Not Enough Ice Cubes

It got hot and sparkly, just in time for Independence Day. We celebrated with Sam and Max and David M, grilling things on the grill and eating them sprinkled with chaat masala, and drinking beverages poured over ice cubes, of which I always neglect to make enough, and also kept giving to the dog and the cat to crunch and lick, respectively, the result being: not enough ice cubes.

The three of us skipped the fireworks, though we could hear plenty. Gus was blase, while Theo slunk up and down the stairs with his ears back, seeking safety from the horrible noises. He was pretty much inconsolable.

Speaking of which, how unusual is it for a grown person to wish she were a house pet so she'd have an excuse to lie on the floor all day long, especially on hot days?

Mark and I explored a little bit last weekend, in Port Clyde and Mt Blue State Park (Saturday and Sunday, respectively). Gus is a willing, cheerful companion in the car and on trails, in parks, on docks. Still, it made me miss little Mister Minnow with a pang. I still think about him all the time.

The nest is empty this week--Isaac has bused south to New York for more film set interning. The nest feels big lately, the yard sprawling and wild, everything damp and sticky, or alternately foggy and damp, even inside the house.

I talked to the girl on the phone this morning, seven thousand miles away, nine and half hours in the future, and her voice was laughing and bright as she walked home from the tailor with her block printed Rajasthani suit. My favorite was when she said, "Wait--this isn't my street. This street is full of pigs!"

Phantom

Just now, I was listening to NPR and heard a reporter's cell phone vibrating in the background while she chatted with Melissa Block (or possibly, it was Melissa Block's cell phone, but I seriously doubt it). Have you heard of phantom vibration syndrome, when a person thinks she can feel her phone vibrating but it's not? No, for real. It's a real thing. There are some days I'm afflicted (last week, for example, I was pruning our beach roses and put my pruning shears in my back pocket, and almost immediately had the sensation that someone was calling me via my pruning shears).

Sad news: my trusty old White sewing machine (handed down to me by my mom) has bit the dust. Our favorite sewing machine repair shop man told us there was nothing to be done, it's beyond fixing. I don't even understand what's wrong with it, but I am sad because that machine knew how to get the job done with no fanfare and just exactly the perfect tension on the stretchy cotton scarves I stitch. Mark found two cheap/free replacements: one is too new and feels all plasticky and wrong, but the other is the lovely old Singer pictured above. It's so basic, made of metal. I like the feel of it. You have to plug it in to turn it on, and unplug it to turn it off.

A happy thing: Mother's Day happened, and Isaac gave me a gift certificate to buy some plants, plus that excellent silver rake pictured below. And Zoë, who is lingering in upstate New York with her sweetheart before departing next Saturday for Mumbai, called me on the phone! And my mom and dad drove up for the day and we had  brunch together. It was really the first day I could eat like a normal person after my illness and followup antibiotics, so that was extra festive.

Isaac is playing the role of Trinidad and Tobago at the Maine Model UN conference for the next few days. He's pretty excited--he had a lot of fun being Kyrgyzstan last year. I miss that big tall boy when he's not around.

It gives me a chance, yet again, to contemplate my impending empty nest. What to do? More dogs? Sell the house and buy an RV? I keep thinking chickens, although I need to get Mark at least a tiny bit excited about that first.* In the meantime, here's what I'm doing with my quasi-empty nest: catching up on all the work I didn't do while I was sleeping 16 hours a day last week! Also, getting Zoë's room somewhat organized (everything from her dorm room is home, even though she's not). Also, eating half an avocado for dinner, and drinking a decaf homemade latte made with raw goat's milk, which is my secret non-vegan treat I like to buy myself in tiny containers from Lois's sometimes.

*Mark's dream tends toward "move to New York." Mine tends toward "start a small goat farm." Don't worry, we're both great compromisers.