Windburn

GOOD LORD, life got busy! I thought it was busy when I spent all my time applying for jobs and writing my book and working part-time as a Life Coach and keeping up with friends and working on my other projects. But it wasn't.

For the past two weeks (and this is a happy thing), I've worked six days a week. Four at the Farm, and two half-days as a nanny for this huge chunky four-month-old-baby with a lady-killer smile. Next week, I get to focus more on the Farm. (Which, really, is more about the Foundation, and a lot about Education, come to that. I may even eventually get to do the job I was originally hired for, and preserve/digitize/catalog something. You never know.)

And it is SUCH a freakin awesome place to work! We have free-range wild ducks that are huge and black with red and blue and white bits here and there-- and they have little fuzzy yellow babies!! We have three grey barn kittens who keep sneaking into the house and onto peoples' laps when they aren't looking, and one old black Tom who lives by the kitchen stove. We have apple trees and pear trees and zuchinis the size of small sports cars. Lots of friendly male goats who come when called ("hhheeeeerrrr goat-goat-goat, hhheeeeeerrrr goat-goat-goat!") and really want you to rub behind their ears, and three dappled white Davenport-Arabian horses that all want to make sure they get some of whatever you're handing out.

We have school children learning to make butter and listening to the story of Florinda Geer who traveled the Oregon Trail with her parents when she was eight years old, and then planted a tree on her parents' land-grant farm in 1856 that is still standing and growing on that same farm today. We have farm-fresh dairy cheese made with an old recipe from very old hillside cave dairy farms in Switzerland. We have an archive with over 165 years of family history, letters, tintype photos, and furniture from that trip over the Oregon Trail in 1846.

What we don't have is money to keep everything going. We're still working on that bit.

Anyway, four days at the farm with long 45-mile drives to get there and back, plus working part time as a Life Coach, plus writing my book and keeping up with friends and working as a Moderator for an online information distribution website and carving out time to spend with my boyfriend and and and-- Well it's a heck of a lot busier than I was before. And I love everything I'm doing. I just don't get much sleep. And the days are flying by so quickly anymore, I keep checking my face for windburn.

Oogling Goggles

When I first became a nanny, little Annabelle would wear her swim goggles when she wanted to look like me in my glasses. She was totally adorable, and I have this awesome photo of her using lotion and a baby wipe to "clean" the mirror, wearing a really cute little dress, leggings, and swim goggles. She was two at the time. GB wears HIS goggles when he's riding his motorcycle.

I've always secretly wanted to ride motorcycles. Okay, so it hasn't been much of a secret... but I don't tend to bring it up because a lot of my friends just wouldn't understand. And some women have insisted that I should want to ride my OWN motorcycle-- but what I really want is to ride behind somebody else on theirs. Preferably, somebody I'd be comfortable hugging for long periods of time. All the fun, none of the responsibility.

With this background, you might understand why I was rather excited to start dating a guy who rides. Except that he'd recently hurt his thumb (motorcycle accident), and couldn't... So even though we've been dating for a couple of months now, I have yet to take my first motorcycle ride. Maybe it's just not meant to be.

...But I'm still hoping.

Yesterday, we took the bike (he rode it, I drove behind just in case) to a repair shop for estimates. First time I've had opportunity to watch someone ride a bike for any period of time. Usually when I start to show interest in a motorcycle on the road, the rider tries to pick me up, so I've learned NOT to oogle strange motorcycle riders. sigh. But GB was fair game, and it took us a good 20 minutes to get where we were going. It totally whetted my appetite to ride all over again.

The funny thing is that he was in SUCH a better mood after his ride. I've got to convince that boy to either ride his bike or go for workouts in the gym on a regular basis. I much prefer him happy. I cannot, however, tell you whether or not he looks adorable in HIS goggles-- he forgot to wear them yesterday. It took some doing, but I finally convinced him to wear my sunglasses for the trip home, since it was a very sunny day, and the goggles are, apparently, tinted. BOYS!!! sigh...

Bang Bang Bang

There has been on-and-off construction on the house next door, and specifically on the roof-patio that looks into my bedroom windows, since I moved in. And apparently, for two years prior to that as well. Now that house, and the one on the other side (ten feet to the right, if you include the upstairs hallway) both have little 2-year-old boys living in them. Bang Bang Bang.

Actually, I was originally going to call this post "In With A Bang," and then I was going to talk all about the Fourth of July, and the total lack of relationship between today's fireworks parties and any sort of leftover patriogtism about the colonists's war with the British. Except, of course, for the fact that everyone was probably drunk and stogned at the signing of the Declaration of Independence (History Channel), and so were most of the fireworks partiers we encountered on Saturday. But seeing as how this is already the 6th, what happened two days and over two hundred years ago... Well it just seems like old news.

SO... to sum up... Humperdink gonna marry Buttercup in a littlelessan khalph-an-hour. And GB and I went downtown and watched the big fireworks display from the bridge, with 50,000 of our closest friends. It was very cool. Bang Bang Bang.

And then the insurance claims dude came to look at GB's bike this morning, and declared it totaled. Which shocked the hell out of everyone, because there's basically some scratching, a dent in the gas tank, and maybe the handlebars are bent crooked, and some lights and a mirror snapped off... but other than that, she was just fine! Wait... when you put it like that... there doesn't seem to be much left undamaged besides the engine. Huh.

Anyway, GB first introduced me to his motorcycle soon after we started dating. "Innt she beauuuuutiful??" So for him to think of trashing her for the insurance money... well, I suspect it feels a bit like a cold-blooded murder. So as soon as the insurance claims dude left, GB called me up, totally upset that the most logical option seems to be agreeing that his baby is totaled, and letting the cold-hearted insurance robots drag her away. Because the truth is that he was just planning to fix her up and sell her anyway. But going against all his carefully organized manly reasoning and well-thought-out acknowledgment of the financial reality, he just doesn't FEEL LOGICAL about it. And in the background, I could hear his fist on the desk... Bang Bang Bang.

There were three other serious examples of "bang bang bang" in my world today, but one was the sound of my head hitting my desk, one is the way Abbigale's sneezes keep getting louder and closer together, and the other was this new and bizarre "Rule of Three" that the nurse practitioner told me about at Planned Parenthood. Somebody should have told me that a long time ago, thank you very much. And honestly, I just don't want to talk about any of them at the moment. Sorry. Bang Bang Bang.