Wednesday, July 11, 2012
morning haze (in more ways than one)...
I don't think you can call it "sleep disturbance" when you didn't shut your eyes until 5 a.m. Too much needless worrying, too many racing thoughts, just too much thinking. At about 3 a.m. I made the commitment (in my head) to buy a good mattress this year. That isn't an expenditure that should seem like a luxury, right? To me it's almost like a car repair. That mattress is HOW MUCH? Remember in Prelude to a Kiss when the old man says "Floss?" He was right, but I would like to add "invest in a good mattress" to that. It's hazy here outside my bungalow and inside my head.
I have been extra careful this year (the vacation isn't over yet) with the sunscreen. The only Irish tan I have is on the top of both ears. How is it I forget those every time? They are crispy.
Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal? I read "heartbreaking and funny" in the reviews of this novel . . . there is nothing funny about this book. I read nonstop to the last page and felt as if I could/should burst into tears. I was close. If you're prone to whining about your childhood in the way people do with things like, "He never had to lift a finger" or "She was the favorite" or "He was the baby" (you get the idea) read, oh read this book. You will thank your lucky stars. It's going to take a lot of work to Ctrl-Alt-Del this book from the recesses of my brain, but I'm going to try. Have you read The Glass Castle? Why Be Happy reminded me of this book. Unfathomable sadness, you guys.
Time for some lighter fare.
If you dare, read Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain. This crusty guy is like a magnet for me. Most times I am mystified by his palate - the guys smokes three packs of cigarettes a day - how sophisticated can it BE? But he knows his food and he's a fun read. Just like life, you have to take the good with the bad, so yes, a fun book, but swordfish is forever ruined for me now. I like you so I'm not going to tell you why.
Yesterday my cousin Cathy sent me an email about the little old nun in the wheelchair I blogged about yesterday or whenever that was. . . the days are blending together. Turns out her name was Sr. Mary Catherine (I sort of remember that now) and she was transferred to my Notre Dame in Tyngsboro from Cathy's Notre Dame in Hingham where she ran the candy store there, too. Her nickname in Hingham was Sister Granny, which just seems a lot less offensive than Lumpy or Chicken or Fat Pat. The girls must have been nicer in Hingham. Admittedly her nickname came from the Beach Boys' song, "The Little Old Lady from Pasadena" which was changed to "the little old nun from Hingham . . . go Granny, go Granny, go." Like I said, they were nicer.
Shouldn't love be reliable?