8:44 a.m. - 2010-09-10
Salsa and lemons
A girl I went to school with in junior high and high school was in one of my writing classes and I remember her writing this poem and then reading it to us:
And then when life gets rough
Smile hard and eat the lemons
But don't let anyone know.
I've carried that around since 7th or 8th grade. The girl who wrote it and I were not friends, only occasional classmates. In fact, I can see her thick blond hair curling around her angular face in my mind, but I cannot remember her name. She was a little taller than most of us, and slender. I see her with her legs double crossed and her lanky arms folded around her sitting in those ridiculous desk/chair things we had in school (and were made for right handed people.)
That verse pops in my head at least once a week, not so much as self admonishment, but as this unconstructed mantra. I know that I do let people know when I have to eat those blasted lemons. I want recognition of that sourness. I'll do it, but I want you to recognize that I'm doing it. Sometimes.
Don't know what made me think of that, since all I'm smelling right now is the carpet glue of my independence. Maybe that will be the title of my memoirs. "The Carpet Glue of my Independence."
Back to reality. Andy was off yesterday since our public school system recognizes the Jewish holidays. He called me mid-afternoon to tell me he had fallen on the stairs and hurt his left wrist. He said he couldn't bend his wrist and it hurt to move his fingers. Ugh.
I told him to ice it, take two ibuprophen and I'd see him at 5, but that if the pain got unbearable, to call me and I would come right home.
He didn't call, but he dug out the ace bandage from his last battle (ankle?) and wrapped it up. I checked it when I got home. No real swelling, no obvious bruising. But I asked him to tell me if he thought he should either go see a doctor or call off this weekend's scout "ordeal."
He said no to both, but there was some drama. I know he loves to have ace bandages the way he loved to have bandaids when he was three or four.
So we'll see how the day goes.
We're driving one other scout, so our plan is to leave when I get home from work, drop the boys off (it takes about an hour and 15 minutes to get to the camp) and meet my friend for dinner.
Here is another wierd thing I realized: When Andy goes away, I don't wash his sheets, even though tomorrow would be my day to do that, because if God forbid, anything happened to him, I wouldn't be able to smell him. I may have to bring that up with a therapist.
We had fish tacos again for dinner last night - though this time I didn't have avocados to make guacamole. I just doctored up some jarred salsa and it was dandy.
Went out last night to gas my car for today's trek, picked up my neighborfriend and we chatted for about a half hour driving around like we didn't have anything else to do.
Spouse had to grade papers last night and gave two of his classes lengthy writing assignments at the same time, so he has a big pile o'reading to get through. He was still grading when I went to sleep, but I think he came up in the middle of the 11 p.m. news.
And for now, that's what I got.
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