ordered an at-home radon test kit.
I have a meeting with my academic advisor next week. She's the kind of brilliant person that can take your little seedling of an idea and turn it into a whole system-changing empire in a few easy steps. I don't know how she does that but I always leave meetings with her feeling like I should run for Senate. We'll see what she thinks about my latest schemes.
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