Of Course

You know you're old when the teenagers next door are having a rip-roaring party and you look at your husband and say, "How can they possibly have a decent conversation in that house with all of that racket?" Brian just walked up the lane to investigate. I told him to let them know I would either like them to turn the music up to a level where I can hear more than just bone-rattling bass or down to where I can't hear it at all. We were cool enough to wait until 10 o'clock to put in our request. I would go over and join them around their bonfire but fear some of the kids' litigation-happy parents or the fact I will look like the father who used to hang out with us in the dorms drinking beer and inevitably ended up sobbing, telling us that college would be the best years of our lives. Shudder.

I am a bit of a head case. I stood on the back porch today and screamed at the landscaping trucks from the business next door going light speed and sending up clouds of desert dust to drift through my open doors and windows. When they ignored me and my giant gestures, I only yelled louder, wishing I had taken a Spanish class instead of four years of French so I could curse accordingly.

Things have been going well this week. I have upped my workout regimen a notch and am feeling good. I am actually finally getting smaller with a major tweak in my diet and find myself fairly content emotionally with a new reserve of energy in the evenings. I was in the middle of my workout this morning when I realized Erik and I needed to be at the stables. After a light myocardial infarction, a quick shower, and a fresh coat of pink lipstick, we arrived just one minute late for our appointment. Erik insisted he would rather ride an ATV instead of Foxy-Horse, but he didn't have much of a choice today. As I pulled into the parking lot by the barn, I saw Ms. S, my "Earth Angel," and her little girl with Rett syndrome. Of course. God works in mysterious but less than subtle ways. We waved to each other, and I went to meet her inside the barn to chat. She informed me that the young woman helping lead Erik's horse today was actually the first cousin of Mary, the girl with WS that was mentioned in the editorial I recently posted. Of course. Apparently she saw WS in Erik's face the moment she saw him and asked questions about him. She thinks he looks just like Mary did when she was younger. As it turns out, Mary will be heading off to school back east in the fall. Ms. S informed me that Mary's mother knows about me and would like to speak with me, so I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave her my last name and phone number. Now I just wait for the call.

I'm very happy I am making connections here, and I have heard a lot about this woman lately that has alleviated my fears. I was reluctant to meet her at the beginning of this, but now I wonder if it's because she seems to be a lot like me. She is a shoot-straight-from-the-hip, tell-it-like-it-is sort of gal. Today was positive but still made me feel raw and vulnerable. That's not necessarily a bad thing, but I am glad that feeling is passing now that the sun has set. After all, it's a pretty intense way to feel for any extended period of time. My mother and I are headed to a fundraiser tomorrow for the little girl in town with 22Q13 syndrome. The party is exclusively for women, and flip-flops are mandatory to fit the "Flip Flops and Lemon Drops" theme. There will be a jazz trio, bartenders mixing up vodka lemon drops, five different fancy restaurants catering the event, mini-pedicures, and chair massages. I have to run to Macy's tomorrow to find some pretty but summer-casual attire, as I usually dress like a bit like an Amish woman, even during the summer.

Brian is now back from his mission next door. In a likely very half-hearted gesture of goodwill, I was apparently invited to drink beer around the bonfire with a small group of pubescent girls while 30 people do God-knows-what inside the house. I imagine that they would be more comfortable keeping an eye on at least one of us at all times so we don't ruin their little games. I noticed the scent of pungent but sweet smoke floating through my office window earlier, but that seems to have ceased now. At first, I told Brian that someone was burning garbage and voiced my concerns about the wind and dry grass. I finally identified the vaguely familiar scent and smacked my forehead with my palm. Of course.

Boy, I really am getting old.