JiM's Dreams

On my day off, I planted roses. Climbing yellow roses to make the garden lovely and smell good and to teach the kids that even pretty things have sharp bits. Ok, mostly for the nice scent.

I also dragged the man off to get the car serviced and to drink high-priced coffee in a self-consciously funky cafe' while we waited. He read "Archeology" magazine and I read "Happiness is a Serious Business" and listened to Celtic crooning and generally had a marvelous time.

Last night, we saw the new version of "The Producers" at the cheap cinema where the tickets cost less than half of the price of popcorn. God, it was so funny we couldn't breathe near the end. And I was there under protest, having adored the original and hating remakes with a passion. Guess I know different now! (Seriously - go see this movie and be sure to sit through all the credits.)

Thus has been my astonishingly tame life. It puts me in mind of the Edna St. Vincent Millay poem --

"Grown Up"

Was it for this I uttered prayers,
And sobbed and cursed and kicked the stairs,
That now, domestic as a plate,
I should retire at half-past eight?


The oddest thing of all? I like it. I like being this domestic and unexciting. More exactly, I prefer the little excitements of this sort of life - the struggle of cutting off a tree limb, the joy of anticipating a new sprout in the garden, the intimacy of a shared smile, the caressing of sore muscles with soothing oil.

None of this is earth-shattering, I know. But that's precisely what appeals to me so much. No soap opera passions, no heated wrongs, just the gentle certainty that the toilet paper will never be replaced and the clean clothes never ironed before being put away.

I thank God for this. Truly, I do.

Forget the paean to domesticity I just posted. That was before the cat threw up.

Twice.

On the non-cat-frup-colored rug. Then I had to clean it up as the man is asleep and it really IS cruel and unusual to wake someone up to clean up cat frup in the middle of the night. But first, I had to go find the toilet paper, all the while repeating to myself through clenched teeth, "I am grateful. I am grateful. Really. Truly. Grateful, you nauseated sack of fur!"

I really am.