TGIF

Friday ~

Today was a pretty vigorous day. I know I'm not really supposed to have vigorous days, but sometimes you just can't help it. I didn't intend it that way. It was to be just another Friday, a day when the boys and I would do some catch-up work, maybe take in some sunshine at the picnic table, check ourselves for ticks, that kind of thing. The only thing on our calendar was to take the dog to the vet at 2:45. Nor did it start out that way. The sun eased me out of my dreams (odd ones, all) early, and the birds started singing their morning songs, and that was it for me. My eyelids felt stuck shut, all that irritating, if not lovely, tree pollen making its way through my system. I did my usual, dozing for a while before stretching the numbing tightness out of my chest, and flicking on the tv to catch the morning's headlines and weather. Dominick did his usual, slowly sliding open my two pocket doors to see if I was awake, then climbing in with me to talk shop, show me his latest splinters, and muse over what the day would bring. We can hear Jim in the kitchen downstairs, getting his coffee, letting the dog out, slapping the newspaper on the table. And then, to our surprise, we hear Luke, rising earlier than usual, his door opening, and his big sleepy feet making their way across the floor, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, where the sports pages await. Dominick and I eventually rouse ourselves for breakfast, and since the hour was still early, the morning feels unrushed and easy: no one packing up to go anywhere, no one heading out the door, already late for an appointment, a basketball tournament, or baseball practice. Dominick soaks his feet, we try to tweeze out the splinters, Luke decides he, too, would like to soak his feet, and finally, we head upstairs to get ready for our day, making beds, washing up, shedding one skin for another. As Jim leaves for work, we sit on our stools in the playroom, and shake the cobwebs out of our sleepy heads.

There's a certain sweetness about mornings that open up before you like a blank canvas. Go on, paint a picture. Create your day. Do whatever you feel like doing. Yeah, if only.

We revisit our civilization projects, I start some laundry (a seemingly benign venture), introduce two algebra lessons to Luke, while Dominick gets started on a writing piece. Luke goes into the kitchen to get an ice pack for his jammed finger (yes, another injury. can you say distracted?) and announces that someone has "spilled something." Spilled something? I come in to see that the washing machine has not just "spilled something" but has let loose its watery bowels, and is continuing to do so, creating a veritable vernal pool across our kitchen floor and all our of pantry. Peepers on the brain, evidently. We have hardwood floors, of course, so there is some urgency in the situation. This has happened before, when the screens get jammed with sediment from our well, the water valve breaks, suddenly, without warning, of course, and the water just doesn't turn off. And each time, it sends me into instant panic mode. This time was no different, except, somehow, it was. This time, I can't run up the stairs (fish-flop) and get towels. I have to send the boys, who always rise to the occasion, and after several trips, finally bring down enough towels to capture all the water that had spilled out. This time, I can't pick up any of the ten or so soaked towels that have lay twisted and drenched on the floor and weighing in about ten pounds each, nor can I carry them out to the line to dry. Again, the boys, who are somehow used to these domestic emergencies--whether water pouring in through the root cellar walls, lady bugs swarming the house and windows in Hitchcockian fashion, or the washing machine emptying the contents of our well onto our kitchen floor--know how to spring into action. And they do. But this time, I can't move the washing machine and dryer to clean up the water behind, in between, and under the machines. And it may just be too much for the boys. So, I have to call Jim. And you know, I hate it when I have to do that, because well, it always makes me feel like a weak, incompetent, overly-dependent, nagging bitch: "The washing machine over flowed again and you have to come back and help me clean it up because I can't move the machines and we need to call the appliance man and wah wah wah wah." Oy. Wimp. I do hate this.

But I think men like getting those calls. I think it makes them feel manly and needed. Men like to fix things, after all, don't they? And what better ways to make them feel strong and powerful than by letting them fix something? Yeah, well, whatever. But somehow it makes me feel less guilty for having to bug him to come home and fix the mess, my mess.

Jim comes home and ably moves the machines, dries up the remaining water, and offers to call the repairman. He starts the load again, and warns me to watch it closely, listen for the sound of the change in cycles, and turn off the water before it overflows. Yep, got it. I head back into the playroom to try to work with the kids, checking in with the troublemaker in the next room every now and then. But I linger too long on a lesson about lines of symmetry with Dominick, and the last time I check, I am too late: the washing machine has started to overflow again, and though I am quick to catch it this time, I feel woefully stupid. Two times in one day? Hello? Anybody there?! This is a great example of how all that multi-tasking we women have to do can seriously backfire, and bite us in the but-tocks.

Luke, strapping thirteen-year old that he is (and really, I am not being facetious; he's been working out with weights and is growing some pipes, man! :)) is able to move the washing machine out bit by bit so that we can mop up behind. Dominick sits atop, using a mop handle to move a towel back and forth over the mess. Luke pushes it back into place, and I think we are saved. For now.

By the time the Appliance Man, a big, tall guy who gregariously offers tips on preventative measures we can take to make sure this doesn't happen again, shows up, I am calm again. I am pleased with myself that I have not cried, despite my being pre-menstrual and generally whacked. Earlier, just when I was starting to wonder about cleaning up the towels and the mess and somehow figuring out lunch, a woman Jim works with has called from the local food co-op: would we like her to pick anything up for us? Lunch? Dinner? Lunch? Did she say lunch? Twenty minutes later, she delivers us a feast: spinach pies, tabouli, and fresh, organic strawberries. I am so grateful. Thank you, Paula! The boys and I enjoy our picnic, this unexpected gift of delicious, at the table outside. And slowly, the tension unraveling, we ease out of our morning stress, slurping strawberries, enjoying the crunch of the Tabouli, and the warm spice of the spinach pies. And it's hot! Dominick runs to check the thermometer...it's 104 degrees. Yeow! We sit and soak up the sun as long as we can before returning to work on various projects in the shade.

John, the Appliance Man, calls the office to order a new water valve, and tells me to expect it sometime next Wednesday. Wednesday? I start counting...Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday? That's a lot of days without being able to do laundry. I'm not sure if we can go that long. Dominick suggests that we wash our clothes in the stream. Uh-huh. That'll work.

$159 later, we get ready to leave for the vet. Before we go, I attempt to drain the remaining water from the washing machine, but as I spin out the rest, I hear a splash in the back of the machine. Somehow, the drain pipe has broken, releasing water onto the floor yet again. Back on top goes Dominick--little wiry kids are so handy to have around--to sop up the spill. And this time it is a certified "someone spilled something" kind of spill. No big deal, but just enough to send me spinning out of the house, eager to get away from it all.

We drop Luke off at the golf course for his first lesson of the season. I have sensed his anticipation, his excitement all morning, in the way he has meticulously changed into his golf gear and black Tiger Woods hat, packed up a bottle of cold water, his new golf glove, balls and tees, and now, grabbing his bag out of the back of the car and slinging it on his shoulder, he hurries up to the clubhouse.

The club opens tomorrow, so for now, there is a wonderful quiet about the course that seems to be teeming and greening with new growth. Dominick and I continue on to the vet, where Daisy, eyes wide with the fright that comes from having been too many times, crouches in the corner and makes life difficult for Dr. Morrissey, who has to coax her into a broader space, so she can take blood for her heartworm test, administer innoculations, feel her belly, and--the absolute very worst--clip her toe nails. Daisy is trembling, but then, she is all done. She eagerly takes the biscuit from the vet, chews it once, and spits it out onto the floor. Must be the healthy kind. She only likes the junk food milk bones, sorry.

$268 later, we drive back to the course to pick Luke up, who's mood has lifted even higher. Golf is good for Luke. We should all be so lucky as to find something that we feel passionate about, that brings out our best, and grounds us in our innermost connections and natural rhythms.

Later, we head to the Wagon Wheel for dinner. The sun has started to sink, leaving an orange sky in its wake. The temperature drops quickly. This is Otavalo weather--bright sunny warm days, cool, crisp nights for sleeping well. We head home. Luke and Jim have to wake up early, early, to drive out to Plaistow, NH for a 7:30 am game on Saturday. Who schedules these things? The blue light winds me down, and I sleep, aware that I have survived the vigor of the day just fine. In the morning, I hear Luke and Jim stirring. It's about 4:30 when they leave. I wait for Dominick to find me, but he never comes. I sleep again to the sounds of birds awaking to the first light, and dream of some kind of party at my grandparent's house, with food and friends and family. And when I awake for good this morning, I open my shades to a new sight, and see that overnight, the buds have blossomed on the trees, in shades of reds and greens and yellows that fill the landscape with fresh spring color and remind us of change and cycles and life, and that hope does, indeed, spring eternal.