The schlep

It's a good word.

Now is when the discipline of doing this daily becomes a challenge. Thursday night, obligations every single evening this week -- tonight it is doing a double whammy of kids' music lessons, managed solo (with the help of a friend) now that David's rehearsal schedule is heating up. To immediately go on a tangent, it is a testament to the regard in which I hold Z's violin teacher that I am willing to make the drive to her new house. The far eastern suburbs (really "far suburbs" anywhere) fill me with existential malaise.

Had a nice time hanging out with O while Z was transported out to violin with a friend. At the grocery story, in the wine section, he did ask me why we always buy "so much special drinks." I'm not sure I gave a good answer.  His drum lesson was good. Schlepped out to her violin lesson. Schlepped everyone home. O finished his homework while I set up dinner in front of the TV so we could end the evening with a soothing dose of Phineas and Ferb. And scene.

Except then I learn on the intertubes that an old ... colleague? ... has died. I didn't know him well. Many people I know knew him better, and their grief matters more than my ... whatever it is. But it is a sadness, and it makes the past seem even so much farther away. Frank Green was one of the people who made Cleveland a good town for arts of all kinds.

So, Thursday. In Z's violin lesson, I had an interesting conversation with her teacher about the effective tool of making plans. And the plan for this week was to just get through the week - 5 nights of stuff, and full days. One more day, then a long sleep, then making a new plan.

Reading: 
Writing:

Dinner: We bought subs during the schlep to eat while watching TV. My children do love the hoagies. Also, leftover sweet slaw. And, yes, I had a "special drink" (aka cheap Tempranillo).

Soundtrack: Itzhak Perlman radio on Pandora.

Random thing: On the way to the grocery story, O proudly announced to me that there is more than one word in Spanish for the color brown (marro'n and cafe). We talked about that for a while, and then I asked him what is his favorite word in Spanish. He was quiet for several seconds while we were getting out of the car, then said "I have to think about that." We did the shopping, went to drumming, and on the way out of the music school, he finally said, "I've been thinking about it, and I finally found my favorite word: anaranjado."

Comments

  1. KL PereiraJanuary 25, 2013 at 7:42 AM

    I love that kid. Seriously. I love both of them but O says things that speak to my very soul (while, of course, Z and I have similarly excellent fashion sense and taste in books). <3

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sick Days

Image
I'm on day 2 of being sick, after spending a day with a sick O, and I am fighting terrible feelings of self-doubt and lurking failure. This is a normal way to be when sick, I suppose, but it comes at a time when I was already struggling against despair. Why despair? Because I am genetically predisposed? Because I am working too much and I'm worn out? Hormones? Yes. Yes. Probably. Because the BiP is more a fantasy than a reality at this point? (For those keeping track, NaNoWriMo feels to me more like NoNeGoWriMo ~ Not Never Gonna Write More.) The last is probably the clincher. Whenever I lose track of my writing I get desperate. This is an ongoing dance I do with myself. Commit to the writing ~ do the writing ~ neglect the writing ~ hear the writing whispering recriminations ~ avoid the writing ~ loathe self and others ~ eventually get back to the writing (repeat). Wouldn't it be nice if we could lose steps 3, 4, & 5? Hope in a Prison of Despair , pre-raphaelite painting...
Read more

Bait Fish

Image
David made fun of me when I told him, two weeks ago, that I had "started writing the first post" for this blog. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked, knowing perfectly well that I do. I probably threatened to throw something at him. I erased that fragment of first post. It was too mannered and laborious. It was all about what I want this blog to be about. It was all about my anxiety of influence re certain other writers (namely George Eliot), and about the wonder of coming upon a manuscript of Middlemarch in the British Library about 5 million years ago, and the little paperback reproduction of her quotation-filled blotter I bought in the gift shop. The paperback looks like this. (I haven't actually read it.) Miraculously, I was able to find it in less than 5 minutes, despite the shocking disarray of my bookshelves ... it was on the attic stairs. ( more on bookshelves in some other post ) In the intervening two weeks, I have made a list of possible topics fo...
Read more

Under 20, dammit

Image
Anita Loos photographed by Edward Steichen presence of photo explained below, as though a picture like this requires an explanation. This exercise in blarg-- blerg-- uh, blogging is enjoyable, but I think I have been breaking my 20-minute rule rather regularly. So, the challenge now is to keep it under 20. And, somehow, it took me 2 minutes to write that first sentence. No wonder it is taking me so long to write the tome of tomorrow ... that's my official new name for it. Tome of Tomorrow, or ToT for short. No more of this BiP or E(ndless)BiP or what have you. Reading: Continuing on with the Lurie. Looking forward to beginning something new tomorrow. Also, the writing letters chapter from Bird by Bird Writing: Muchly, at the hospitable Donkey. Dinner: O and I made a nice succotash with shallots and a splash of half and half to perk up the frozen limas and corn. My mom made a second night of Yorkshire pudding, because she could. If you have bothered to render suet, you might as wel...
Read more