Archive: October 2007

I am kind of a snob about fall. Every year around the end of September, I go on a tirade every few days about how in New England, fall came when school started and you could actually wear your new fall clothes instead of wearing shorts for another month and the leaves would change color gradually and have time to stay on the trees, whereas around here, you blink and miss the fall color before you have to rake it all up and what is it about the mid-Atlantic and their short falls when it’s the best season ever and then we just get plunked right down into winter right away and there is no reason for it to be so hot right now and I hate being hot so why can’t fall just get here like it does in New England, where fall came when school started…

JG just rolls his eyes at me, tells me I have a rough life. “I know,” he says, mockingly unsympathetic. “Fall is so much better in New England and I’m sorry that you have to put up with what we have here in Pennsylvania.”

Hmph.

A part of me misses New England all the time, but in the fall, I really feel the twinge. I feel cheated out of a good, solid, cool fall in this area and even more so when I have to sweat through August, September, and even into October. I have been waiting for rusty treetops, cheerful chrysanthemums, and rattling leaf skeletons. I have been longing for brighter-than-blue blue skies, blustery gusts, and snappy morning chills. I have been straining against heat and humidity for the fresh, invigorating nip of cold air on my cheeks, the chance to inhale deeply through my nose, and the promise that — yes, and soon! — allergies will be gone for the year. I have been craving excuses to wear corduroy, my red scarf, light wool sweaters, and slippers, though not necessarily all at once. I have been eager to carve a jack-o’-lantern, decorate with miniature gourds, make a pumpkin cheesecake, and dig out my costume tiara. I have been hungry for stew, roasted chicken, bratwurst, and candy corn. I have been sniffing the air for the aroma of apples, dry leaves, bonfires, and hot chocolate. I have been ready, even if my favorite season wasn’t ready for me.

Fall has been a long time coming, but today, it is finally here and I hope it sticks around long enough for me to enjoy it properly. At the very least, JG will be spared the Rant of Mid-Atlantic Fall this weekend because I’ll be out under a saturated blue sky, crunching on leaves, and sipping apple cider. Cheers.

When we first brought Ted home, JG took him to the vet the next week and received the 411 on puppy-raising. He filled me in once I got home from work and informed me that Ted would lose his teeth when he was around 3-4 months old so that his adult teeth could grow in.

Excuse me? No one mentioned the possibility of finding stray teeth around the house. Gross.

“No, that’s not really an issue,” JG assured me. “According to the vet, he’ll probably swallow most of them.”

Even more gross.

JG and I have a general policy of having only three of Ted’s toys out at once. I don’t want to be tripping over toys everywhere and we have some vague delusion that we might cultivate some semblance of an attention span in Ted if we don’t offer the full array toys all of the time. We have passed the stage when the toys were streaked with blood and now, Ted is baring some brand-new “big doggie” teeth. He has become frustratingly good at freeing treats from his Kong ball and his nips are closer to bites in the pain factor, so our rule has just about gone out the window. To stave off the attempts to chew on us, JG and I have become increasingly lax in bending the rule and shoving whatever seems interesting at Ted’s mouth. Otherwise, he goes for our arms, hands, or toes, or maybe the corner of his couch blanket, which is not the plan at all. In our desperation to satiate the need to chew, the toys are the only recourse and I feel like they are everywhere.

I never quite understood those parents who, when confronted with a living room overtaken by children’s toys, would say something like, “I don’t know how it got this way, but look at all of this stuff!” Taking care of Ted does not require nearly the effort of raising a child, but I now understand the gradual invasion of the toys. I’m depending on the thought that this chewing is just a phase so that we can return to our normal level of destruction. Right?

Tune in to Roosday-Tuesday and Wednesday-Bensday for the other two-thirds of the doggie cuteness trifecta!

Earlier today, my door was just slightly ajar, hiding the majority of the view. If you had popped your head in, you would have found me bundled up in my suit jacket and a scarf and standing on my desk while brandishing a tube of paper — the former because I was transported into the arctic region upon crossing the threshold of my doorway and the latter because I had had just about enough of the resident roach. Like a mini UFO, it hovered around the room on zippy wings and landed upside-down, sideways, and right side up on any surface that was beyond the reach of my outstretched arms. I noticed that it gravitated toward the window and decided to make my move. I rolled up some papers I no longer needed, eased my door shut, and climbed up on my desk for leverage. Stalking my prey, I slowly raised the Venetian blinds to give myself more swinging room. Three whacks later, the roach was on its shield-shaped back, legs curled, gasping its last breath. Before sweeping it into the garbage can, along with my weapon, I noted grimly that it was about the size of a nickel. They call me the hunter. Roar.

Despite this surprising swell of fortitude, I have been feeling rather unaccomplished lately. I have been hoping that no one has noticed that I read all of one book last month, which is a mere 25% of what I intended, if I’ve got that math right. To make matters worse, the one book I managed to read last month was an easy read about dog behavior, not some literary behemoth, and I haven’t even started my first book for October. Poor Angela’s Ashes has been languishing by my bed laying on the guilt-trip every night for three weeks now. Agh. I feel so illiterate, unmotivated, and dull.

I blame it all on the knitting. I know, I know, I alone volunteered to knit scarves for the volleyball seniors. I wanted to be able to say, “Why, yes, I made ten whole scarves in just nine weeks. No, it wasn’t a problem at all! Look how crafty I am! Look how committed I am to my husband’s volleyball team!” What’s that saying? Pride cometh before something? Here I am, with six days to go (oh, heaven help me) and I am feeling the crunch. Despite the boon of a senior quitting mid-season and reducing the scarf total to nine, I am still behind schedule if I am to finish all of this knitting, much less the festive fringing. Scarf #8 is still only a quarter of the way complete and my willing it to become exponentially longer has not been effective.

To state the obvious, I can’t do much of anything else while I’m knitting because it’s a two-handed, eyes-needed activity. No playing with Ted. No cooking. No eating. No reading. No sleeping. No driving. I can pretty much only watch TV, which narrows my available knitting time to about two hours per night, max. For my own sanity, I am resisting the urge to compare my remaining, expected knitting time to the time I have in reality. Because I must finish the scarves — knitting, fringing, and cute packaging — regardless of reality.

As is the case at work, when conflicting deadlines arise, one must prioritize (hey, that’s kind of catchy!), and so it is with this knitting project. The scarves are for the girls, but the reading is for me, so something has to give. Even if it makes me feel like a slug.

During my commute, I drive over a two-lane bridge (one lane in each direction) that connects two roads each that accommodate two lanes of traffic in both directions. Suffice it to say, the bridge is quite the bottleneck and I don’t think I’ve ever crossed it during rush hour without coming to a stop and waiting. Yesterday was no exception and as I sat there, my car gave a shudder that is fairly typical for its advanced age, and then the engine stopped. Panicked, I popped on my hazard lights, threw it into Park, and turned the key to the off position. I paid no attention to the honking SUV behind me and attempted to start up the car again. It wheezed and turned over, but the engine didn’t run. Trying to breathe, I turned the car off again and sat there for a few seconds. Thankfully, the car started up on the second try and I made it to the parking garage with no other issues.

Throughout the day, the thought that I might not get home nagged me and I regretted not having AAA at my disposal in case I needed my car towed somewhere, but I resolved to let things lie until I had to actually drive home. When I realized that my cell phone was dead, crossing that bridge when I got to it (as it were) was no longer an option. If I were to break down, I would have no way of calling JG. I wouldn’t be able to tell him where I was or what was wrong with the car. If no one stopped to help me, I would have no way of getting in contact with him.

From my office, I called a handy friend of ours to get his opinion on my predicament and he peppered me with questions:

“Did you see any warning lights before the car stopped?” No.

“Were any on after that?” No.

“How far is your commute?” Twelve miles.

“How long will it take you if there’s no traffic?” Half an hour.

“What time will you get home, at the latest?” By 6, if I hit traffic.

“What will you do if your car doesn’t start in the garage?” Come back to my office.

“Here’s the plan,” he said. “At 6, I’ll call your phone because I’ll assume that you’ll plug it in once you get in. If I don’t get your phone, I will call your work phone to make sure that’s where you are. If I don’t get you at your work phone, I’ll call JG and we’ll figure how to find you and pick you up. Regardless, I’ll take a look at your car this week. Okay?”

Okay. Break!

Much to my relief, I didn’t end up needing the emergency plan. I arrived at home in one piece and called my friend back to report the good news. He stopped by later that night to check things out and confirmed his suspicion that my car needed a tune-up really badly, despite the fact that I just got it inspected during my week off. So annoying.

JG and I both use hand-me-down cars from our parents and I know that we’re going to drive them into the ground; the problem is — when one of them dies, it won’t be while it’s sitting in our driveway. One or both of us will be on our way somewhere and the car will give out. JG assured me that we would look into getting a AAA membership, so that helped to mitigate my fear somewhat. I made it back to the office without incident today, but this week is going to be about taking it one commute at a time. I do not enjoy it.

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