Thank God for Gene Kelly

We delivered Eustacia to her college dorm on Saturday, and let me tell you—that was no fun at all. She'll be fine, but her poor mother feels as though she's missing a limb. Is this a phantom pain I'm feeling? It must be.

Sunday afternoon, No. 1 went back to her school in Columbus, and husband left for a three-day business trip. I had such big plans to clean out Eustacia's room and get it organized and vacuum in corners that haven't been cleaned in years—if you have ever seen her room, you know what a big undertaking this all would be—but when I found I was the only person in the house, that was the last room I wanted to be in.

I kept busy with other tasks instead...laundry, some sewing, a quick trip to the store for salmon and raspberries, and skimming the leaves and bugs from the pool. While I was puttering around, Turner Classic Movies was devoting the day to Gene Kelly, and the string of his great musicals kept me sufficiently distracted.

I started with An American In Paris. Next up was On the Town. Finally, Singin' In The Rain, my all-time favorite. Just think. They could have devoted the day to a cow like Joan Crawford, and I would have had to drown my sorrows in ice cream instead of fun movies. Wait, I did that anyway.

Today, they are playing the movies of Jack Palance. Ho hum. I don't like day-time TV very much, so maybe it's time to turn the stupid contraption off and crank up the old hi-fi and listen to something fun. Susie Q comes to mind, or maybe I should just stick with what works:

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...

Scout Moves

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