* * * *

* * * *
Nobody is more disappointed than my mouth right now that the bagels that not one hour ago looked very convincing behind the "WHOLE WHEAT" sign written in 48 point font are in fact some weird rye/pumpernickel hybrid. I'll pump your nickel, Mr. Jewel-Osco bakery manager, next time I see you- for giving me that lopsided grin when I head-nodded hello, all the while your heart full of deceit and hands covered in yeast.

Tastes like a reuben gone wrong--and I don't like reubens when they're right.

Even that Studdard fellow proved to be a hot mess.

* * * *

So here's a caveat for you. I know this may be shameful, demonstrative of laziness (insofar as it represents time I could be using for more worthwhile pursuits like finding employment again), & a little excessive (I know you're inclined to be sympathetic with me as your narrator, but kids, I'm in 19 games...at one...time) but Facebook Scrabble? Is a PART OF MY LIFE. And I own that. Unabashedly. I took a photo--that I'd forgotten about entirely until I was scouring my photos on the laptop to find something frameworthy from 2010 for my dad's birthday--here it is:

That's right. It's me looking like a possessed albino Jack Nicholson, Sarah cutely pensive with a mustache, and Lisa R. looking painfully & obnoxiously normal in contrast. For the record (on the record--some of you don't always respect this distinction and you know who you are :)!!!), I most certainly did not title this game. I think the most telling evidence in support of that claim would be the misspelling of my name. Red herring? Nein. Nevertheless, how was I gonna abstain from sharing this photo? It's. Just. Too. Good. I don't remember who won, the photo's from, like, last October--most definitely not "25 minutes ago". Chances are the victor was Inspector Cloussieau-Tate or Blondie McNordicson. Explains why I was so vexed.

Anyway I love Scrabble, but am dreading the next time I play in person. I'm so spoiled by the drag and drop function online. That and how the page loads one time for every 14 times I ask it to. So spoiled. I'm being serious about this though. Friends with whom I play would agree--it becomes part of your daily routine. In a way that's maybe a smidge embarrassing. I've found myself bartering, in my brain, proposing things like "Lisa, if you go jog, despite the fact that you don't want to, you can play Scrabble when you return."

I should mention the the location of the photo. I found it in a curiously labeled folder, and its only companion was a photo a friend texted me from England. I suppose there's not that much "MISCELLANY" in my life. I don't recall why I took the photo originally, but I'm pretty glad I did. I hope Barbie McNorway and Beautiful Super Mario are still talking to me.

* * * *

I screeched up to Vitale's, the local store near our lakehouse in Michigan a few weeks ago, in desperate need of some half & half. Parked. Saw this. So much to appreciate. .

Truth is, I never have much cared for milk from clothed men anyway.

* * * *

OUT OF CON(text)

There are a few texts I've received recently that I feel almost obligated to share. I'm going to omit the sender (I'm the recipient, obviously), the context, and change or revise --or perhaps even substitute fictitious names (that could be fun) wherever privacy or confidence would otherwise be violated.

It's my hope you'll find these amusing all the more for not knowing anything about their origins or context.

1. 
   
   "But your jump shot is off the hiz."
2. 
   
   "Every lesbian in VT is at this concert."
3. 
   
   "Holy Carp (not a misspelling). I hadn't read that yet. You make sugar taste just like salt."
4. 
   
   "I'm gonna one up ya and go blog about a time when I goosed Arnold Palmer."
5. 
   
   "What exactly is a thai massage?"
6. 
   
   "Yeah you'll like it. I'm not religious. But you'll totally like it... cuz it's about God."
7. 
   
   "I can't get comments to work on your blog from here. Very annoying."
8. 
   
   "Don't be a hero, baby" (this one arrived just now--LIVE!).
9. 
   
   "No, I just think he didn't appreciate being asked to wear a polka dotted headband. Would you?"
10. 
    
    "And the award for most awkward-looking bride of 2010 goes to Chelsea Clinton."
11. 
    
    [photo of a green alien. no caption. no accompanying words.]
12. 
    
    "Haha. Quit being such a Summer's Eve!"
13. 
    
    " Oh I wish I'd gotten your text earlier, I'm just leaving church, I could've prayed for you!." (I responded to this one with a witty, "Oh, is God closed for the night?")
14. 
    
    "No, I don't care about the Cubs. It's just that I hate the White Sox more. Like if I were forced to choose."
15. 
    
    "Moist, dude."
16. 
    
    "Wing Dings"<---just an example of how a text from my mom reads.
17. 
    
    "Those are GIFTS you gave me. Take em back and so help me there'll be a smear campaign in your ass so destructive you'll start wearing pampers."

* * * *

I'll be able to do some writing while in Vermont-- a bit for our book Espero (our being Amanda and I), but feel a bit guilty for preparing to do so much reading, writing and relaxing when 11 months of (predominantly at least, albeit unprecedented) unemployment have felt so stagnant. If ever one did not deserve a vacation, it'd be me, and it'd be now. Though the notion of "deserving" is one I vascillate about quite a bit--what qualifies one to deserve or not deserve grace, or satisfaction or friendship, dessert (not a big fan of the "I was so bad and had some cake!!!"--the implications for someone (that's me) who hopes to have at least one daughter are frightening--even moreso the fact that despite what I write here, I behave in ways that compulsively and comprehensively contradict this.) 

But I'm hauling some old grad school texts with me to VT, and just now came across one of the dedicated Dickinson notebooks that's absolutely filled with my writing. Flipped open to a random page to find one of my absolute favorites of hers.

Nothing tethers me to this earth (ah the irony) in a way where I feel safe like God--nothing.

But occasionally there's a piece of writing that touches a place so deep within me, I'm equal parts humbled, honored & surprised someone has written before, and with much more eloquence than I could achieve, that which I feel so profoundly right this moment.

"CXVI"

I measure every grief I meet

With analytic eyes;

I wonder if it weighs like mine,

Or has an easier size.

I wonder if they bore it long,

Or did it just begin?

I could not tell the date of mine,

It feels so old a pain.

I wonder if it hurts to live,

And if they have to try,

And whether, could they choose between,

They would not rather die.

I wonder if, when years have piled--

Some thousands---on the cause

Of some early hurt, if such a lapse

could give them any pause;

Or would they go on aching still

Through centuries above,

Enlightened to a larger pain

By contrast wtih the love.

The grieved are many, I am told;

The reason deeper lies,----

Death is but one and comes but once,

And only nails the eyes.

There's grief of want, and grief of cold,-

A sort they call "despair";

There's banishment from native eyes,

In sight of native air.

And though I may not guess the kind

Correctly, yet to me.

A piercing comfort it affords

In passing Calvary,

To note the fashions of the cross,

Of those that stand alone,

Still fascinated to presume

That some are like my own."

--Emily Dickinson

* * * *

I feel pretty poorly. At the advice of my aunt Joan, and to heed my own inner urging, I'm gonna sweat this beast out. If I don't make it, it's been real. Seriously though, look. 5.5 slow miles and the Wicked soundtrack have never disappointed me yet. They've only nearly ended my life. By the time I get to the part of the soundtrack where Glinda and Elphaba are reconciling, I no longer care. I'm just feeling like Larry of Arabia, convinced every erect inanimate object in Wilmette or Evanston is a water fountain. Cruel, cruel mirages. 

* * * *

Jeremiah 29:11 just never gets old, does it. And if it does, read it again.

Goodnight! :-)

And not a one of you has voted correctly on the uppermost poll yet. Just throwin' that out for contemplation.