We told ourselves we’d spend these days after Christmas having a luxurious staycation, getting massages and eating fancy food. It seems we have rested enough, however, and brim with project energy.
At least we have some fancy dinner reservations.
Fifteen years ago this week we woke up in Carothers dormitory and toddled off to our very first college classes. Today Bryan headed back to UT to teach a computer science course as an adjunct professor. So proud of that one.
(Under the same “things that make us feel old” heading, file the fact that today’s entering freshmen will be the class of 2018. 2018! And no flying cars at all.)
I enjoyed this article on travel writing in the NYTimes a few days ago. “If I am skillful enough to capture and hold this moment now, someone reading my words at some distant time and place will feel the same here-and-now-ness that I did back then and there.” In workshops he asks his students to write as much as they can for 5 minutes, beginning with the prompt, “Here and now I am…”
I tried it on the bus home:
Here and now I am on the Metro Rapid bus, headed home. Here and now I am yawning, yawning. Here and now I am a little bit hungry because all I’ve eaten today is a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, as I walked across campus between one of my seven hours of meetings and another. Here and now I am wondering what I have the energy to do tonight. Here and now I am quiet, and happy to be quiet. Here and now I am thinking this deodorant that I put on this morning is better than the other kind I’ve been using. Here and now I am wanting a beer. Here and now I see palm trees, and a condo complex going up. Here and now I sway back and forth with the brakes of the bus. Here and now I glance surreptitiously at my fellow passengers, as we maintain the fiction of public privacy. Here and now a gnat crawls across my screen. Here and now my neck hurts, and I regret not going to yoga class two days ago. Here and now I see a tall thundercloud in the distance. Here and now a stop is requested. Here and now I think of my unanswered emails. I wonder about the castle that’s been constructed on Congress—some gaming place? It looks like someone drove a car through the front of one of my favorite gift stores. I must put my computer away and get off the bus.
It’s been not quite a week, and I’m already pretty tired of having only one functional hand. At the same time I am grateful for and taking full advantage of not being in a hard cast. Yesterday I took my little broken wing out onto the back deck to soak in some sunshine, so it doesn’t get quite as pale and shriveled as it might otherwise.
I am returning to normal functioning bit by bit. Some notable milestones:
Day 1: shaved right armpit with right hand
Day 2: operated scissors (recycling old t-shirt into cheerful splint lining!)
Day 3: made a sandwich
Day 4: buttoned my own pants (this still takes at least 20 seconds)
Day 5: operated bottle opener (critical skill)
Day 6: two-handed typing, hooray!
I look forward to the day, hopefully in the not-too-distant future, when I am once again able to fasten my own bra.
Crafty girls, 3-6
Wine, approx 1 bottle per crafty girl
Spanish snacks, to taste
A few ideas that you can still execute after a bottle of wine
A mess of old t-shirts
Fabric scissors, 1 pair per crafty girl
Healthy willingness to be silly
Prepare snacks in advance. At start time, fold in other ingredients. Take pictures.
I could not be more excited for, and proud of, my friend Matt as he launches into the next, entrepreneurial part of his life. After more than a year of planning and prepping and hustling (the good kind), he, his brother, and another partner have purchased an east-side coffee shop that will become The Brew & Brew. A place where I cannot wait to hang out.
As he said in a moment of facebook reflection, “I’m trying my damnedest to make my/our dream of a simple coffee shop and bar exist so that my son can see me doing things that fundamentally matter to me.”
Way to live the dream, friend.
Today would have been Matt’s 31st birthday. Here is a memory:
We are sitting in the hot tub at my parent’s house, the Second Haynie House. Me, Bryan, Cameron, Matt. It’s one of those hot tubs that’s built into the stone patio, not the freestanding kind. It’s maybe 5 years ago; we’re all in our mid-to-late 20s. Bryan and I are probably drinking Miller Lite; Matt and Cameron are maybe having a soda, all in their koozies on the edge of the tub. It’s nighttime, and chilly. Christmas? Maybe Dad has lit the chimenea, and the stars are out, and the wind is blowing in the trees. We’re talking about the tiniest little aches and pains we’re starting to get, the little tweaks, the way we don’t leap out of bed fresh as a daisy or heal our wounds quite as quickly. And I think, and say, “This is the beginning. We will be complaining about our aches and pains together for the rest of our lives.”