Autumn Again

It's Autumn again and the leaves are crunchy in the yard.  The giant spider web is up on the porch and the kids are planning and plotting costumes.  I'm doing the giant purge of things as the flip flops and shorts that will fit next year get packed up and the sweaters come out.  Likely this weekend I'll stand on a small ladder and carefully balance seven giant wooden storm windows into place and seal up the house for the winter, but I like to seal it up first smelling clean.  So I've begun the moving of couches to rid the living room of old Cheeto smell.  Next I'll slather all the woodwork in lemon oil and make it all slippery to the eye.

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My ten year Blogoversary came and went. I don't know what to say about ten years.  But I keep going.  Markedly less because of my recent personal life changes.  I just didn't feel like I wanted to share anything during my divorce process.  There was plenty to say, but I spoke it out into the air where it would dissipate. This is the place for some permanence. (Unless of course the Internets implode and the Robots take over Earth and erase all previous evidence of human kind and my ten years of droning on about Cheeto crumbs and unmatched socks gets blinked out of existence, or if Blogger gets phased out by Google... whichever comes first.)

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I'm soo out of style I can't care. It's only become apparent to me because I have a middle schooler in the house and she keeps getting taller and so I have to make trips out into the world and spend money on clothing in stores where I could also be buying flouncy sweaters with extra yards of fabric knitted in the front ready to billow out like a lovely fuzzy jellyfish if I choose to spin, arms outstretched to the world whilst autumn leaves fall all around my pumpkin-spiced knit knee-high socks barely peaking out of my slightly worn leather boots fashioned in which the fit forces me to continuously stand with my toes coyly pointing towards each other.  While this bohemian chic seems like something made just for me all flowey and cozy and comfortable and quirky, turns out I like jeans and a hoodie paired with tennis shoes and I like standing with my feet planted firmly under me and my hands on my hips like Wonder Woman.  It's efficient and also I am ready at any time for a child to fling themselves at me, or to run after a ball before it hits the street, and to shove my pockets full of phones and water bottles and stretchy gloves.  There's no catching a kid falling out of a treehouse in that flouncy sweater - we'll both be tangled in a boho nightmare of woolly yarn and leather buckles and choke to death in a snarling gypsy scarf heap.


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My Gentleman Friend is taking me to see The Rocky Horror Play on Friday night.  I've never seen the movie or the play.  When I told our friend who is in the production this, they rubbed their hands together called me a virgin while cackling with anticipation.  I'm slightly nervous about this whole thing now... I feel like I am about to be the only person in the front row without a rain poncho while Gallager gets his Sledgeomatic out - only I've seen enough Rocky Horror pop-culture snippets to know the proverbial Sledgomatic could involve lingerie and or dancing.... or toast and I looooove toast. So it might even out.