September 9, 2005

Holy shit. It's been five months since my last confession. I really need to switch to blogware so I can better update my ass.

I am mostly loving it out here in the sticks. It's all stars and green grass and echoy hallways and occasional lame, surly teenagers or unreliable local gossip. The book is really rolling along delightfully now. Consequentially, I'm a terrible bore. My entire brainwave is: knitting knitting knitting sex knitting knitting TV knitting alcohol knitting knitting ooh! houseguests! knitting knitting knitting, over and over in little choking hiccuppy blips. We've had a total of 7 guests in the last 4 weeks, and my fabulous mom is coming in a couple more, followed by my first actual, official crowd in October.

First my dad came out, on his way home from Sturgis. He rolled in 20 minutes before a crazy Kansas rainstorm. The storms out here are unbelievable. You have an unobstructed view for fucking EVER, so you can watch them surging in across the horizon. And even though you see them coming miles and miles away, they're just mesmerizing. For that particular storm, I just stood on the sidewalk, frozen, eyes enormous and mouth hanging open, almost in a smile. If you've ever swooned at the wonders of nature, you know the expression I'm talking about. Sort of half-awed and half-retarded. Then it tumbled in so fast, like some crazy Hollywood apocalypse scene, that I barely had time to snap to and rush next door before the stillness passed and the wind kicked up like a airplane engine. I ran to the grade school, closed all the windows in Ron's bachelor pad as fast as I could, then grabbed a tarp to try to cover up our $20 piano that was sitting on the side porch because it wouldn't fit through the doors. By that time, the wind had churned up so much that the tarp just whipped itself around me like a plastic cocoon and there was no way I could peel it off my body and negotiate it around the piano. Instantly soaked through, I abandoned the piano and headed back to the high school, which in five minutes had taken in so much water through the open windows that I had giant puddles in every classroom. I scrambled from room to room, closing all the windows. It took a dozen bath sheets to soak up the water. My fancy signed Dan Clowes book got a little wet, and my Buffy toys narrowly missed ruination. But it was splendid.

Daddy & I went to the Flint Hills Steakhouse on Beautiful Lake Wabaunsee 2 nights in a row, dining with Reta & Dick the second night, and having a marvelous time. Dick is our custodian/groundskeeper, and about the nicest man you could hope to meet. His wife, Reta, is a real spitfire. She's very understated, with this low-key but brilliantly precise way of expressing her approval or disapproval (come to think of it, that seems to be a common womanly skill around here...). They're high school sweethearts, and Dick celebrated his 72nd birthday just a few weeks ago.

The next weekend, Suzanne & Michelle came up from Texas, bringing fried pies (exit 51 in Oklahoma) and kolaches from the Czech Stop. That was the mad tourism weekend, exceedingly fun. We went to a farm auction, where I doubled my S&P collection in one fell swoop (and inadvertently got $15 of extra crap I didn't want) and bought 3 old hi-fis for $1. Then we sampled the sinus-clearing and wildly excellent Porubsky's pickles; rode the mini-train and the carousel (I took the zebra & Sue rode the rabbit), and survived a concrete octopus attack and kangaroo ride at Gage Park; circled the Governor's Mansion; gorged on a 4-meals-in-one Killer Combo at Spring Hill's K&M Barbecue; bought ass-kicking sarsaparilla, cider, peaches & blackberries in Louisburg (Michelle's hometown); picked our own apples and petted the goats and donkey at the Fieldstone Orchard; toured the Alma Creamery and bought a collective 40 pounds of cheese; sampled 5 cookies and a cinnamon roll from the Alma Sweet Shop; learned the ins and outs of large-scale breadmaking from the Museum of Baking; and absorbed the Oz Museum and Judy Garland costume exhibit in Wamego. Other than Michelle getting locked outside in her underwear in the middle of the night in a rainstorm, it was the perfect weekend, equal parts relaxing, stimulating, giggly, yummy, and drinky. I wish Suzanne could have stayed another week, just to run to Target or Sam's or make lists and play Scrabble.

Then Kelly Sue and Laurenn (my new girlfriend) came out for a day to see the schools and unwind. I felt somewhat doughy & excessive (they're triathlon girls, foodily sensible and sober), but very happy for the pleasing company. Kelly Sue was charming as always. She has a casual frankness in both admiration and contempt that is very satisfying, neither forced nor guarded. Laurenn was a fresh treat. She took a bunch of pictures and got my head swimming with yummy ideas for promoting the book. Kelly Sue even taught Laurenn to knit (Laurenn was a stranger to the wifely arts, and Kelly Sue has taught her to cook as well).

Then last week, it was Curt & Rebecca. Curt is working on Omaha, and they drove down for the long weekend. We sampled all 4 desserts at the Flint Hills Steakhouse and cheered at the Eskridge Rodeo. Sadly, no funnel cakes, and none of the bull riders made the 8 seconds, but each one did get his own rock & roll anthem (none of the other events rated theme songs, for some reason). But there was some handy calf-roping and a preview of the bull chariots, a sort of cowboy/ancient Rome hybrid. I made Rebecca's snazzy custom garment for my book and once again scratched my head at her seemingly limitless bosom. Interestingly, we have almost identical measurements.

If you invert them.

I also rated some of the very best birthday presents ever: a slew of adorable Le Creuset mini-casseroles from Suzanne, a delectably smutty book on delactably smutty dirty books from Jason, a surprise olive branch from his wife, a genuine big-eyed Keene dolly from Kelly Sue, and a darling pink iPod mini and Vans from Ron! Seriously won the lottery this year.

But I'm 35 now, officially old. I had to check off a new box on a questionnaire the other day. I really should start showering and shaving and plucking and powdering and exercising and eating right. I don't want to be that weird, hairy, smelly old crone with cellulite and a stained wife-beater who creeps around the old high school, shaking her fist at the local brats and ceaselessly bitching under her breath. Whoops. Already there. I'll get right on that.

Where's my soap?

5.24.05