I was running with Mimsy in the wold yesterday
when today’s post title occurred to me. Of course I was thinking in terms of yesterday’s post, current to the modern moment that I dwelt in. But I didn’t write it yesterday. I’m writing today. Actually, I could write it yesterday, with WordPress. Write today and post yesterday.
So did you notice “wold” back there, at the beginning? Doesn’t everyone long to drop “wold” into their everyday speakage? Wold. Wold wold wold. Kind of like toe, when you say it over and over…it loses meaning, becomes nonsensical. Which I know I’m not the first to notice. Wold at first, though, sudden and unexpected! Ah! It is really lovely. I might have been exaggerating when I used it, initially. Thinking higher thoughts. I’m a lowlander and travel in lowland settings; yesterday’s run with Mimsy would have been a little more…in the fen. Still Always, always, the bald, craggy face of Ben Lomond (Rocky Mountain, y’all) squints his granite eyes against the westward sun in the near distance. So that yesterday I was sort of, yeah, running in the fen, beneath the wold. With Mimsy.
This is just small talk. The sort of nervous chatter that you toss around when you run into a friend who you’d promised to call and never did. Not that I ever do that.
Dearly beloveds, l’ve missed ya.
(pardon the irrelevant Halloween pics. While my legitimate Halloween post window is past, I feel driven to foist them upon us here anyway. Notice the blue spit, wig, and pointy heels…trademarks of true witchiness).
Beyond the deep fulfillment that writing gives me, I miss the precious reciprococity I’ve found in this setting. The blogging connection. I may sound like a broken record, but it remains true…I miss it. My writing may have diminished for a season, but I want to keep this place to write in, when I can.
I survived the root canal, by the way. It hardly bears mentioning. But. I think I’m a suppressed vampire. My canine root is particularly long. I picture it entwined around the nether recesses of my left eyeball in a Gothic curlique. The dentist had to use an extra long drill to reach the end of it… the average is 21 mm and mine was 27. I worried that the curlique might be a problem. He told me I should never, ever have this tooth extracted. Getting the root out would be a nightmare., he said, and his assistant nodded, looking both sympathetic and spooked. Which is saying something, because the root canal itself was gory enough that he took pictures to document it (“never seen this before”, he murmured).. I’m just glad I still have that left eye. But then, a picture of me with an eyepatch would have been absolutely delicious. Imagine a pirate closet vampire witch. “That’s so ninja!” my kids would tell me.
Let me share a snippet of where I am, today. Ok, and yesterday. We still haven’t listed our house. Every week, I say, “This is The Week We Put The Sign Up!” But we don’t manage it. We did put it up last week, out of frustration, but then Frank took it back down because the lettering looked wrong. Really, we’re not quite ready. Maybe it will go up again tomorrow. I’m still finding corners to paint.. We have curtains but they’re not long enough (an Ikea misadventure involving my determined, loyal husband and a dead cell phone),. I think I’ll sew ruffles on their bottoms (the curtains bottoms). I’ve ordered slipcovers for my sisty-ugler armchairs, but they’re not here yet. Could have bought minimalist armchairs from Ikea for less than the slipcovers cost. Could have SEWN slipcovers if I had more time and if I could remember left from.right…another misadventure.
House plants, new from Home Depot, wait for pots in the powder room. Nora thinks they’re fake because there’s no dead leaves on them. I still haven’t hung the art in Meisha’s room. Nora’s room is almost, almost finished. And Ezra’s room is really close.
Speaking of Ezra’s room. Last summer, at the thrift store, an impressive, sturdy, vintage (60’s-70’s) dresser with Bohemian,…no, okay…Truly Awful styling beguiled me. Entranced by the horrible hardware, I remained oblivious to the True Weight of the Matter, Two burly men loaded the dresser into the truck, and my burly husband and a burly neighbor unloaded it once I got it home…..burly is a good word here, since wold just can’t get a toe-hold in this long sentence). So I didn’t know until yesterday, when EEz helped me move the behemoth from the corner of the garage onto a drop cloth in the middle so I could paint it. Relieved that we’d safely settled the dresser without taking out anyone’s toes, I was applying the first coat of red paint (my bare feet blushing with the overspray) when it occurred to me that we’d be moving the dresser again, after I painted it. Twice. Around three corners, down two hallways, up a Really Long Flight of Stairs, to Ezra’s room. So it could look Super Cool. And then, after we sold the house, out and down and around again. “Is this worth it to you?” I asked Ezra. “We’ll have to carry this thing upstairs to get it into your room, and then back down again when we move.”
Ezra didn’t hesitate. “Not Really.” He said. Even though he’d happily picked out the red paint the night before.
Ezra is a mostly rational creature. Largely unmoved by vintage awfulness., only slightly swayed by red paint. He ‘ll oblige me because he’s helpful and affectionate… not because he has epic decorative aspirations I’m alone in my toe-risking delusions of grand decor. Probably a good thing .
And that, dearly beloveds, is my yesterday, which has seeped into my today. A merry tale, even though heavy autumn clouds and a light fall of snow obscure the local wold (if Ben is squinting, I can’t see it).
I’ll be back. Not sure when,…probably when the missed ya sistah mood overwhelms me again. There are old stories I’ve promised myself I’ll tell, and of course there is today and tomorrow, in the fen beneath the wold.