Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Sometimes I do know what to write, but it's all fragmented

I knew what to write this morning. I had two great ideas. And then I came to work, and worked, and got busy, and learned that I have a new cousin, and now I can’t remember what I was going to write.
This could be in large part that I got very (VERY) little sleep last night due to one of two reasons: 1.) I’m a total dumbass for picking up a book at midnight or 2.) If J.K. Rowling didn’t make things finally get really interesting in the plot halfway through the book, I’d have been able to put it down after only a few pages, like all the other nights. Instead, I had to finish it. I. had. to. I totally blame the author.

Oh! I remember one of the subjects on which I thought I could write. Our house. Because it continues, over a year after we built it, to amaze me. Maybe because over a year after we built it, it continues to amaze others. When we designed the house with our architect, we focused on what we wanted. Or, more importantly, what we needed. We wanted a big, open great room. We needed tons of shelves. We wanted vaulted ceilings. We needed main floor laundry. We wanted a great party room in the basement. We needed x number of bathrooms. We wanted zero entry. On and on and on. We pretty much let our architect go on design, once we determined the style we liked (Frank Lloyd Wright). Probably the most important thing we’ve learned, or at least that I’ve learned, is to let experts do their thing. Our architect designs homes for a living. We do not. If we trust his instincts and guidance, we’ll get a much better product, much like if we trust a professional chef to make saltimbocca we’ll get a much more tasty meal than if I try to tamper with it (does that need garlic salt? and bacon? everything needs bacon.). Basically, what I’m trying to say is that we didn’t give one thought to anyone else when we built this house. It’s not a Pottery Barn house, or a shabby chic style. It’s just us, and our stuff that we happen to like. So part of me is continually amazed when people talk about how much they love our house. I take it as a huge compliment, because what they are really saying is, “I love your style, and how you choose to live your life.” People consistently love our bright green countertops downstairs, and our sparkly flecked red countertops upstairs. These are things you typically never see in a home. We got them because we liked them. So I guess I’m continually surprised when other people like them, too, since others rarely make the decision to have obnoxious countertops.

Today, I just learned, is National Walk to School Day. Which is awesome, because we did. I love walking to school with Zoe. We chat and I get to see her face and concentrate on her more than when I’m driving. We sometimes do silly walks. We nearly always laugh. We say hello to the penny embedded in the concrete near the crosswalk to school, which Zoe appropriately named “Penny” when she was in kindergarten. And, right before the crosswalk, I get to give her a full hug and a big smoochie, as opposed to a half hug and sideways smoochie as she’s scrambling to get out of the car in the drop-off line to avoid holding up other families. I always walk backwards as she crosses and walks up the school parking lot, waiting to see if she’ll turn around and wave or blow kisses. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. I really don’t care whether she turns around; I just love seeing her lithe little body heading to school for the day and, knowing that I’ll miss her for so many hours, I want to drink her up as much as possible. A friend was driving by with his kids on Monday, and rolled down the window to make a crack that she’s safe and it’s okay for me to go now. I just nodded and smiled, because there’s no way to explain it all to someone rolling by in a car at 10 mph, going the other direction. Today is National Walk to School Day. I highly recommend it, if it’s possible. It is truly a lovely way to start the day.


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