Things I’m thinking about this morning …
Three hundred and sixty-six days ago all of my belongings were brought to this house. That night, six of us slept under the same roof of a house we called “ours” for for the first time.
Three hundred and sixty-fix days ago, Joe’s belongings were brought to this house. Later that day, we shuttled the kids off to other locations so we could hurriedly shower and throw on dress clothes to make it to Joe’s cousin’s wedding. But then I ended up spending 90 minutes on the phone with Verizon trying to figure out why my cell wouldn’t work inside the house, while Joe spent about 2 hours downstairs with a very late and very clueless other Verizon person who was attempting — and failing — to hook up our FIOS. We literally ran out the door to leave for the wedding, me barefoot and carrying my high heels to the car, which was still parked at the curb so the moving van could get in the driveway.
I wondered what the neighbors made of us.
Today this house is unpacked (except for those few mystery boxes in the garage … if I pretend that they’re like time capsules, I can intentionally leave them their for a few more years, right?). We have had a pretty good year as a blended family. We’re still blending. We’re not all the way there yet. But I think we’re doing well.
Today this house is also so deliciously quiet. No one is here but me. After being a single mom for so many years, I was pretty accustomed to waking up in an empty house on a regular basis. Today may be the very first time I’ve woken up entirely alone in this house. I won’t lie … it’s a little bit delightful. Not that I want to do this on a regular basis, but … aaahhhh.
We just got back from a week at the shore with all the kids and the dog spent in a house that had too many people in it during a week that had too many too-hot days in it. There was no room to even think a thought of my own. Some head space was long overdue.
Last week also featured me breaking out in horrifying and disgusting poison ivy — because I’m apparently someone who does that now.
My forearm was so gross that I saw at least two of the kids visibly cringe when I went to hand them something. I even got poison ivy on my face, which thankfully didn’t turn into a blistery mess like my arm. I finally broke down and went to an urgent care clinic, where I was not surprised to find out I was running a fever. I was instructed to use three different ointments and to get on a course of Prednisone, which is an evil and miraculous steroid that can help knock out skin conditions and also turn me into a seething rage machine. (Benjamin has been on this med many times for asthma-related conditions. Once, when he was small, he picked up a large plastic playset, lifted it above his head, and hurled it across the room like he was Conan the Barbarian. I now understand this impulse.)
I was also instructed to stay out of the sun. At the shore. OK. While waiting for my prescriptions, I popped into the Family Dollar next to the CVS and bought a long-sleeved shirt in a light fabric for $10. I wore it that afternoon when we went to the aviation museum (the kids were ready for a break from the beach). It turns out this fabric was so light because it was apparently constructed from the same material used to make plastic trash bags. And yes, it was totally awesome to sweat that much while dealing with a pussy*, itchy skin infection.
*Let’s be clear: I am using this word as an adjective to describe a pus-laden skin condition. Did the etymology of this word take such a left turn that we can’t use it like that anymore? Well, I am. I’m sticking my flag in that word and claiming it for the pus-bearers.
What? What is Sammy Hagar doing in this list? No idea. But he was, like, all over my dreams last night. So much so, that while I was dreaming, I was going “WHY AM I DREAMING ABOUT SAMMY HAGAR?”
Talk about random.
But … you know that old Hippie Trish likes to take these random things and see if they have a deeper meaning. So I got online this morning and decided to see what Sammy is up to these days. Is he broke and bitter? Washed up and still railing against the injustice of various Van Halens?
Turns out, Sammy is sort of great. He’s a bajillionaire. He has a whole bunch of businesses and an interesting business philosophy. For Sam, it’s all about passion.
Interesting timing reading about this, as I’ve been discussing various business ventures lately … and the interplay between what I’m passionate about and what I can make money on. Are those things mutually exclusive? Intellectually, I know they don’t have to be … but I think that’s something that I have not yet totally embraced in the marrow of my soul.
George Harrison also showed up in my dreams last night, although I didn’t know it was him right away. The song “All Those Years Ago” kept running through my head for no reason that I could figure out. In my dream, I was trying to puzzle out who sang it … I thought it was John Lennon but that didn’t seem quite right. Then I wondered if it was Paul McCartney. Then I googled it and it VOILA! was George, in tribute to John after he died.
Anyway, that led me to an interesting article on the creative relationship between John and Paul — and how their opposing natures created a chemistry that challenged them both. Turns out the ancient Greeks, as well as Nietzsche, had theories about the nature of order (Paul, in this case … ) and disorder (John). It’s all about the cycle of breaking and making and disrupting and organizing. Check out this article from The Atlantic for more on this. I thought it was pretty interesting.
And now, I shall use the rest of this quiet morning to catch up on some work before the house becomes populated again … have a nice day, all.
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