Category: Life

Speed checked by detection devices. No shit, really? I thought the police used their esp to figure out how fast everyone was going… Which reminds me – I drove to Maine and back, and didn’t get a ticket! Woohoo! Sign seen at rest stop: Don’t dump trash in ashtray "please". God, I hate that. Either use quotes correctly or don’t use them "at all", eh? I heard on the radio while going through Virginia that some time ago (a week? maybe more) a girl was driving on highway 81, and behind her, a man was tailgating. To get away from him, she went into the left lane, hit a large truck, and died. Now her family’s looking for the tailgater, hoping to press criminal charges, I guess. I don’t know about y’all, but even if I were trying to get away from a tailgater, I’d do that little glance over my left shoulder to make sure no one was there, first. So, I have a million emails, and I’m slowly making my way through them. I’ll get back to you, I promise! In fact, I think I’ll go do that now. It sure is good to be home! ]]>

When I am very old, maybe forty-five years old, I will own a cottage on the coast of Maine. It will be a small cottage, maybe two or three small bedrooms, and on a large piece of land, miles from anyone else. I will decorate it the way I like, with pieces of driftwood and seashells scattered on the kitchen windowsill, and small plants in pots there too, to grow root bound in the sun, happy with their view of the ocean. I will hang long sheer white curtains in the windows, and they will twist and blow in the ocean breeze when I open the windows. I will always keep the windows wide open, maybe even when it’s storming. There will be a simple path from the front door of my cottage to the water’s edge, because what use is it to have a cottage on the ocean when you have to struggle down a rocky, slippery slope to touch the water and play on the shell-scattered shore? In my bedroom, I will have a queen-size bed, and a battered bed-side table, where I will pile my books and candles and whatever holds my interest at the moment. On the bed, I will put clean, crisp blue sheets, and blankets, and a comforter of light blue with fluffy white clouds. When Fred isn’t busy saving the world from itself, he will come live with me in my cottage on the ocean. He will complain about the silly comforter in our bedroom, and I will laugh at him and tell him to watch it or I’ll toss him in the ocean. He’ll pretend to pout, and I’ll push him down on the comforter with the silly white clouds and make him forget how silly they are. We’ll go to sleep at night with the smell of the ocean blowing across our bodies, snug and warm under the sheets and blankets and blue comforter with clouds, our bodies intertwined so closely that it will be impossible to tell where I end and he begins. We’ll wake with the smell of the ocean on us, as the sun comes up, and we’ll race to the ocean and dive in, gasping at it’s frigidity. We’ll laugh at ourselves for once believing that the ocean off the coast of Florida, with it’s bath-water temperature and clear light-green color could ever compare to the untamed deep-blue wildness of the ocean off the coast of Maine. After our swim, we’ll eat breakfast on the wraparound porch, watching boats sail by, and lobster men setting their traps. Sometimes we’ll go back to bed to spend the morning sleeping and making love, and other times we’ll spend the better part of the day walking along the water and picking up shells and driftwood, or clamming. I will have flowerbeds circling my cottage, and crushed clamshells will line them. The flowers there will grow wild and beautiful, and Fred will tease me, calling them weeds. But I won’t care, because weeds or not, they will be beautiful to me. When Fred has to travel to save the world from itself – or rather, to show the world how to save itself from itself – I will soak a small towel in water from the ocean and let it dry in the sun all day. When he’s packing, I’ll slip the towel between his clothes, and he’ll come upon it in some far-off place and hold it to his face and smell the ocean scent and feel homesick for the cottage on the ocean. I will have a small boat, a tiny little putt-putt boat, nothing fancy, nothing I’ll be able to sleep on or take on long trips, just a small boat to take me out on the water when I am feeling out of sorts and need the soothing, rocking motions of the sea. Sometimes I will take the boat far from shore and anchor to a buoy and just lay back and feel the boat move gently to and fro. I will doze in the sun and awaken slightly sunburned and hot, and I will dive into the ocean for a short swim. Then I will think about stealing a lobster from one of the lobster traps attached to the buoy, and then feel bad for even thinking of stealing from the hard-working lobster men. I will putt-putt back to shore and tie up the boat, and walk up the path to my front door, to be met by Miz Poo, who will be very old but healthy, and Mr. Fancypants, who will also be very old, and they both will have taken to living by the ocean with unexpected vigor. I will let them out to explore their territory, believing they will always return safely to me. I will make friends with a crusty old lobsterman named Shane. Shane is not his real name, his real name is Bob or Bill, but I will always call him Shane, or "the sea cowboy." Shane will tell me his story in bits and pieces over several years. Shane grew up on the coast of Maine and worked all his childhood on his father’s lobster boat until he was old enough to be made a partner in his father’s business. He married the girl he fell in love with in second grade, and they made their home in a small fishing village on the coast far north of where he will live when I meet him. Shane never loved, and will never love, anyone but Anna, and for a long time, several years, his life was all he’d dreamed it would be, because not everyone dreams of a large life, not everyone can save the world. But, as Shane will tell me, the ocean is a jealous lover – and when he tells me this, I will first half-smile at the romance-novel sound of what he says, and then my half-smile will freeze and fade, and tears will form unexpectedly in my eyes, because the truth in that statement will make my heart ache. When Shane and Anna had been married for five years, the jealous ocean took not only Anna’s life, but the life of their unborn child. Shane fled Maine and the ocean, running far, far inland, not stopping until he reached Montana. There, he changed his name and worked on various ranches for twenty-six years, never in all those years returning to Maine, never listening to the siren call of that ocean which thrummed in his veins. On his fifty-second birthday, he faced the fact that the ocean would never, could never, let him go, and he returned to Maine, settling as far south of the town he’d grown up in as he possibly could. He made his peace with the ocean, knowing that she could kill him as easily as allow him his peaceful life, and respecting – though not fearing – her for that. Years later, I will meet him. We will slowly become friends, and I will beg, harass, and harangue him to let me go out lobstering with him. I will want to work alongside he and his two crewmen, pulling traps, baiting them, and setting them. He will finally agree, just to shut me up. He has no defense against me, the woman who always, always gets what she wants. Though the muscles in my arms and back will ache by the end of the day, I will grudgingly be told that I didn’t do a bad job "for a girl." Shane will pay me in lobsters. Because some people only see black and white, people will assume that Shane and I are having an affair. He and I will only laugh at the notion, because the long nights we sit on the wraparound porch at my cottage on the ocean are filled with long silences, he thinking of Anna and I of Fred, away on his business trips. I will never conceive of loving anyone the way I love Fred, and Shane feels the same about Anna. My parents, sister and brothers, nephews and children, and then grandchildren and great-grandchildren will visit me in my cottage on the ocean, and some of them will feel not quite at home there, but I will know simply by looking at others, that as sure as anything, the salt water of that jealous ocean runs in their veins. Some will be content to sit and look at the ocean, while others will have to run down to the water’s edge to taste, touch, and smell the water. I will die quietly, at a very old age, perhaps in a chair on the porch of my cottage on the coast of Maine. And as my life fades from me, I will hear only the ocean and perhaps feel slightly sad that as much as I have loved the ocean, as much as her salt water runs in my veins, as much as my heart has leapt at the very thought of her, she has never loved me back.]]>

While we were waiting for our food, I took a few pictures of Debbie and Shaun, the majority of which I just accidentally erased, prone as I am to acts of fuckwaddery. I was about to snap another picture of them, when Brian, who was returning from the bathroom, ran over to make rabbit ears. Every time I look at the look on Brian’s face, I howl. I just LOVE that look on his face. After lunch, we went to the mall, where I purchased a gift item for Fred, so I can’t mention what it is, and we visited Bath and Body Works, where I lost my mind and ran around throwing things in a basket. On the way out of the mall, we hit a small candle store, where I just had to have the candle scent of the month, Sunflower. Also while at the mall, I bought the ton of postcards (okay, 20) I’ll be sending out Monday. We didn’t get back to my parents’ house until after 2:00, and I whiled away the afternoon writing postcards and reading my book (First Lady by Susan Elizabeth Phillips, if you must know). Around 5 (actually, almost on the very dot of 5:00), Debbie, Brian, Gram, my brother Randy and his girlfriend (and their dog Cola) showed up for the family gathering/ bbq we have every year. Debbie, the goof. Danielle’s next to her, and that’s Brian’s back in the background. With that, I leave you with one final picture. A sweet dog, but mighty hyper. —–]]>

Possession by Ann Rule, for those of you playing the game at home). We stayed for a little over two hours, and by the time we left, the beach was packed. Brian did NOT want to leave. I think he wanted to stay all afternoon and play in the frigid ocean water. After we left the beach, we stopped at The Fat Boy, which is a drive-in restaurant, and I ordered my second lobster roll in two days. The parking lot was packed, and it took 20 minutes to get our food. We ordered it to go, and by the time we got home it was 2:00 and I was starving, since I hadn’t had any breakfast. My lobster roll was sheer nirvana. I napped for an hour or so, and sat around and read until dinner – an Italian sub from The Kitty Korner, another of my favorite foods when I come to Maine – and haven’t done much else this evening. I’m going to take it easy and go to sleep fairly early tonight, I think. Tomorrow, I’ll be meeting Debbie’s boyfriend Shaun, and perhaps do some shopping. And of course there will be more pictures! My dad took the spud and Brian fishing tonight. My dad took the first picture, and the spud took the second. —–]]>

I think remodeled mills are just the shit. If I were a zillionaire, I’d buy out this mill and turn it into apartments or a single house. That would be cool. Inside the restaurant: The view from our table: (If you look closely, you’ll see either two ducks or two geese. Being lame, I couldn’t tell the difference if my life depended on it) I ordered a garden salad and a lobster roll for lunch. The garden salad was huge, and the homemade bleu cheese dressing was to die for. I was about stuffed with the salad when my lobster roll arrived. See those big chunks of lobster? Mmmmm…. Here’s a view from the restaurant down the hallway of the mill, which they’re still working on: After lunch, we came back to my parents’ house, where we sat around admiring my parents’ dog Benji, talked about various and sundry things (well, I guess y’all know who did most of the talking), and I tried not to fall asleep. My mother and grandmother left around 2:30, because my grandmother had a doctor appointment. I took a nap. Benji sniffed my ass (perhaps he thinks I’m a dog?) and went upstairs to wait for someone interesting to show up. Sometime after 3:00, I went to Debbie’s and made her get her new (new to her, in any case) computer out of the back of my Jeep. She gave me a bag of presents she’d originally gotten for my birthday – very, very cool stuff, including more candles – and I left to come back to my parents’ a little after 5:00. At 6:30, I picked up my friend Liz, and we went out to dinner at Graziano’s in Lisbon. It’s an Italian restaurant, and we both had Gambria Parmagiana – breaded shrimp over pasta, with spaghetti sauce and mozzarella. It was pretty damn good. Then, of course, we had to take a drive through our old stomping grounds – Lisbon Street in Lewiston – then went to Brunswick for ice cream. I don’t think I stopped eating for more than ten minutes today. I told Fred I wasn’t going to eat anything at all tomorrow. I guess tomorrow, my mother, the kids, and I are going to the beach. I don’t want to take the digital camera, ’cause I’m afraid I’d get sand in it, so I’ll take my regular camera with me, and y’all can wait for the pictures. Final thoughts: 1. If I don’t break my neck, or some other important body part, going down the wickedly fucking steep basement stairs in my parents’ house, I’ll consider myself lucky. 2. My parents’ bathroom always smells like a fart. I guess that’s what happens when you only have one bathroom for 6 people for so long. Doesn’t matter when you go into the bathroom, it always smells farty. Luckily, it isn’t a big nasty egg-fart smell, but rather a distant, musty fart smell. Aren’t y’all glad I share everything with you?]]>

I was rather sad to have missed the redneck rodeo. My only question: were the rednecks riding or being rode? I’ve noticed that I’m more nervous and feel more vulnerable when traveling by myself, as opposed to when I’m traveling with the spud. I don’t know why that is – it’s not as if the spud will jump up and break out with the Tae Kwon Do if someone attacks us. Maybe it’s that if I’m concentrating on her, I’m not so worried about myself. Of course, after I made the observation to myself that I’m more nervous while traveling alone, I opened the Jeep door and scampered to a nearby receptacle to toss my breakfast trash, leaving the driver’s side door wide open. There could, in fact, be a serial killer in the back of my Jeep this very moment, snuggled up in the quilt I threw back there to cover the computer I’m hauling to Maine for Debbie. Of course, I didn’t look to make sure no one was back there, because I’m too lazy. Newspaper headline: Woman’s death due to own laziness. 55 miles before Bristol, on a corner across from the Citgo where I filled the gas tank and the McDonald’s where I got my egg mcmuffin, there’s a white cross with Jimmy Stubblefield’s name on it. I found myself absorbed with wondering how Jimmy Stubblefield had died. Was it a car accident? Was he driving drunk, or hit by a drunk driver? Did he turn left in front of an 18 wheeler? Was he walking home by the road, or perhaps hitchhiking and hit by a motorist who didn’t see him? It’s a very innocuous, innocent-looking corner, in front of a McDonald’s which could be anywhere. I wonder whose son, whose brother, whose husband he might have been. On A&E as I type this, there’s a show about Susan Smith. I remember how much I hated her when it happened, how angry I became thinking about a mother who thought the easiest way out of what she saw as her personal prison was to kill her child. Now I feel almost sorry for her. Okay, let me change the channel to MTV. I spent my first four hours of traveling this morning listening to Blood and Smoke, Stephen King’s book on cd, as read by Stephen King. Fred hates Stephen King’s voice, finds it absolutely loathsome. I, on the other hand, find it oddly soothing. Why is it that I only have to catch sight of a cop car to feel panicked? I was driving along at 5 miles per hour over the speed limit and caught sight of a cop car nestled in the grass by the side of the road like a cat stalking a rabbit, and immediately hit the brakes, hard. Could I look any guiltier? If I were a cop, I’d pull me over and toss the car for drugs and hooch. "Pardon me, ma’am (they’ve been calling me "ma’am" since I was 19), why exactly is it that you’ve got a computer, a laptop, a digital camera, and a big-ass box of fruit in the back of your vehicle?" For the first time ever in my life, I actually saw a blowout on the highway. I was driving along and suddenly a spray of tire pieces were flying in the air, and the guy in front of me (it was the guy in front of him who had the blowout) went swerving to the left, and I followed him. The guy whose tire blew pulled to the side of the road immediately with no problems, so I kept on going, without pulling over to make sure he was okay (he looked okay) or to see if he wanted a ride to the next exit or to use my cellphone. I felt guilty for not stopping, but not THAT guilty. I can’t always be the good guy, people! That was apparently a bad stretch of road, though, ’cause there were tire pieces for the next several miles from other blowouts. They’re advertising the "Wal-Mart Grille" alongside McDonald’s and Wendy’s on signs on the highway now. I find that rather amusing. Because I’m a dumbass, I guzzled down three very large caffeine-laden diet cokes this morning, and thus had to stop every 45 seconds (exaggeration) to pee. Signs seen on the highway: Speed limit enforced by aircraft. Are they going to shoot me down if I’m speeding? Route 666, Hogwash Road. It’s possible my eyes were playing tricks on me – I only saw it for a split second, but I’m pretty sure that’s what it said. Side by side: 81 North. 77 South. I’m curious as to how the exact same road can be both 81 North and 77 South. According to the compass in the Jeep, I was going East at the time. Jesus is coming soon. Y’all put your nice clothes on, he’ll be here soon! Warning: Pornography picketed here! I saw no picketers, else I would have stopped to take their picture. In fact, I saw no cars by the adult book store, and maybe three cars under the GIRLS! GIRLS! GIRLS! sign. (Note to self: check it out on the way back through next week. It’s the exit after mile 25 in Pennsylvania) Slow down, my Daddy works here! (in faux childish handwriting before forty-five thousand miles of road construction) "Oh yeah? Why don’t you point him out to me, kid, so I can aim for him?" Popped into my head for no particular reason: Know what I’d love to see? I’d absolutely love it if, when a reporter asked the wife of a presidential nominee what her stand on abortion is, the wife turned, looked the reporter in the eye and said "That’s none of your fucking business." Yeah, I know, it’ll never happen. Tubby is the red-headed stepchild of our family. And where the hell did that saying come from, anyone? Why a red-headed stepchild and not a blond stepchild or brunette stepchild? How ’bout blue-eyed stepchild? Anyone? How do we really know that there’s no pain after death? Has anyone come back from the dead and said "Hey, guys, no pain! Come on over!" I find it ironic that while I’m driving down Virginia’s "Technology Corridor", the only thing I can get on my digital cellphone is "no network." Hey, I think I just saw Dawber from Coach driving a piece of shit blue truck down interstate 81 in Virginia. Hi Dawber! Dawber’s picking his nose. Why do people pick their nose while driving down the road in broad daylight? Hi! I can see you! For god’s sake, pull over to the McDonald’s and hide in the bathroom to pick your nose like everyone else does. Tumbleweeds is the movie that Anywhere But Here wanted to be. I am SO going to grow little bitty sunflowers next year. They’re so CUTE. I see by the previews for next week’s Sex and the City that Big is going to leave his wife. I sure as shit hope Carrie makes him SQUIRM. Note to self: Interstate 81 in Pennsylvania fucking sucks. I felt like I was in a boat on rough waters, hitting those small, choppy waves head-on. "I FUCKING hate FUCKING Pennsylvania. Does it EVER fucking do ANYTHING but FUCKING rain here?!" Check out my digs for tonight: All crappy hotel rooms look alike, don’t they? I normally require much more luxurious digs than these.]]>

Miz Poo (okay, HER I’ll link) has been wandering around with her left eye squinted like Popeye the Kitty-girl, so we took her to the vet’s to drop her off, so they could yank out the offending hairs, which are growing inward and poking her in the eyeball. Upon arrival at the vet, we discovered that they would need to sedate her again, so home we came. Fred’s going to drop her off tomorrow on his way to work so that her last memory of me for the next almost two weeks will not be that of terror, pain, and grogginess. I can’t believe I’m leaving my babies for so long. ::Sob:: Note to self: Don’t forget the cellphone. Or directions. Or extra shoes. And change purses. Did I really think I was all packed?? Okay, I’ll be carefully crafting entries every day, but uploading may be sporadic. If you haven’t joined the notify list, you may want to. You know you want to. Go on, go do it now. Think of me tomorrow between 4:30 am and 5 pm, central mountain time. I’ll be dealing with those damn 18 wheelers. Grrr. Stop babbling and say goodnight, Robyn. Goodnight, Robyn. —–]]>

People. The kitten has been incredibly clingy – I know I mentioned that yesterday – and in the middle of the night, I woke up to find her flung across my head, and purring up a storm. A few minutes later, just as I was drifting back to sleep, she slid down my face, walked across my throat and curled up on my arm, which was curled up next to my face. It’s nice to be loved with such dedication. I watched Ride with the Devil last night. Sucky movie, but I now have a major crush on Tobey Maguire. What a little cutie-pie! My favorite line was when he said to Skeet Ulrich (ie, the poor man’s Johnny Depp) "A negra with a gun’s still a nervous thing to me." His delivery – the look on his face, and those gee-whiz eyes – cracked me up. I’m certainly with-it this week. Fred and I have two movies to watch, but I’ve watched all but one of mine. I rock! Last night in bed, Fred and I spent a good ten minutes talking about Survivor. Isn’t that pathetic? I swear, I LOVE that show. That and Sex and the City are my two favorite shows right now. Fred said "It’s like they’re your church, with services on Sunday and Wednesday…" Pardon me while I worship at the Altar o’ Rudy. Did I mention that Fred got Tae Bo tapes from Ebay? He’s done the introductory tape the last few days, and they appear to be kicking his ass just a tad. He’s a better man than I, though – I took one look at Billy Blanks stretching and said "Um, nope. I’m not ready for this!" The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront. I was in the downstairs bathroom last night, with the door shut thankyewverymuch, when I saw a fuzzy black paw snake under the door, and reach upwards. A second later, Fancypants let out a mournful howl. Another second later, here came the fuzzy black paw again. What he thought he’d accomplish with that paw, I have no idea. After another mournful howl, I smacked my side of the door and yelled "Cut it out, Fancypants!", whereupon he ran like a bat out of hell up the stairs to hide under the bed. Damn cats. The trip to Maine is looming ever closer, and I just know I’ll be running around like a chicken with it’s head cut off Monday evening throwing everything but the kitchen sink into my suitcase. "I’ll be there for a week, so I need to take… 25 pair of underwear!" I always bring makeup with me to Maine, and I haven’t got a clue why. Not once have I put a single lick of makeup on my face while vacationing in Maine, not a single time. In fact, I can’t recall the last time I put makeup on, period. Probably last Christmas eve, when getting ready to go to Fred’s mother’s house. I’m just not a makeup kinda gal and never have been. I touch my face far too often, and end up rubbing half the makeup off. God forbid I ever get a job where I have to wear makeup all the time. That would totally suck. Y’all have a good weekend!]]>

Survivor last night. For the first time since "the alliance" was formed, I was disgusted by their vote. I think it was shitty of them to use Sean’s vote to get Jenna off the island, but I also think Sean is a total idiot for announcing who he would be voting for. He played right into their hands, which maybe he did on purpose, I don’t know. That reward challenge was, I think, geared toward the women. Since they were lighter, they weren’t having the problems falling through the ropes like the men were. It was nice to see a woman win for a change. I was also glad to see Rudy win the immunity challenge, since he cracks me up. Rich is getting on my nerves, though, with the nekkidness. Who needs to see that? "It’s my birthday, so I’m going to run around in my birthday suit! Wahoo!" Ick. Okay, enough Survivor talk. I watched Drowning Mona Tuesday night. It was a so-so movie, and I suggest you not waste your time. I loved the fact that everyone in the movie drove Yugos, though. And Casey Affleck doesn’t look right with blond hair. I tried to defrag my hard drive this afternoon, so I started the defragger (?) and went upstairs for a couple of hours, and when I came back down, it claimed to still be at 0%. What’s up with that? Anyone? The kitten is being especially cuddlesome these days. I suspect she’s sensing my anxiety about being away from her for almost two weeks (eek!), and responding to that. So help me god, if I come back in August and she’s turned into a Daddy’s girl, there will be hell to pay… I’m just not feeling very chatty today. ]]>