I’ve never had allergies (I mean, the seasonal pollen-air-ragweed variety). I thought I did, but I suspect it’s a cold that is strange and slow and mild and annoying (and nearly over, thankfully). I am a little grumpy. Given the way colds make you feel, this is understandable. I’ve already forgiven myself for the slightly longsuffering attitude toward life these past couple of days. If I could have given my mood sound effects, there would be lots of meaningful sighs.
Remy seems to have gotten the same cold. Thus, he “hates” school. Hates it. Complains bitterly. Feels tired. Yoyos. I try to remind him that between it being June (ready for summer) and his having a cold (feeling lousy), there’s no way he’d be happy about school this week. One thing about my boy; he is a brilliant complainer.
I guess I could go on, but why? I could boil it down to my dear husband’s one word description: relentless.
On the plus side, I’m newly enamored with Zumba. It’s aerobics for the twenty-teens. Nothing has made me miss—or at least feel nostalgic for—my twenties like this. I’d kind of forgotten how much I loved aerobics class, the endorphins, the routines, the knowing it all, really the whole scene. I don’t feel that at Zumba. I can see that people do (my housemate) and that maybe one day I might, but in a different way than I did then. I’ve written about this before, the way that in my twenties I could hang out after a workout at the gym—often in the parking lot—with friends. I didn’t actually have to hurry back. I wasn’t beholden to any other person. It was… nice.
Don’t get me wrong; this is nice, too, this full house. Gratitude and abundance: check and check (and so many too many Playmobil people I could offload a scoop to three people this week). A break from that particular kind of have-to is so removed from my psyche a trigger is required in order to even recall it. I’d like a two-day trigger in the form of quiet getaway, thank you very much.
Iconic Tuesday Market Strawberry
If I write for my blog on Tuesdays, I like to write down three good things (i.e. gratitude). I don’t limit my acknowledgement to what I find good or am grateful for to three or to Tuesdays, FYI. But here are three: grateful for the strawberries I am to purchase later (and the farmer’s mobile phone number, because I will text in advance to reserve enough berries to make a little jam), grateful for the sleep I do get (exercise in half-full) and grateful for every hotel deal email list I am on, because even though I pretty much ignore or pine over, they bring the possibility of those elusive two-day breaks to me.
Mister G helped Sunnyside at its groundbreaking ceremony last week
Three links: Mister G has a new video. I don’t have to say more than that. (Also, I told him about Lennon and Maisy over dinner the other night, but I neglected to send a link, so I’ll post one again).
They are adorbs
While I’m at it, I wrote about women, feminism and Nashville (the television show) in response to an essay about women, feminism and Nashville (the television show).
Aidan is Bill Dwight’s nephew; he befriended Rachel on Sunday (and he’s cuter than Bill, so…)
On Sunday, a fundraiser for the Literacy Project that masqueraded as a commencement for Bill Dwight (he earned his GED there recently) was an event that could only be pulled off here. Bill Dwight, our City Council President is formerly a radio host and also formerly the oldest video clerk (self-declared) and currently works as a “straight white guy” with the Media Education Foundation. I think he does have an actual job title. Anyway, with assistance from such Valley icons in their own rights as Monte Belmonte and Kelsey Flynn and serenaded by the Young@Heart Chorus and Erin McEweown, and with former and current Northampton Mayors issuing the diploma, this was an EVENT. The glitzy draw—remember, we’re talking Northampton so the word glitzy for this is appropriate—was Rachel Maddow in her sole commencement address of the year. She gave the kind of speech that plays well… in Northampton. You can listen to it through the magic of radio (podcast, something).