Hula Guinea Foul

Sudsy snow blew from second-story windows in the town of Seabrook this evening. Dave should have kept his mouth closed, but he couldn’t help himself. After a as-close-to-a-dinner-date he and I are going to have with a 3-year-old, we took off afoot to see the white stuff as directed by the toy store employee.

I’m pinching a giant circular spiral lollipop and spinning it with my fingers. It reminds me of baton twirling and how I never could figure it out. I did, however, figure out hula hooping, and although I never entered a contest, my skills could have landed me in first place every time. Past tense. Something happened in the last decade; the gyration in my hips slowed so that gravity, not me, has its way with the hoop.

I’m reading John Steinbeck’s East of Eden. I know it’s going to be a great book, it is by John Steinbeck, after all. It’s hard to sink into because I can’t help but scrutinize what he wrote, how he wrote it, and think if I could ever write like that.

I get jealous seeing groups of women together. In the restaurant, a gaggle of middle-aged women strutted in wearing cowboy-like brimmed hats, and I wanted to puke. Then walking past a wine bar, a banquet table filled with young women holding large wine-filled glasses like props for a winery commercial.

I’ve never had a group of gals; to go to Cancun with, to hold a baby shower or have a bachelorette party with. Even if I did have them, I’d need to figure out what to do. Cross my legs? Place my hands on my knee just so? Laugh, but not too loud? I’m being silly, but even thinking about getting together with a herd of my kind makes me squirm. I’m not built for it.

I am however, built for sleep. A lovely midday nap and up next is bed time. I hope you had a lovely day.

Love, Jaclynn

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