I carpooled yesterday with my least likely, yet most faithful blog lurker. She belongs to the dominant religion in this region. She's outdoorsy and craft-loving, takes girl scouts out for pirate theme picnics, scrapbooks. Yet, she enjoys my writing, which supports none of these interests. I admire her, and her integrity, her verve, her caring about her work, her patients, friends and animals.
We planned a trip out to see Moira in the Fall, since the new car deserves a roadtrip. I coerced her into stopping by to finally meet Moby, who greeted her as a new friend - not unusual, but always gratifying. Moby is almost always politely friendly, assuming anyone who enters his home is a good person, who will no doubt adore him. He is generally right. With the exception of the people brought through by realtors to see our last apartment - who did not greet him, which seemed to confuse him. Friend/lurker, of course, adored.
I don't know why some people come here and read. I know why I write. I have found that the best way to irritate others into inchoate dismissal of my existence is to point out a better, easier, simpler way to accomplish a task. With rationale. The best way to get up my nose is to insist on a more difficult, obstructive, work intensive process, while being unable to defend or explain why. I love learning better methods, either for safety or effectiveness, all I need is a reason. Writing here, is my outlet, my flow, of thoughts and opinions that would elicit urges to slap me in person.
For instance, I have heard scoffs against those who load utensils handle up in a dishwasher, but never why. I have also heard of a freak accident, where a knife loaded point up, and a trip, resulted in a knife in the heart. That is extreme, more down to earth is that silverware loaded tine and bowl and cutting ends up have to be grasped by the part that goes in mouths, to be removed. I only put my hands on handles getting them to their drawer - otherenduppers do not. Not critical, if their hands are clean. But if I handed you a spoon to eat with, fingering the bit you would be licking, wouldn't you think that somewhat distasteful?
And toilet seats up? This isn't, or shouldn't be a gender thing. Ever drop something in the water? That's what the lid is for. That, and keeping dogs drinking out of it. But, when I visit a male friend, and the lid and seat are up when I walk in the bathroom, it will be back up when I leave. Those guys never have much in that room to drop in, none that I know have dogs, so I go with courtesy.
Friend/lurker gave me the most appreciated compliment last evening, saying that we did not look like we'd just moved in. D immediately concurred, showered me with enthusiastic credit. Moving four times in three years, with a lifetime move total I can no longer count, I've learned. I did put a lot of work into settling, creating home with all due speed, for the sake of both D and Moby. I am amused when I get advice about moving from people who have lived in the same place for 30 years. And who still have boxed clutter from that move. I still listen, just in case. The long way round can illuminate, if done consciously, attentively.
Over the last two weeks, I've been painting a wooden stool, very slowly. Inefficiently. Enjoying the slow, difficult way, the mindlessness of the job. I'm in no hurry. Both the freeway and the rocky road have their purposes.
This morning, I was dressed for work, and the bright spots in my visual field, that I hoped were from going too fast from dark to looking at the light in the bathroom, persisted, worsened. Until I could not read the screen. I took drugs, and called work. Driving while having migraine aura is not ideal. D put on the radio, which had a show about Brahms offering car repair advice as I drifted in and out of deep sleep on the couch. No other nasty symptoms, just med side effects. I say this in defense, writing under the influence.
Labels: friends, writing