Nah… Hear me  out.

Religious legend has it that during the religious war that resulted in the extermination of the Cathar “heresy” in the south of France at Carcassonne  and Béziers in the 11th century one of the generals came to the man in charge of this “purge” and asked, in essence, “These people all look like us, how will we know who’s the enemy?”

The man in charge, one Simon de Montfort, was reputed to reply, “Kill them all, and let God sort them out afterwards.”

So that’s what I’m doing.

I’m killing expectations.

Expectations that it’s just wrong for me to be pure and pious and steamy and sexy—all at the same time. Because I am. (Get over it.) Expectations that it’s just wrong for me to say I love housework, and then not do any…all day. (Because some days are like that.) Expectations that I should be happy loving one man all my life and he should be so fulfilling that I needn’t look elsewhere for anything. (What, and give up roller skating?)

So I say, “Kill them all.” Kill all the expectations that other people have of me. Kill all the ideas, outmoded or otherwise, that say that I’m supposed to be like someone else you met once, who was just so great.

I’m great. I am.

So, I say, “Kill them all.” Kill all the crazy ideas that I myself have of reconciling all the diverging streams of thought that I have meandering through me and had (apparently vain) hopes of merging into some mighty Mississippi of rational thought.

Who cares?

Yes, yes, yes. Life would be a lot easier if I could just be one, or the other. Maybe it would be easier. I don’t know. I do know that stuffing parts of myself down into a dustbin labeled “Unacceptable Bits People Don’t Understand” is, for me, something that I’ve been trying to do for over forty years and I’m just doggone sick of it.

So I say, “Kill them all, and let God sort me out afterwards.” Because He will. He’s bigger than my expectations.

After another bout (albeit shorter than usual) of discouragement and almost-but-not-quite depression, I’ve once again joined the ranks of the living, and had a banner day. I decided to go out and get the thread I needed to do all the mending. While this sounds pretty dull, it required a trip across town. Once I was there, I serendipitously discovered something I wanted, but hadn’t really been deliberately looking for: a new doormat! And such a pretty one! It looks really nice on the doorstep.

And I got some new yarn for sock knitting. I’ve got plenty of yarn, there’s no doubt of that. But while I know it’s around somewhere, I can’t determine which box it’s in. So, until it’s discovered, I just bought some more. After all, it’s not like it’s going to go bad!

After leaving Joann Fabrics, I discovered there was a Half Price Books nearby, where I naturally stopped. Finding what I’ve been looking for was not the result, but I did find things I wasn’t really looking for. (Not too hard to do, n’est-ce pas?)

Then, after leaving Half Price Books, I noted that Kopps Frozen Custard had none other than KEY LIME PIE as a flavor of the day! Triple Hip, Hip Hooray! Leaving Kopps with a scoop of deliciousness in a dish, I then spotted an Office Depot. I happened in and found some old school index card divider sets and a large card tray (the kind that holds about a thousand cards). Since I use a lot of index cards for a wide variety of things, but had long since given up on finding these trays (I thought they were hopelessly out of date), I literally danced up to the register.

Lest you think that all this awesomeness must surely be enough, upon returning home, I reached into the ball of yarn to start it out to cast on the next pair of socks, and, lo and behold, for the very first time in my entire life, pulled out a single strand of yarn, instead of an entire blob (poetically called “yarn barfing”)!

And if all this wasn’t enough, I voted in the Wisconsin primary, like the good citizen I am!

Ironing, what’s not to love? Almost instant gratification that lasts longer than a dinner party! Hooray! (Of course, if I had this adoring swain by my board, I might engage in it a bit more often!) There’s nothing like the warm smell of linen, and the hiss of the steam as it puffs from the sole plate (Maybe it should be called the “soul” plate?), not to mention the satisfying feeling I get from seeing the wrinkles disappear from underneath my gliding hand. Ahhh…bliss.

Now that the weather is getting hotter, I’m trying to get more of it done early in the morning when it’s still pretty cool. Otherwise, it can get a tad warm. Fortunately, the mornings are still quite cool. So, I’m doing all the linens as I come across them in the unpacking. By linens, I do not mean sheets. (There is a limit.) I’m talking table linens, dresser scarves, and the like.

I still haven’t unpacked my bread pans, so I’ve been waiting to bake bread here. But it was bugging me, and Paul and Lindsay were both asking about it. So, no more excuses. I decided, “What kind of a baker am I if I can’t bake bread without a pan?” So here we are, bread dough rising. I’ll just make a shaped loaf, and I’m sure it’ll be just as tasty as it would if I used a pan! Just less suitable for toast. So what.

Or maybe it’s more like a smorgasbord. Like a church supper where there’s so many kinds of delectable desserts that it’s so hard to choose just one. Or even four. (Yes, I can see you smiling! You’ve done that. Loaded a plate full of postage stamp sized pieces of cake. Slivers of pie so thin the light shines through the filling like a fruit studded stained glass window. Servings of pudding so dainty they’d barely fill a Protestant communion cup! Yes. But I digress…)

My days are like that now. I’ve got so many possibilities that I really almost feel like just avoiding all of them. I’m almost to the point where I’m ready to plop down on the sofa, curl up with a good book and a cup of tea (from Teavana, passion du jour), and read the day away.

But I can’t. Well…maybe just for a little while…

Well, it’s been seven days since we unpacked the truck. I am slowly (very slowly) getting unpacked. It’s not just unpacking though, it’s trying to mesh my things in with Paul’s. Trying to meld our lives, while we meld our things.

On top of that, we hardly ever see each other. First, I left for a couple days. Then, he left for a business trip. He comes back Tuesday afternoon, and then I leave Wednesday at noon again. Although I’ll be back Saturday, I’ll have Sophia in tow, as it’s the beginning of her Spring Break and she’s excited about coming to visit.

Once I put the bread in the bowl for the first rising, and knowing it would take at least two hours, given the temperature of his (soon-to-be our?) kitchen, Paul and I decided to walk to Boswell Book Company (yes, another half mile each way—we’re no wimps!) to check out the selection for some holiday gifts. They’re not late, because I don’t give gifts until Epiphany anyway.

I was fortunate enough to receive (a big thank-you to Paul) a book I’d had my eye on for a while. Reversible Knitting by Lynn Barr. I wonder what I’ll make first. Well, the first thing to finish is the kilt hose I’m making for Paul. Such are the labors of love.

Sciortino’s carries the full complement of Italian baked goods, from delicate cookies and hearty yeast breads, to luscious cannoli. Everything is super, and the place looks and smells delicious. I got a dozen cookies and figured that would be more than enough to be satisfactory.

What I don’t remember from the last time I was here was a display of gelato—a dozen delectable flavors in all. Sooooo hard to decide… Peach mango won the day—though any would have been excellent.

Next we stopped at Glorioso’s Italian Market. Though we only needed butter and eggs, it was SO HARD not to walk down each and every aisle, so varied an intriguing was the selection. However, lest we come home with pasta in unpronounceable shapes, and sauces of indeterminate usage, not to mention pocketbooks of flaccid emptiness, we quickly left. I’ll have to make a list first, next time.

Image by mobilene via Flickr

Never thought I’d be so excited about getting a ticket. But it’s true. I’m going to the commuter train station at the South Bend Airport tomorrow, and they have a ticket vending machine. I guess it’s sort of like an ATM, but instead of cash, it spews out train tickets. Cool.

I’ve never taken the commuter train before, so it’s a bit of an adventure. I used to be a lot more adventuresome, I think, in my younger days. Maybe it’s because I had more money. It seems easy to be worldly and easy-going when you have plenty of cash for extricating yourself quickly from dicey situations. Not that I think riding a commuter train is the least bit dicey—I’m sure it’s perfectly safe. I’m more worried about going from one station to the next in downtown Chicago while being burdened down with luggage. (Just a carry-on, laptop, and purse, but it’s over twenty pounds, which doesn’t make for easy running.) I just hope there’s a ready cab. It’s too cold to be lugging luggage some ten blocks or so.

I’m not nervous about the Amtrak part of the trip; I’ve been riding Amtrak for almost thirty years now, so that’s a breeze. It’s this commuter thing. There’s a lot more trains, and more stops. I would imagine there’s a lot more people. But, on the bright side, it’s only about half the price! Which, of course, leaves me with more money to extricate with.

One nice thing about this commuter train schedule is that I don’t have to leave until almost 1:00 in the afternoon! But the sad part is that I don’t end up arriving in Milwaukee until 4:45… Bummer. I’m used to getting there almost two hours earlier. But I’m also used to boarding at 8:30, so it’s ultimately a big savings in time. I guess I’ll take that.

Maybe it’s just that I can’t wait to get there!

Image via Wikipedia

A learner I will be. Always. (Sounds a little like Yoda, no?)

I’m telling you, no matter what people say about how women are mysterious and hard to figure out, and full of PMS craziness, demanding, emotional minefields, and other nonsense, I think men are just as bad. Maybe worse.

I’ll be the first to admit it: stereotypes make life a lot easier. Men drive me nuts. And not just the kind that are like some strange species of shaved bears with furniture, burping and fist-pumping their way through another football game while they check out Kim Kardashian look-alikes in Hustler magazine. No, I’m also talking about the sensitive, women-respecting kind that listen when you talk and aren’t afraid to cry. The kind who read books, and not just comic books. (Excuse me: Graphic Novels.) Yes, the kind who open the doors for you and help you with your coat while murmuring sweet nothings comprised of equal parts John Keats and Steven Hawking. They are the best in bed (because they let you come first…and last), and out of it. Yes, as the song goes, let’s hear it for the boy!

But they still drive me crazy. No, I’m not getting all “emotional” here. Well, maybe I am. So what!

Okay, this is the year 2011 (for a few days yet), and I’m a modern woman who’s not afraid to take the initiative and call a man. But if you think I’m initiating all the calling, all the texting, and all the emailing, think again. You want me? Prove it. You, Mister Saying-You’re-Interested-In-Me! Yes, you. Can I get a call? Can I get an email? Can I get some text messages? Can I get some attention?

So, I did what I thought would be the right thing. I sent a completely honest message, via both text and email. Not nasty. Just saying that if he had time for this, that, and the other thing, surely he had time to call, etc., etc., Was I pissed? Yes. Was I a bitch? No.

He emailed and called, in approximately 2 minutes and 17 seconds. (Nope, I was not counting. I just made that up. I did…) WIN!

But it really wasn’t a win. No… it was more like a fail… Not quite an epic fail, but a fail. After hearing him and his lovely soothing voice, I felt like a loser. Like a demanding, emotional minefield. How could I ever have thought he wasn’t interested? He. Is. So. Interested. (Fist pump not required.)

I just never learn. But, he did call…so, maybe he learned, too… I don’t know, but I hope I’m learning.