felt grass and other nonsense

I’ve kept my web browser open to this “edit post” screen for a day or two now and have just been jotting down my thoughts as they come to me at random intervals. Here’s the result:

One of the downsides of not having an automatic dishwasher is forgotten leftovers in the fridge. Unless I’m willing to part with the container, I’ve got to scrub the month-old nastiness off by hand.

There’s an elderly man who lives in a house on the corner down the road. He has amazing grass. No really, it’s amazing. It’s cut so short and is so thick that it looks like green felt. The best is when fall comes. I swear he has some kind of force field around his yard that prevents leaves from landing. No matter what time of day I pass his house, there’s never more than a handful of leaves to be seen even though he’s got three or four big, leafy trees on his property. But it stays that way—completely leafless—all season. Almost every time I pass by in my car I see him out tending to his lawn, armed with a rake. I always look for him. Even though he never notices me, it makes me happy to see him. Maybe it’s his pristine grass that makes me happy—tidy green felt without a leaf in sight. Maybe it’s his impeccable attention to detail that makes me happy. I don’t know exactly. I wonder if he loves it when all the leaves have finally fallen. Or maybe he’s disappointed that he has to wait another year to do it all again.

I’m not a cook by any stretch of the imagination, but I’ve been kind of ambitious the last two days, making new recipes from a Martha Stewart cookbook. (I know, fancy.) Monday was a potato-onion frittata (fancy, I’m telling you) with a broccoli-chickpea-tomato salad. I was ecstatic when they actually came out looking somewhat like the pictures. Tuesday was a pear custard pie to celebrate our anniversary. Two years. Bryant made us a chiles rellenos casserole of sorts. It was good. I love it when he cooks. And when he brings home flowers.

You know what else I love? When milestones actually feel normal. I don’t mean that they’re unexciting, rather I mean that they make sense. Like graduating. It was fun and all, but it made sense to be done. I was finished and ready for the next thing. (Or rather, I thought I was.) Getting married was that way, too. My wedding day was honestly one of the happiest and most exciting days of my life—a huge milestone—but it made total sense. It wasn’t shocking and didn’t require any humongous adjustments for either of us (unless you count learning to fit two people into a teeny bed… we really should upgrade). So, our two-year anniversary was the same. Just another day, but still exciting too. During the day I texted Bryant, “It’s our anniversary. Cool, huh?” And he replied back, “Pretty neat.” …Like that. I love that. A normal milestone.

I’ve heard that Seattle has the highest suicide rate in the United States. (I don’t know if that’s true, but I’ve heard it enough to think it’s common knowledge, and I’m too lazy to fact check.) And I’ve also heard Seattle’s notoriously gloomy weather is to blame. (Again, too lazy to read up on this.) I know some people genuinely suffer from some kind of “seasonal affect disorder.” I guess I do too. Just in a different way. I’m definitely affected by weather, but mostly I just love it. All of it. Lately it’s been that startlingly cool air when you open the front door. Mmm. And snow. Mmm. Oh, and another thing, I don’t really think Seattle is as gloomy as it’s reputed to be. Maybe I should see for myself.

I fear that I stew too long over decisions. Have I always been this way? I at least know that I’ve been this way for a while.

Timing isn’t everything. But it’s something.

Category: for my amusement, just wondering, lists, quirks, the great outdoors 3 comments »

3 Responses to “felt grass and other nonsense”

  1. kat

    wow..you’re amazing and way fun…we just got about 10 more hours of home videos…you’re in trouble

  2. *star

    HI. I like it when you blog.

  3. big changes — i know. i’m blushing.

    [...] I was afraid of leaving my comfort zone? Or how about my inability to make big decisions without stewing over them f o r e v e r [...]

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