Memory lane
On Saturday, Dan and i traveled to my ald olmamater, the pomp of which has never quite helped me get a job, a circumstance i regret. Yet it was not for such nostalgic reasons that we made the trip; a friend of ours who also chose to suffer four years of all-girls incarceration was giving her senior vocal recital, and our entire church community was to be present, if not even God and Jesus themselves.
Since it was such a treck to drive west 100 miles, we decided to leave early and enjoy the sites of North Hampton. North Hampton, or NOHO as the locals call it, is a diversity-friendly rich hippy town marked by the presence of un-fulfilling vegan food and trendy leather boots. It was raining, unfortunately, which meant that the ground was covered with lesbian wriggling out of the cracks in the street. We went into a coffee shop to avoid melting, but the overpowering smell of wet hemp made it difficult to concentrate on my large soy no-sugar chai.
After lunch, we traveled to the college and strolled around the old brick buildings. The new campus center looked beautiful, but who were all these babies running around in their sweat pants? Are THESE college students??? They look like they're twelve years old! And they're having HOW MUCH promiscuous sex??? I'm feeling very old.
The concert was jam-packed with people we knew, which was fun except that there's this one irritating person who goes to our church who doesn't know how to make polite conversation, and instead asks three people standing next to each other: "How are you doing?" "How are you doing?" "How are you doing?" Then she asked me and Dan, "Do you live in a house?" And i was like: "No, we live in a shoebox. Do yooooooooo live in a house?" Apparently the rain, the college, and the homosexuals were making me irritable. A bastion of tolerance, i am not.
After our long day, i came home and sat at our kitchen table to finish up a presentation for grad-school. All in all, it's nice to live in our own house, with our own kitchen, and a puppy, and a yard, and be married. To a man.
my 1000lb jigsaw puzzle
Despite the rain, I spent some of today outside moving rocks around. We're building this wall slash rock-garden, and I had the great good fortune to be gifted a gigantic load of authentic New England rocks by my neighbor, who had too many. (I don't remember if I wrote about it in these pages, but we've reached a point around here where people are paying for rocks. Our New English farming forebearers are surely spinning in their graves.) Bringing them over, though, we just dumped them willy-nilly, mostly over grass that in the project plans is supposed to stay grass (I've learned from bitter experience that grass doesn't like being under rocks for days and weeks). Also, it's hard to find the right sort of rocks for particular spots when they're all in a big jumble. So I picked up many of them and moved them around. It was much like when you're doing a jigsaw puzzle and you have to lay out all the pieces before you can start, only it took a little more room. It was also a better workout.
Also, when my gloves got wet the color ran on the inside and turned my hands bright bright red. Imagine my surprise! Now I know how a lobster feels, only without the boiling and pain and all.