But now? I have absolutely no idea what I thought I might write about.
I’ve just finished working. I’ve washed half the dirty dishes in my kitchen sink. (It’s summer break and my house has filled with college kids who randomly prepare food in my kitchen and leave their dirty dishes for our maid to clean.) (Note: We have no maid.) Basically, I’m washing 35 drinking glasses and mugs a day as if I’m a dishwasher making minimum wage at a diner.
Anyway, so I’ve finished working. I’m done with everything that must be done before I sleep and I thought I’d write something but my brain has melted like a Hershey’s bar left all day in a summer car.
My husband is gone for a couple of weeks. He drove ten long hours to Oregon to work on his doctorate. My mom had been here for six weeks, but she’s also gone, back home to Washington. I’m here, enjoying the luxury of an out-of-kilter schedule, fitting in my 10,000 steps however I can, usually out on a dusty trail. Working, reading, cooking as little as possible.
Last week, I accidentally climbed to the top of a hill that was created by a volcano, or so the sign said. I planned to walk along a paved trail, then decided to go around a curve and then spontaneously thought maybe I’d go up a steep path just to see where it went. Once there, I figured I was halfway to the top, so I meandered and climbed up.
The big problem with going up a hill is the going-down part. I couldn’t tell exactly where the official path was (I wanted to go down the back side instead of the way I came) and I ended up picking my way down a very steep, rocky path, terrified I’d slip and break a wrist or–even worse–my phone. I thought about stepping on rattlesnakes and about twisting an ankle and about how silly I must look, gingerly stepping from stone to stone on that washed out path.
I walked about 90 minutes that morning and hit 10,000 steps before I even got back to my car, before noon.
My daughter graduated from eighth grade last Wednesday. What a relief. Goodbye, Middle School. See you never.
On Thursday, I played the piano for a church lady brunch. I accompanied a singer who had earlier provided me with music. Unfortunately, the sheet of music for one of the songs was written to conserve space, so first you took Ending One, then the second time, you took Ending Two, but then you went back to the middle and then you finished and went to the beginning and took Ending Three but not before going here, there and everywhere.
I got lost. I couldn’t figure out where the singer was and I just kept guessing at the chords because I had no idea what I was doing. I do NOT play by ear. After the first verse and chorus I was absolutely, one hundred percent lost. It was mortifying and yet hilarious and I just kept playing, guessing at chords, hoping against hope that the singer would notice my distress and stop the song already! She sang and sang and sang.
I don’t even know why I agreed to play the piano for that thing. I’m sure someone else more competent could have done it.
Well, with any luck, tomorrow I’ll think of that amazing topic that eludes me tonight. But don’t count on it.