This time last summer I was in the thick of inner turmoil. There was no eating nutritious meals or enjoying the twinkly twilight time before the sun goes down, oh no. I was too squeamish to participate in life. A few times recently the anxiety monster that lives in my brain has said, "This weather reminds me, aren't we supposed to be panicked? Yes, yes I think so. It was dinnertime wasn't it, when we'd take on a sense of impending doom?"
And I've had to do my best to ignore the monster's calls. It's going well, thank you, but disadvantageous at times. Instead, I've been enjoying the hot weather season - an attempt to make up for last year. I've been in the creek, in the garden, in the pool, in my new oversized office chair, and frequently in bed during the heat of the day taking a nap to power-up for a wild evening of watching tv when it's still a little blue outside. That feels wrong, doesn't it? My favorite is a post-dinner walk around the neighborhood. Something about it feels very adulty.
Since last summer's withering of body and spirit, I've put on weight in new, inconvenient locations. What was once hard is now soft and what was soft has fallen down. I don't understand what happened and why it happened so suddenly. Is this yet another level of degeneration for the mentally insane? Just when your mind gets better your body tags itself in? Or, worse, perimenopause. I often smell cigarette smoke, have itchy ears, and create night sweats that could irrigate a small lawn, and I feel like if I don't tell people about it I'll have to endure the demise of my only body on my own, and that thought genuinely frightens me. So now I abide by "if you see something, say something" and Brett is almost done feigning sympathy.
Now, the office chair. I'm thrilled about it. It is extra wide and slightly more deep so that one may sit in it in a variety of unsupported ways; upon one's ankles, Indian style, or in an upright cannonball position. I have long lamented the standardized human chair because who finds it comfortable to sit with their legs at 90˚ and their feet flat on the floor? Sincerely? I can hold that pose for five minutes before my feet long to be elevated. I almost purchased what's called "a cross-legged meditation chair" but I felt mild embarrassment about how stupid they look. I then considered a kneeling chair, thought better of the age of my knees and settled on what is effectively an office chair you would find in the Big and Tall section at store for pre-teens. It's pale blue and fuzzy. Brett tried it out for a while and got jealous, so I'm definitely onto something.
As for my birthday, we did burgers on the grill and then bobbed in the creek:
And later had a family dinner at one of my favorite spots. Lee's dinner came with a side of fries that were so good we ordered some for the table, and Mom even found one of the chefs and told him how great those fries were. Interestingly I'm sure, my favorite french fries in all the town are located at a restaurant across the street from this one, so now I feel torn and delighted. When I need fries, I'll know exactly where go. We will park the car, make our way up the road, and only then, when we stand directly between the two restaurants, will I choose chunky sweet potato to the right or herby regular to the left. The spontaneity. The anticipation! Which one will she choose?
Highlights include a wonderful taco dinner, all four boys sporting their new cuban-linked chains, and a water stain that has developed on the ceiling over the dining room table that is remarkably phallic. When I noticed it and pointed all four boys (and their mother) burst out laughing. I got tickled at the idea of an important gathering taking place there while that is just up there on the ceiling. What if their pastor came over?
