I haven't been updating much because I don't have much to say. Do you really want to hear about how I magic-erasered my walls and finally got around to scrubbing the bird shit off the porch furniture this weekend?
Friday, Jon and I were feeling celebratory. It has been a rough few weeks. We went downtown to Zocalo and I had the pomegranate mojito I've been craving, and a drunk neurology resident told me repeatedly that I don't look "a day over forty." Well thanks, I guess, considering I'm forty-six.
In other news about back-handed compliments about my youthful appearance, I was asked to show ID while buying beer at the supermarket last week. But when the cashier looked at my license, he said, "Does this say 1963 or 1968?" Three seconds earlier, this guy thought I didn't look old enough to buy alcohol and all of a sudden he thinks I'm fifty-one? And really, did he have to ask? "1968," I said, and he said, "Oh, that's what I thought." THANKS.
Anyway, on the walk home from Zocalo, Jon got out his knife and we cut down some of the vines that impeded our progress down Avon St. and tossed them over the fences of the offending property owners. We may have been a tiny bit tipsy, but honestly, I'm pretty sure there's an ordinance about this. It's tiresome that walking down the sidewalk is like crawling across a firing range.
Brigid has moved home, just for two weeks before she leaves for her summer job. It's lovely having her here, and Ian was off this weekend and spent Sunday with us. It's not often that all four kids are here at the same time. The empty nest is looming.
I've started a new sewing project. It is a ridiculously simple dress that is turning out to be terrifying. I will share it later, if it doesn't turn out to be a disaster. I really hope it isn't a disaster because the nice lady at Les Fabriques took me under her wing and helped me pick out a beautiful fabric. The pattern is really basic, but in order to achieve my vision, I'm having to make a lot of adjustments to it.
I spent much of the weekend reading James Joyce's Ulysses. It is an assault of words, people. Half the time, I don't even know what I'm reading. On Tuesday, I'm going to take a break and allow myself to read something else. To balance the intellectual rigor of Ulysses, I watched Project Runway, season 4 for the second time. (The season with Christian "Fierce" Siriano.) I'm sorry, that's all I've got, but do tell me what's going on in your neck of the woods.