13.

Easter

It has taken everything in my power, but I haven't opened the Easter basket my mom sent. I'm going to bed now, but the second I wake up, I'm going straight for the basket. In fact, I might get into bed right now, "sleep" for 5 minutes, and then open my basket--I'm that excited.

12.

The Cookie Sheets

My foot was crushed by cookie sheets today, two of them. Out of nowhere the cookie sheets launched themselves out of the cupboard and onto my left foot. Attack cookie sheets. It’s really painful too. My entire foot (ok, my entire big toe) is purple and I’m walking with a slight limp. I guess you never really know when the bakeware might turn on you.

11.

Very Little Movement

So as I was leaving for my 6:00 class tonight, my neighbor threw open his door and exclaimed, “You’re alive!” He was a little out of breath and clearly relieved. Apparently there was very little movement from my side of the house today, alarmingly so. My car didn’t move, Milo didn’t bark, the newspaper was neglected—which all added up, in my neighbor’s mind, to my untimely death. He was actually convinced that I had dropped dead; however, he wasn’t going to knock on the door until tomorrow. Give it a day. “Then the body would have had time to gel.” He used the word “gel.” The body.

I was just reading.

10.

Precise

There’s an old, sparkly-eyed man who is always at Bentley’s. Some days he’s reading and other days he’s slowly writing on binder paper with perfect penmanship, always double-spaced and on one side of the page. He writes pages and pages and pages. I think he’s writing a book and I want so badly to know what it’s about.

We had a moment of silent connection last week when I overhead him talking about the picture of Saturn’s hexagonal north pole that was in the day’s newspaper. Apparently we had both been drawn to and strangely inspired by the photo. I think he wrote about it. I just did my thoughtful nod and moved on.

After weeks of wondering about him, he suddenly leaned over and started talking to me today. He has studied Latin (why not?) and was intrigued by my book of emblems, which is half English, half Latin. He was entirely thrilled by the book. I wished that I knew something, anything, about Latin. I started skimming through the book I was reading, looking for Latin words so that I could keep the conversation going. With no Latin and very limited knowledge of emblems, I just asked if I could borrow his pen. Turns out, he really likes Latin and the emblematic tradition, but he loooooooves the Precise V5 Extra Fine Point Pen in purple, pink, and turquoise. At this point, I know everything there is to know about purchasing the Precise V5 Extra Fine Point Pen in the Tucson area. I don’t know the guy’s name or what he spends all that time writing, but I do know where he stands on pen tips and ink flow, so that’s something.

9.

"When Irish Hearts are Happy"

I am surrounded by Celtic music, just like that.

Before leaving for New York, I ran all over town picking up stuff and tying up loose ends. I went to Safeway to get some food to leave for the house-sitter, seeing as all I had in the house was the weirdo stuff I like. I bought her frozen pizza and ravolis, stuff for rootbeer floats and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but as I was driving home I realized that I didn’t have any pasta sauce. I didn’t want to go back to Safeway but didn’t feel good about the sauce situation, so I stopped in at the Rincon Market. I was in power walk, super errand mode but stopped dead in my tracks, frozen in the doorway. The entire place was a-fiddle. I ran over to the deli counter, only to find out that they practice there every other Tuesday night. And they are fantastic. They are toe-tapping, bop in your chair good.

Mid-song the leader, I think his name is Michael, throws back his head and yells things like “pick it up!” or “one more!” During the breaks he calls across the circle, asking various band members how they’re feeling and what they would like to play—“Richard, pick one!” "'The Irish WasherWoman' it is." There are fiddles and mandolins and violins and guitars and I couldn’t be happier.

And now they’re singing. Just when you think life can’t get any better, the Irish folk start singing.

8.

NKOTB

I am suddenly responsible for five plant lives. I went from zero plants to five plants in two days. I was supposed to buy one small houseplant to go on my new shelf, but then the one I bought for the new shelf looked better by the door, so I needed another one for the shelf… But then that made one side of the room really plant-heavy, so the other side needed a plant to balance it all out… And it couldn’t hurt to get a wee plant for the kitchen, which brought me to the badly neglected small plant section, plants that were certainly going to die, so I had to buy one of those—rescue it, give it a good home (which is exactly why me & mom aren’t allowed to go to the pound anymore).

I already know that the rescue plant isn’t going to make it. After transplanting it, I decided that all it really needed was some sunlight, so I put it on my back porch. In the middle of the day. In Tucson. And it’s fried.

After getting to know them a little, I've decided to name them after NKOTB. Donnie is the big one by the window, the leader. Jordan is the tall attractive one on the shelf. Jonathan is the one over in corner that's leafy like the tall one, but shy. Joey Joe is the wee one in the kitchen (this is NKOTB circa Joey-Joe's rendition of "I Still Believe in Santa Claus"). And the one that's barely hanging on is Danny. No one really liked him and the band could have totally gone on without him.

I really want to be the kind of person who can have a house full of healthy, thriving plants. I’m trying not to see the already-fried plant as somehow symbolic of my personality. I bought plant food, a watering can, and the good dirt that the Home Depot guy recommended. I even marked my chicken calendar so I’ll know when it’s time to feed them again. I want to do this well. I know that I got carried away, should have eased in. I have a bamboo plant that’s been alive for months now, blurring my long history of plant death—all those leafy bodies on my conscience. But I have the plant food and the watering can and the good dirt. I learned my lesson today with the whole scorching sun thing. Step four Danny: I can give you more.

7.

April

I ate about 15 tons of oatmeal cranberry white chocolate chip cookies today. I have been thinking about the oatmeal cranberry white chocolate chip cookies for weeks, maybe even years. In particular, I’ve been thinking about Anne Bramblett’s o.c.w.c.c.c., the cookies that shattered the Wookie Cookie empire. I couldn’t admit it at the time, but the truth is Anne’s cookies were better—they were just better. Jesse had the tiny M & Ms going for him, but overall Anne made a better cookie. There it is. I said it.

I attempted Anne’s cookies today for my tea party. We drank fancy flower tea and ate small food and I entertained lil Helen with my Muppet puppet collection and assortment of Play-Dohs. Jeb and Ceilo came over, so the dogs had their own party outside (which involved a lot of whining at the door and tormenting Milo’s soul by eating the bone he’d been hiding and visiting, hiding and visiting for three weeks).

So it was a fine day, had fun, really like my new grown up house, blah, blah, blah—but really all I can think about is the chicken that is STARING AT ME RIGHT NOW. Ab sent me the new extraordinary chickens calendar, and though there are few things I love more than those chickens, April always scares the shit out of me. It has this horrible bumpy awful head and this year the photographer really zoomed in, so there’s just no escape, nowhere to run. To make matters worse, the chicken is peeking at me, positioned on the right side of the page, leaning in. I put the calendar in my kitchen on the wall above Milo’s food—on the wall that is directly diagonal to my happy nook where I sit everyday and write. It’s watching; I cannot escape that horrible eye and knobby head-claw. It’s too terrible. But, as Ab knows, you have to be very careful with these chickens. I can’t piss this one off—not this one. Not April.