Tuesday, June 14, 2011
I'm sitting on a beach chair on the front stoop. The mama is sitting in the back yard deadheading her pink daisies. The husband is standing in the front yard hand-watering the lawn. Uhmmm, that spray feels good.
Me. I should be making dinner. And, I shall in a while.
For now, I just want to enjoy a pause. I've been cooped inside spinning words and sentences into short, but clear and comprehensible paragraphs about stuff I have already forgotten. It's best to do that when you work on reference books. If I had retained everything I've written about in the last 13 years, my gosh... Ka-poosh! The sound of my brains exploding. Splattt. Splutt. Spposh. The sounds of my brains splashing on the walls and ceiling.
Ah, yes. Imagination is good to have at any age.
Now, I must go make dinner for the crew.
This was a relaxing pause. It was.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Uh-hmm. Is that how you spell the sound of clearing one's voice? Ah-hemmmm.
This morning I was making the husband's side of the bed. Nah, I'm not the bedmaker. The husband was making up my side of the bed. That's how it was today. Tomorrow may be different.
Anyway, I didn't see it right away. The white strand of something that was floating above the husband's side of the bed. When I did finally saw it, I climbed up on the bed and laid down beneath it.
"Look, look," I said, then pretended to snore the husband's snore so the white strand floated upwardly. I did it a few times before he caught on.
So, what did we do?
We laughed for a long time.
We decided that white strand wasn't there when he got up. He would've sheared it right off, as it was hanging quite, quite low over his side of the bed. Whatever made it had at least an hour to spin that thick strand of cobweb from the lamp to the top of the 2009 calendar that hangs on the wall above the bed. It could've been anywhere from 3 to 4 or more feet long. Really, that's an amazing feat.
I suppose it's time to get the broom and go cobweb hunting around the house. Maybe, I might.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
The other day, the mama bought a box of mangoes from a guy, who might not have a license for selling boxes of such beautiful fruit on the street corner. The mangoes are huge and delicious. It's a pity, I mangle them when I slice them.
Two: Uh, I forgot.
Three: I forgot that, too.
Slicing the mango? Definitely, should learn to cut one. But will I?
Maybe if I say "Ought to learn to cut one." The way I phrase things makes a difference. I may actually learn to slice it. This old dog can still learn new tricks.
I learned for instance that if I had said this instead: "I might actually learn to slice it." I would not learn to do it at all. I'm not kidding.
The husband gave me this link the other day so that I would understand the difference in usage of may and might. It's rather interesting. Did you know that might is the past tense of may? I may have known that at one time. Yes, I just might have.
Now, I should go look up how to slice a mango. Maybe, I just might.