As I lugged an Evelyn in my yard work Gorilla cart, the flat country road won out over the fire ant-infested bumpy field. I felt a little country—with shoeless Evelyn seated atop an empty compost container in front of twenty jostling fresh-picked chicken eggs—but that’s how we roll. I also thought of an earlier moment when Charlotte, Lizzy, and Emma left our house riding on their dad’s open tailgate, a Minion kite flying ten feet behind them. Their dad’s arm rested on the open driver-side window, and he hollered back to them, “Is it up in the air yet?” while accelerating the truck forward.
The song You’ve Got Time by Regina Spektor is playing, and I’m immediately transported back. That time when Orange Is the New Black was the thing—when this song led each episode and something about its chaotic hum captured a whole mood.
Think of all the roads
Think of all their crossings
Taking steps is easy
Standing still is hardRemember all their faces
Remember all their voices
Everything is different
The second time around
I balance a ruler on the pad of my finger—not really, but that’s the metaphor. That feeling in my chest, the way music traveled me to versions of myself I half-forgot. At times, I felt detached and aimless. Binging that show back then was escape. I push myself to find the good, but those memories are expert hide-and-seek players. So I stop.
I pointed out a spot for a greenhouse today. The only minor obstacle is that a full cord of disheveled chopped wood sits there—and, um, you know, I don’t actually have a greenhouse. As satisfying as it’d be to build it myself, I have almost zero of the needed supplies—no extra wood, no old windows, not even a scrap list. Step one: find a DIY design.
Thinking about my application for the part-time writing gig for Mark Manson, I wonder about the other applicants. How do I stack up? I’m probably underqualified in ways where someone else could stomp me into the ground. But then I think about where I’m overqualified—like the three impromptu dance-offs I had with Dave today. I may not have the shiniest professional polish, but I can bring a whole lot of spontaneous fun. Which, in my humble opinion, is a high-value product.
I am so tuckered out. It’s 8:20 p.m., and all I want is to crawl under my squishy comforter with headphones on, listen to a Spanish podcast or Spanish audiobook, and nod off to it. There’s a twinge in my back—probably from holding sticky, wet wallpaper above my head while Dave box-cuttered the excess away. This leads me to this: DIY wallpaper installation gets zero out of five stars. Wallpaper up on the wall? Five out of five. I’ve never loathed a project more, and yet the final product is… incredible.
A much-needed book recommendation floated into my life today—The Chronicles of St. Mary’s series. I know almost nothing except that it’s whimsical, kid-like but for adults. A peek at Goodreads tells me there are 14 books ahead, most rated higher than 4 out of 5 stars. That gives me confidence. I’m ready to dive in.
Tarragon. Note to self: buy Tarragon the next time you’re at Kroger. There’s a creamy chicken dish I used to make that needed it, and although I can’t remember what it tastes like, memories of it came flooding back just from seeing the spice’s name. That has to mean it’s something worth making again.
I’m so very beat. I’ll catch you here tomorrow.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 