I remember sitting on the floor moving train cars around the base of the Christmas tree, and looking up through the branches at the lights and thinking I was in a private fantasy land. Sleeping at the base of the tree as a child was a magical thing, and oh so special.
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Cool
I'm watching Irina Slutskaya's free skate for the world championships on ESPN as I write this, and wishing I were in the arena, close enough to feel the chill from the ice and hear the skate blades slicing it. I hate that the cameras focus on the skaters' faces more than their feet. I want to watch their feet. So far, hers is the cleanest performance. (She's also the last skater), and her choreography blends perfectly with her music…I hate when they have strong music and the choreography isn't equally strong.
Tomorrow afternoon, I'm interviewing for a position I really want, and, typically, it's coinciding with THAT time of the month. Oh well, I won't be nervous, at least, because I'll be fighting cramps. (Actually, I won't be nervous, anyway, I have a feeling I pretty much have the job. A background check is required, and reference checking, but I'm not at ALL concerned about those.)
I really liked this recruiter. She was warm, friendly, and made me feel as if she was working for me instead of for B of A. She was funny – we clicked on the phone – and I like that their website (the staffing company is Mentor 4) addresses the fact that some of us WANT to be contractors.
I had a morning interview for another company scheduled, but I've already called and cancelled. I was getting a really bad vibe from them, and the actual job was farther away and for less money than I want.
(Update: Irina won the worlds, Sasha Cohen 2nd, Michelle Kwan 4th.)
So…figure skating – cool. Job interview – cool. Life – pretty damned cool.
Two
I have not one, but TWO, interviews tomorrow.
The morning one, well, I committed to showing up. It could be something.
The afternoon is for a position in the downtown Dallas branch of an annoying, but convenient, lender/bank.
I reallyreallyreally want the afternoon-interview position.
Send good thoughts, please?
–Melissa
Unconscious Mutterings (Week 141)
I say… And you think… ?
- On the verge:: of a nervous breakdown
- Tempestuous:: relationship
- Coherent:: post-caffeination
- Near death:: experience
- Illiterate:: fools
- Why not?:: chance
- Period:: exclamation point
- Long lost:: relative
- Torrid:: love affair
- Nail:: coffin
Like this meme? Play along at LunaNina.com.
Chunky Monkey Loaf
My favorite flavor of ice cream is coffee, and that's seconded by Mitchell's macapuno, which is a kind of coconut, but my favorite Ben and Jerry flavor is Chunky Monkey – banana ice cream with dark chocolate and walnuts.
Tonight, the house is filled with the warmth of goodies baking in the oven, and the specific scents of banana and cinnamon, but instead of my usual banana nut bread, I've done a double batch, so I can bring a loaf to a friend, and I've laced the loaves with semi-sweet chocolate chips. (I also used half brown sugar and half white, half regular flour and half spelt, just for kicks.)
I love to experiment in the kitchen, but I can never duplicate or share recipes, really, because I don't really measure when I cook. I eyeball 'cups' and double vanilla or cinnamon in sweet recipes without thinking about it, and I'll alter spices if whatever is called for isn't what I happen to have on hand.
Therefore while I can tell you that the breadpans I just pulled from the oven have been dubbed “Chunky Monkey Loaf,” and that the end result is best served warm and slathered with butter, accompanied by strong milky coffee or hot tea, I cannot offer the recipe beyond, “It's essentially banana bread but with extra cinnamon and chocolate chips and stuff.”
It's delicious, though.
Acquainted with the Night
Last night as I stood on the back deck, and watched the dogs rooting through the ivy at the edges of the yard, doing their nightly perimeter patrol, and other doggy things, I looked up for a second, and was made breathless by the beauty of the night sky.
It wasn't the stereotypical starry veil that poets write about so often, or the crystalline beauty of a perfectly full moon on a cold night, when the moonbeam makes frost glitter, but a sea of clouds floating like prop clouds on a painted backgound, with the moon glowing through them like a spotlight turned toward the entire earth.
I called Fuzzy down from his office, and said, “Bring the camera,” forgetting that it was still hooked up to my desktop machine by its USB umbilical cord. (There was much grumbling when Fuzzy realized that the hard way. ) When he arrived on the deck he looked at me like I was crazy, a possibility I remain open to.
“Have you seen the sky?” I asked. “It's AMAZING!”
“I know,” he said, in that way men have of being smug about an experience and chagrinned about forgetting to share it, at the same time. “I drove home with it.”
I turned the camera to “night shot” and snapped a couple pictures that entirely fail to capture the scene (regular shots with flash made the sky appear black on black), beyond a mere hint of the magic.
But even if the photos fall short, the image of that sky, that amazing glowy puffy sky, is printed indelibly on my brain.
And when I fell asleep several hours (and 200 pages of a Clive Cussler novel) later, a delighted smile still curved my lips.
Swingsets
How do you like to go up in a swing
Up in the air so blue?
Oh I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
I'm watching the MythBusters try to swing a 360-degree arc around a normal chain swingset, of the type found in playgrounds everywhere, and I'm laughing at the fact that this is their goal, and not how far you can jump when you leap off at the top of the normal arc.
Leaping off was always my favorite part of swinging, just as the second or two of zero gravity at the top of the takeoff run is my favorite part of plane trips. That tickling sensation in the pit of the stomach, that surge of adrenaline as you soar through the air – it's the closest a child can come to being Superman.
Up in the air and over the wall,
'Til I can see so wide –
Rivers and trees and flowers and all
Over the countryside.
I've been swinging on chains of sleep lately, spending more time napping and reading in bed than is truly healthy, but my body is demanding it, and as I work from home, I'm in position to indulge myself. My brain, unfortunately is far too sluggish as a result, and while I'm having vivid dreams, I haven't the focus to translate them to page or screen, yet. Still things are percolating, ideas are brewing.
The peaks and troughs of my sleep pattern are actually sort of soothing, and the dogs love that I'm stationery and in a soft place. Also, my wrists are enjoying the fact that I'm not spending so much time at the keyboard. I just hope this cycle breaks soon, because it's nice for a while, but then it gets boring.
'Til I look down on the garden green,
Down on the roofs so brown.
Up in the air I go flying again,
Up in the air and down.*
*The Swing, by Robert Louis Stevenson
Cotton Candy
Recently, I joined The Alchera Project, and this bit of flashfic is my second submission.
The old man's face glistened with the faint sheen of sweat. Beads of it shimmered at his temples, reflecting the Christmas-light colors of the lights along the midway. He was dressed up, as if for a date, for this occasion, in a short-sleeved cotton shirt, striped in Oxford red, with the collar pressed into crisp points, suspenders, and his best khaki pants, breaking just so across the top of his shoes.
They were old man's shoes: sturdy brown leather, with steel shanks and rawhide laces. He called them 'work shoes' – although the only 'work' he still did was to putter in the kitchen or the garden, these days.
A woman in a yellow sun dress and matching sandals, her olive skin smooth despite the greying streaks in her wavy black hair, her dark eyes glowing with contentment, walked beside him, her arm looped through his, her body angled toward him. Her red-tinted lips moved rapidly, but her affectionate nagging was drowned out by the calliope music and the incessant chatter of the little girl with them.
The little girl. The apple of the old couple's eyes, this child danced around them the way young children do when they're pumped up on fun, her strawberry braids bobbing in time with her innocent chatter. She halted in front of the cotton candy, watching the hair-net clad women spinning colored sugar into fluffy clouds on paper cones. âœGrandpop, may I have some?â she asked. And of course he said yes.
Years later, when the old man was older still, and his work shoes never even visited the garden any more, he would smile into space, remembering the buzzing of mosquitoes, the tinny sound of the carousel's calliope, and the sticky cotton-candy kisses of a little girl long since grown, who never visited often enough.
Beautiful
The folks over at The Alchera Project have a prompt that asks members to create lists of beautiful things. My membership there is through my fiction blog, so this is unofficial participation, in the hopes that posting about beauty just before sleep will help ease my cranky mood. The choices are, of course, totally subjective, but feel free to offer your own in the comments.
Beautiful Sounds
- Rain falling on a roof.
- A wood fire crackling merrily.
- The crunching of leaves under feet on a crisp autumn afternoon.
- The initial fizz of freshly-opened Coca Cola.
- The subtle hiss of sugar being poured into tea.
Beautiful Sights
- The ocean, on a stormy day.
- Morning dew, on a blade of grass.
- Sunflowers growing wild near a rail fence.
- Two people, holding hands.
- Pine trees, the morning after a snowfall.
Beautiful Scents
- Rosemary-mint body wash, especially on a hot morning.
- Freshly-brewed coffee.
- Brand new crayons.
- Garlic and basil, being sauteed in olive oil.
- The machine-oil and metal scent of a large box of straight pins.
Beautiful Tastes
- Bittersweet chocolate.
- Peach gelato, in the height of summer.
- Sweet corn from a garden in New Jersey.
- The perfect cheeseburger.
- Sun-warmed raspberries, fresh from the bush.
Beautiful Tactile Sensations
- Cool, clean, sheets after a hot bath.
- The soft fur of a beloved pet.
- The gentle press of a mother's lips on a fevered brow.
- Suede.
- Warm mud squishing between bare toes.
In the Heat of the Night
Recently, I joined The Alchera Project, and this bit of flashfic is my first submission.
Twelve-thirty in the morning, and it's still over ninety degrees outside, the night air calm as death and twice as deep. I'm wearing as little as possible – a strappy red tank top and matching panties – and my hair is pulled up into a messy pony tail-knot-thing on the top of my head. Ugly, but effective, it keeps my hair off my neck at least. I'm trying to read, but it's too hot to focus, so I just sit in bed and watch the dog sleeping on the floor.
The phone rings, and I answer it in a voice laced with sex, âœHey handsome. Coming home soon?â
The voice on the other end, my husband, my lover, laughs softly, and tells me he's on the way. âœWait for me in bed,â he says, âœI'm ten minutes from home.â I smile into the phone, and say I will.
He doesn't speak a word to me, when he comes into the bedroom, just strips in the dim light from the stars and the street lamps. He kisses my lips, my neck, then tugs at my shirt. Minutes, and several more pieces of clothing, later, we're moving together to the beat of the music from the bar down the street.
An hour later, we're both laying in the bed, sweaty, sated, and sleepy. He whispers something about it being really good, and then, louder, murmurs, âœLove you, baby,â and rolls over.
I lie there in the bed and listen to the sound of his breathing and the dogs, mingling in the darkness. I close my eyes, then open them, and stare at the moon, shining through the frame formed by the patio doors. Moonlight always seems so cool and serene, that for a moment I wish I could reach out and capture the glow, bathe in it.
Contemplating this, I fall asleep, or at least, I think I do, because the next time I look at the clock it's blinking 6:00 in inistant red digits, and the air is, if not cooler, at least not as thick.