I want you to start your own blog. I’d like to hear your gripes, groans, and successes. I’d be so invested! Think about it, okay?
From the couch, I can turn off the lamp and switch on the overhead canned lights with a single tap on my phone. Such a smart, good house I have. But alas, I don’t have a button to turn off the fan, currently spinning at jet-level speed. It’s wired to the wall switch. Earlier, after stoking the fire, smoke started billowing into the house, which is when I called Dave in a panic and finally learned where the flue was located. Crisis averted. I cranked up the fan to clear the air—an hour ago. Now, with wind blasting across my face like I’m on the deck of a cruise ship, I realize it’s no longer necessary.
Writing can be meditative, a space to create, play, and explore. But sometimes, it feels more like being a restless kid in a classroom: fumbling with papers, tapping the desk, staring at the clock, and being denied a bathroom trip because I’ve “already used mine for the day.”
Which brings me to a confession: I peed my pants in fifth grade. How does that happen to a perfectly potty-trained ten-year-old, you ask? Well, the teacher wouldn’t let me go. I can’t remember if I’d already used my bathroom pass or not, but I do remember the wiggling, the wet cold, and the embarrassment. Somehow, no one noticed except me—a small miracle.
That same year, the girls had to wear dresses every Thursday because our teacher made us practice square dancing. Square dancing. (Can you imagine?) But that was also the year I didn’t miss a single word on any spelling test. My teacher rewarded me with a pizza party for me and a few friends, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.
Now, back to the present time. I’m happy to report that the play structure—with monkey bars, swings, a slide, and a fort tall enough for even me to stand in—is officially complete! When Dave and his parents returned from next door, I didn’t see Evelyn with them. “Where is she?” I asked.
“She’s out swinging,” Dave said.
Of course, she was. In the pitch-black night, no less.
Earlier in the day, she tested the monkey bars, with Grandpa supporting her legs. Her first attempt didn’t go over well. “I don’t like this at all,” she declared. But Evelyn’s strong spirit didn’t let her sulk in the corner. She climbed back up for a couple more tries.
Oh, and I can’t forget Dave’s unexpected find—a sturdy wooden side table he rescued from the recycling center. Its thick, beefy planks and just-right height make it the perfect feet-resting spot for one’s legs or my plants. During breaks from fort-building, I took my sander to it, chipping away at the peeling paint and revealing the buttery, natural wood underneath. I snapped a “before” photo and, though it’s still very much in its before stage, I promise I’ll show you the finished product soon.
It feels good to check things off the list, doesn’t it?
Well, I’ve heard good things about the documentary about a road trip Will Ferrell and his longtime friend took across the country, but have yet to see it. Tonight is the night. Gotta get to it.
Take care.
Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 