i jumped on the junior high bandwagon: i'm about halfway through twilight and i'm obsessed -- caught somewhere between a teenage crush and a perverse fascination.
while poor little hal gurgled and cooed through his formula this morning, i propped him in my elbow and held the novel in my other hand, racing through sentences and paragraphs to see how many times bella would brush against edward. it's ridiculous, isn't it? a few breaths into a novel and i already feel like i'm sitting in the bay of windows next to my junior high locker again. waiting with my little maroon padded trapper-keeper on my lap, hoping to see derek. wanting him to sit next to me ... really close. wanting him to touch me, even by accident. wanting him to talk to me about algebra, about our teacher in his white lab coat, about steel edged rulers, about anything -- just so long as he was talking to me. [unfortunately, i haven't exactly been able to stir up the same amount of attention for my husband when he talks about teeth and root canals and amalgam fillings.]
there is nothing more intoxicating than a high school crush. and stephenie meyer got it perfectly right, in a fantastic tongue-in-cheek, yet entirely serious: "i noticed that he wore no jacket himself, just a light gray knit V-neck shirt with long sleeves. again, the fabric clung to his perfectly muscled chest. it was a colossal tribute to his face that it kept my eyes away from his body." sheesh ... i'm shivering, aren't you?
this book is going to consume the rest of my weekend. meyer has captured the essence of high school and that little twinge inside all girls -- we all want to believe that we are the most beautiful and we don't know it -- we all want to believe that the most intriguing and handsome man in the class is staring at us -- we all want to believe that there is someone hovering just outside our peripheral vision, waiting to save us -- we all want to date vampires.
Saturday, April 28, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
weather
three days of ohio rain. thick clouds grazing the tops of buildings. drowning in the dark: i dug my lightbox out from behind the couch this morning.
when i was little, in colorado, rain was mythic. rain didn't just come, it never stooped out of the sky of its own accord. we had to coax it from heaven, with prayers, with dances, with long dead stalks of weeds and rituals we imagined and performed from the ridges of red rock. and when it would come, finally!, we ran outside. we laid on the warm cement driveway and let rain crackle over us. we turned over our bigwheels and collected the rain in its crevices. we opened our palms and let them soak with rain. we shouted, we laughed, we jumped double-dutch, we watched it stream in flash-flood rivers down the gutters of the street. rain! rain! rain! and that night we would thank god for moisture, because that was all that was left. a filmy hint of wet along the grass, pretending not to notice the return of the sun.
in ohio, the rain is a faucet a bucket a shower a deluge. after one day of rain, two days, three, four, five, i want to punch through the clouds. i want to collect the wetness in my arms and throw it back: somewhere ... to the bosom of lake erie or the clouds that spilled it. i want it to stop. drowning me.
when i was little, in colorado, rain was mythic. rain didn't just come, it never stooped out of the sky of its own accord. we had to coax it from heaven, with prayers, with dances, with long dead stalks of weeds and rituals we imagined and performed from the ridges of red rock. and when it would come, finally!, we ran outside. we laid on the warm cement driveway and let rain crackle over us. we turned over our bigwheels and collected the rain in its crevices. we opened our palms and let them soak with rain. we shouted, we laughed, we jumped double-dutch, we watched it stream in flash-flood rivers down the gutters of the street. rain! rain! rain! and that night we would thank god for moisture, because that was all that was left. a filmy hint of wet along the grass, pretending not to notice the return of the sun.
in ohio, the rain is a faucet a bucket a shower a deluge. after one day of rain, two days, three, four, five, i want to punch through the clouds. i want to collect the wetness in my arms and throw it back: somewhere ... to the bosom of lake erie or the clouds that spilled it. i want it to stop. drowning me.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
dewey decimal system
the library supply catalog i sent for came in the mail yesterday. i had no idea i needed a card catalog cabinet until i saw the one on page 588. all those perfect little drawers stacked on top of each other. five different types of finishes. i could put it in my study to hold paper clips. or in henry's room to organize his socks or his desitin or his hats. i could use it in the kitchen: pour my spices into individual compartments, tuck away my spatula collection, collect all the twisty ties from loaves of store-bought bread, hide potatoes and onions and short skinny squashes. i could put it in the bathroom, a roll of toilet paper in each tiny drawer. i could put it next to my bed and spoon paperbacks into each little crevice.
it doesn't stop at just the card catalog cabinet. no. i also need a gallon of glue! forty retractable sharpies! a box of 894 crayons! revolving media storage and a wall size map of the world and the entire collection of goosebumps by r.l. stine! a rubber snake, a decorative penguin statue, a motivational 10 poster set! and three thousand three hundred sheets of perforated computer paper!
it doesn't stop at just the card catalog cabinet. no. i also need a gallon of glue! forty retractable sharpies! a box of 894 crayons! revolving media storage and a wall size map of the world and the entire collection of goosebumps by r.l. stine! a rubber snake, a decorative penguin statue, a motivational 10 poster set! and three thousand three hundred sheets of perforated computer paper!
Monday, April 23, 2007
spring
when i peeked into henry's crib this morning, he smiled at me: big and full and better than the sun.
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