Here's a Haiku for you

Waitress

Plastic booths. Stale fries

His cold stare cuts in deep

Wish I could go home

A voice...from the deep...It's me! At last!

It has certainly been a while. You probably have been there, twiddling your thumbs, waiting on the edge of your seat for me to be brilliant and endearing, and you were probably thinking I simply had nothing brilliant to say. 


YOU WERE WRONG. 


I do have things to say! Here they are:


Hi. How are you? What are you up to? Me? Not much. (end). 


I know, I know. Life has been a little slow lately, somewhat vague, average, uninteresting, or dull as some have said. A few blips have happened, however. I went on a date once (good food) and I applied for more jobs (starting wage: $7.75/h). 


YAY! 


I graduated college a year ago. Can you believe that? A YEAR AGO. (You probably can believe it. I, however, cannot, despite being the subject of that very grueling and difficult verb: graduated. That is why I keep repeating it. I graduated A YEAR AGO. GRADUATED. ME. GRADUATE...). 
I was kind of hoping to have accomplish something worth while or significant during this time, like--i dunno-- a Pulitzer, lottery win, Disney cruise, or some great career move. But none of those things have happened (maybe I should buy a lottery ticket). 


But. It's ok. 
I promise. 
I have done other things, that, ultimately and seen through a prudential light, may turn out to have been worth my time. 


I NANNY! 


That's right, folks. I watch the wee ones of successful people while they go off and be successful or go on lunch dates with their girlfriends. I am paid so people can eat! 


It's just fine, because watching kids is pretty much second nature to me and the kids themselves are more or less absolutely adorable, so it works. I've been watching 2-year old triplets lately and they are a riot. Once one of them gets started they all want in. Someone decides shoes are a good idea then they're all screaming and sitting trying to get their parents's shoes to stay on their feet. Or one decides she doesn't like her shirt and therefore takes it off. The boys look at her in wonder then realize the genius of it. Yeah! Why are we even wearing shirts!? And have you tried pushing a triplet stroller? My arms look amazing. 


So. Yeah. I think that's it for now. Just wanted to remind you that I'm still here. Being brilliant. 


(GRADUATED).

Snow!

Ladies and gentlemen, it has SNOWED, finally. And in celebration I went on a shooting spree. I don't claim to be a photography, and none of these pictures are edited, which testifies to the gorgeousness of the day. 

The ever adorable King's English played host to a marriage proposal today. Absolutely fantastic. And she said yes (how could you not?) 

A lamp post standing next to a bunch of wheat. Straw, hay? I'm not sure. Something that should be on a farm of some sort. I liked this picture, though, because the tree and the wheat (?) make it very textured, which is nice in a picture with a limited palette. 

We still had some apples on the tree. They are a little gushy though, so no eating, ok?  

 Don't you just love it!? I think I love taking pictures in the winter so much because there is always a high contrast. The snow and sky are always light, and everything else is so dark it almost looks like a silhouette. The many clouds also soften the light, making it delicate. Just gorgeous. 

 I love this shot, because of the tall center tree, and the difference between each side of the frame, the light and dark, bright and purplish. Lovely. 

 On the street where I live. *sigh

Our trampoline could use some springs, huh? It is kind of a random picture, but something about the composition grabs me. Maybe it's the large blank space of snow, and the various fields of depth. I dunno. Maybe it's just the memories. 

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.