Books ending

I've just finished reading a book (American Gods by Neil Gaiman) and it's put me into a thoughtful mood. 


When I read book I read them, allowing my whole self to become absorbed into the words. Have you ever thought about that imagery? Absorbed? Like my fingers stick to the pages, then melt into the pages and the rest of me follows. Time fades, sensations fade, noise fades and I lose myself and there is only the story.


It feels like diving, in a way. I get submerged and it takes thought and effort to swim to the surface and become aware again of the real world and things I should be doing in it. When I'm there for hours the submersion so total that my sensory to the outside world is completely blocked. 


Then when the story ends, abruptly, suddenly (because I've been reading the words, not noticing the thinning stack of pages against my right hand) the real world and the story world collide jarringly. The sounds and the textures of the story have filled me so completely and when the characters are ripped from existence there is a silence like no other silence I have experienced. Even though I haven't been making a sound for hours the quiet is now eerie and sharp and expansive. It's like an inhale of breath, it's a void that used to be full of so much noise. It leaves a ringing echo, when the book closes. I had so much and inexplicably it's all gone and I am left lonely and cold. 


I am a reader, if you haven't guessed. I love stories. They are timeless and seem to inhabit a negative space. Stories can do amazing things yet they live on printed pages and in finite space. You can go there, become wholly changed, yet return to find everything exactly as you left it, only now all the meanings have changed. Is it strange that they can do that? Is it strange that we can do that?


Go read a story. Go make a story.  

Kentucky

It has been quite a while. I have spent a good amount of the interim time in Kentucky. There's so much that happened there that I'm not sure where I want to begin. So I suggest you read my friends blog because she talks about a lot of what we got up to, plus a good portion of the pictures are mine. So instead of redoing it all and waiting a kajillion years for my slow internet to upload photos, just check it out. 

I will add these photos though. They are from the Lexington cemetery which is well known for its landscaped beauty. It was a gorgeous fall day and everything looks so enchanting. 

A lot of the headstones  were large and intricately carved. Some of them were old and worn to illegibility. 

This one is a little cherub asleep on a stone, and the moss has come creeping in on it.  

Update

I nanny currently for that green mulah that is so desired by most people who like to eat and stay warm. And the kids I nanny can be very darling. Examples:

The boy, I will call Luke, is three years old and quite a character. I am his play buddy so he's always making sure I have my sword and my helmet so we can play properly. Even when his friends come over I need to be dressed in all my evil-fighting regalia. I usually try to take it off unnoticed because those plastic helmets don't actually fit on my head and they are always snagging my hair. But Luke is insistent.

One time he had two friends over (making it three 3-year-olds and me) and we all had guns. They were all shouting, "I'm Star Wars!" and then make a series of shooting noises. Originally we were on teams, but it quickly evolved into everyone hunting me. 3-year-olds may seems almost harmless, but put them in packs and arm them with heavy plastic machinery they turn quite lethal. The game continued for a while, mostly, I think, because my death scenes were so legendary. I found if I made a great, lasting commotion about it they would stop attacking and simply watch my amazing acting skills (which are amazing).

Other times when we play with guns (Luke always being "Star Wars!" [said in a very angry voice]) We just aim the gun at each other and every once in a while one of us will fall down and play dead for a few seconds. There is a plethora of Nerf guns in the house, but we still have to play Russian Roulette with only one dart between the two of us. And that single dart is usually greatly slobbered on because it's the baby's favorite chew toy.

The baby, Samantha, is a doll. So darling and funny. She doesn't know any human words yet, but she sounds like an Ewok when she talks. Sometimes she gets really into telling me something and I have no idea what she's trying to say, but it's adorable. She also dances really well and shakes her head "no". She's got a lot of spunk for one who can barely walk.

And that is my life thus far.

Midnight Baking

Last night I came home late from work. My entrance woke my mother who had fallen asleep on the couch. Mother leapt off of the couch and started moving.

"What time is it?" She asked.

"Midnight." I said.

"What?"

"It's midnight." I repeated, watching her dash around to no specific destination.

"But what time is it?" She was frantic.

"Mom! It's midnight. Twelve o'clock in the morning."

She moved around. "What time is it?"

"It. is. midnight."

She flapped her hands and looked desperate, "But what does that mean?!"

I laughed (not kind, I know, but you try doing it differently). "You're the one that's freaking out. You tell me." Then I noticed that the oven was on, so I opened it. "It's your bread." I told my despairing mother.

Her eyes finally started to focus. "Oh. Bread. Ok." She then pushed some buttons and told me to put the now risen loaves back in the oven, and turned on the timer. I was a little wary leaving her alone in her sleepy state with the oven and the eight fluffy round loaves of bread. But I was tired, so I did anyway.

I finished getting ready for bed and thought I better just do a last check on the Sleeping Baking Beauty. I barely saved the loaves from burning. They are a dark brown instead of a burnt black. "Mom!" I chided her. "Your timer is going off!"

She raised her head from the couch and said, "Oh.... put the other loaves in. Timer."

I went over and stood next to her. "Mom, can I trust you to take out the bread? Because I'm going to bed now and you didn't do so well last time."

"No, I'm fine. I've had a nice nap. I'm awake now," she said but laid her head back down. So I set the oven timer and put an alarm on her phone, thinking that between the two she should wake up decently.

This morning I went into the kitchen and found two very burnt loaves of bread. Indeed.

Update

So, I have not written in an age. Mostly because my life is about as exciting as an apple that sits in the windowsill until it becomes an old fogy face or a pile of ooze.

But! I thought I'd make even that slow event sound exciting, so be prepared for my amazing writing skills (*cough cough).

I haven't been able to find a job so I succumbed and started nannying for a family down the street. The kids are adorable (softened with a bit of fussiness and really dirty diapers). The girl is nearly one and has the most amazing wardrobe. If she wasn't the size of my calf I might seriously fall to klepto tendencies. Today I was feeding her some lunch (which was difficult because she was using all her rations to feed the floor). Then she shared a bit with me then shoved her food into her face. I cooed at her, "Are you shoving that gold fish into your eye?" and she giggled and kind rolled her head to one side, like "Yeeees."

And the other day she was napping but I heard some noise from her room so I went in to check on her and she was completely awake, just lounging back on her pillow. She saw me and her face broke into this huge smile and she held out her hand to me as if to say, "Hey! I'm just chillin here, in my crib. So glad you could make it!"

Lately she's taken to crawling intensely. She'll think about her destination for a minute then put her head down and charge towards her goal with serious determination. Her navigation skills could use some work though, because she's been running into walls n' stuff. She gets so angry if she has to look up mid-crawl. It slows her down, but... so does the wall.

There's the extent of it. I am blanking on my more exciting adventures with those kids, but more will come, I'm sure, because it's all my life consists of at the moment.

Surprise Party!

Yesterday was my mother's 50th birthday, so we celebrated her by surprising her with a lot of people, a lot of food, and homemade ice cream. It transpired thus:

My mom was planning on dinner with just her children, and it was going to be later because the little boys have football practice til 8:30. So we all played along and let her make call in and make a reservation. But before then Nik took her out for ice cream with his girlfriend, who couldn't come to dinner but had still gotten her something (a likely story). Then while driving my aunt called Nik, completely frantic and concerned, "Nik! Grandma has fallen down and we can't get her up. We need your help! Where are you?! Can you come?" So Nik and Co. headed up to my aunt's house.

Meanwhile, the rest of the party was in my aunt's kitchen, doing last minute preparations. We all stationed ourselves in position and then Teeny got a sudden idea. "Let's really have Grandma on the ground!" and though most people didn't seem to think this was a good idea (she is 99, after all, and already broke her back this year) Teeny was insistent, and with the help of several gentlemen they lowered Grandma onto the floor in the front entryway. They gave some pillows, dumped her walker strategically, then turned her wig so it was just askew.

When my Mom and Nik entered Grandma started moaning in great pain (she is quite the actress, that lady), escalating in pitch. Teeny and my mom fumbled, explained, and suggested for a minute, then Teeny said, "She's just so hot. Could you go get her come ice or a cold rag in the kitchen?" (My uncle was all for saying, "Go boil some water!" or "Grab some towels," but we opted for something slightly more logical) So my mom dashed into the kitchen where she met a crowd of people who shouted "SURPRISE!"

Ahahaha! She was shocked. "That is cruel!" she said, "You guys are so mean." She covered her face, and Grandma came walking in, her wig on straight and a very satisfied smile on her face. Mom had no idea. It was wonderful. Nik was laughing, as was must every one else. A few were disappointed there were no tears. Teeny thought she ought to have milked the tragedy a little more, but it was all good. After the initial shock wore off she was delighted.

*Chuckle. I am very satisfied.

Grandma runs me over

On Thursday my great-aunt hired me to take my great-grandma out for a little while. These two charming women have somewhat of a Mrs. Bates/Miss Bates relationship, not quite that extreme but sometimes close.

My darling great-grandmother is turning 99 (that's right, ninety-nine) in just a couple weeks, so getting her around in not exactly easy, and neither is talking to her since she can't quite hear and her short-term memory is suffering somewhat. But still I love her, and so was glad of the opportunity of taking her to pick up her hearing aid, getting some Arbie's, and do some grocery shopping. My great-aunt packed a cooler full of ice, cups, and coke for the trip.

The visit to the grocery store was by far the highlight of the adventure. We got grandma into one of those jazzy scooters with a shopping cart attached and just let her go. She insisted on following me though, so for most of the trip I was ghosted by an old lady on a scooter.

Down one aisle she said that we needed some coke, so I picked up a box of cans and said, "Grandma, I'm going to put this in your cart instead of mine." She responded "Ok." Then rammed me over with her scooter. She just held down the go lever, pushing me back while I've got this big thing of soda in my hands. "Grandma, stop! Stop!" But she didn't really hear me, so I had to reach over and pull her hand off the controls.

Then we had a big debate over marshmallows. Growing up during the Depression made my Grandma very conservative with money and food. She needed marshmallows but couldn't stand the fact that a bag was almost $3. Thank goodness for Western Family.

After settling on which bag of marshmallows (I was able to convince her that the fruit kind, already horrible [hence the reduced price], taste particularly nasty in chocolate) we found the rest of the aisle a-litter with new merchandise and carts (and one poor bloke who was having a real tough time deciding on pasta).

So I said, "Grandma, we'll have to go back that way. Do you think you can reverse straight all the way back?" She looked at me and said, "Yeah." then clenched her fist around the reverse lever and shot backwards, without even looking, straight into the jell-O and cake mixes. And she just kept pushing reverse so the scooter kind of scratched and skidded along the shelves for a bit before I was able to get her to stop. "Grandma! Whoa! Stop!" When she finally heard me she just put her hands in her lap and waited.

I started cleaning up the wreck, but a real nice employee came over and said, "I'll take care of this, don't worry." Which, if we analyze the subtext, would sound more like, "I can see she's a handful, so keep a closer eye on her and stop wrecking my store."

The whole fiasco was fun though. I'm glad I went. I love her dearly. Maybe I'll get her a jazzy for her birthday.