or at least i hope it is, i happen to be looking out the window directly at my tea-bagger neighbor’s house. whoops, pardon my french. everyone has at least one, we have two nearby. trust me. the guy is not a friendly neighbor.
i have an excellent view of our overgrown prairie, however, and its the time of year that the goldfinches like to perch upon the purple cone flowers, so you can’t beat that. natural sunlight? check. crickets chirping? check. incessant traffic on greenfield? always a check. what the hell? nothing’s perfect.
it’s much better than at the dining room table which is where i mostly write from before now, crumbs and stickiness are often a factor and its smack dab right in the middle of the house, so can get quite dingy and dark. a good place to write some moody poetry, sure, if you write such things, but a motherhood blog? not so much. plus, all there is to look at is our terrible brownsih-grayish wall,and that’s not very inspirational, i can tell you. it mostly makes you want to run up to lowes and buy some orange or yellow and splash it up there just for some color, you know? it’s also hard to resist the duster while i’m looking around my living space. if i’m looking outside, there are no impulses for cleaning to suppress.
i think i’ll christen this new spot with a story about myself as the human garbage disposal around here. most, if not all, of my daily nutrients are leftover, often thrown and therefore fuzzy, pieces of food that my kids either ask for and then refuse to eat, or that i over zealously serve in high hopes, only to have my fare rejected in favor of something a little more…sugar-loaded, or just plain running around (sometimes, it amazes me how little my kids will eat in a day, or how long they can go without consuming much of anything whereas i start to feel woozy if i go a few hours without carbohydrates. somebody hand me a cracker….).
i can’t count the number of pieces of cold stale bread i’ve consumed in the past few days. warm cheese sticks that have been sitting in my purse all afternoon are special treat for me. leftover soggy breakfast cereal? delicious. half eaten apples i try to catch mid air before they actually hit the ground and roll. i’m not always successful, but there is the faucet for rinsing them off. tiny pieces of dinner, painstakingly cut up only to have a little nose turned up at them? come on over to my plate. i will savor you. half melted milkshakes, hairy carrot sticks, hardened oatmeal, i am your destiny. you are for me. room temperature juice from a sippy? i will guzzle thee. cut up grapes i eat by the handful. cheerios are like tiny bites of childhood memory. if i see them hit the floor, i know they are new. but not that one. that one was old.
people may scoff, grimace, feel sick to their stomach. i don’t mind. how can any self-respecting adult woman…“c’mon, terry. why don’t you eat the ‘big girl’ food”, my mother in law might joke. but i’m just fine, thanks. it may seem weird to you. but to me, it’s just dinner. pass the salt.