Back on track. Mostly.

broken home

This morning, a little hornet in the bedroom caught my eye. We're having our kitchen remodeled and a hornet nest got disrupted and destroyed. I'm guessing this was one of the hive members. It was struggling to get outside, climbing up the window, investigating all the corners, crawling up and down and over like it had no sight and needed to physically touch every crevice in the window. It would fell down to the bottom sill and then it would climb back up again, each time reaching farther afield.

I wish I had that kind of tenacity, but I don't and I fall away from my plans at the first setback. I've been terrible this week while we've been moving. As of tonight, however, we are about 95% moved out of the apartment in the mountains so I should be able to get back on track. I caught myself saying "Goodbye Porpoise Spit!" as we drove down Main Street in Bethel. I was planning to link the final scene from Muriel's Wedding, in which the main characters yell that line, but this scene seems much more appropriate for this blog, mostly because I feel a lot like Toni Collette from that scene. Big and uncomfortable and very very goofy. (By the way, look at young Rachel Griffiths. Awkward.)

cherry cherry boom boom

Moving can be hard on any routine--not to imply I have a routine, but I do have some semblance of order in my days--so it's been difficult to keep up with my new life plan. This morning, however, Groom and I packed some cherries and blueberries for the drive back to the apartment for a final truckload of stuff and some final cleaning. For breakfast, because we have no food in the house, we stopped at Mister Bagel. I know it's a franchise, but at least it's a local franchise and, regardless of my "eat local" rule, Mister Bagel blows Dunkin' Donuts out of the water.

Mister Bagel carries Green Mountain coffee, which isn't locally roasted, but again...better than DoDo's. I was a barista at Green Mountain in Portland before I picked up a bartending job in my mid-20s, so I have an affinity toward the coffee, even though I do prefer Coffee By Design. When I worked at Green Mountain, the uniform was a white shirt and khakis, or chinos if you were raised in the '70s. I bought a size 10 pair of khakis so I could wear them cinched high on my waist (come on, it was the '90s, think: Meg Ryan in When Harry Met Sally). I remember laughing to myself that size 10 made for enormous pants! I couldn't imagine they would ever fit me for real! Are you kidding me?

It was also around this time, perhaps a couple years later, that my friend Sara got pregnant and refused to wear maternity clothes. We went to Lane Bryant or some such shop to get her some loose-fitting shirts and I exclaimed loudly, "Can you believe people wear these huge clothes for real??!"

God, I was such a snotty little bitch, but I got my comeuppance. These days, I find those "huge clothes" to be quite comfortable, actually, thank you little miss skinny pants. (Yes. I just got bitchy at my younger self.)

I lied yesterday when I said I wasn't tired or sore. I was definitely wired from moving around so much and then I was exhausted. Today, I feel a bit sore in my midsection, mostly from throwing heavy brick clusters yesterday. I like it. I like this feeling. I like being muscle sore.

Speaking of midsections,  I used to get so grumpy riding in Groom's truck because it handles the road...well...like a pickup truck. Any winding road would bounce me back and forth against the doors and windows. Now? Not so much. We took a particularly curvy route back to the mountain this morning and I was able to hold myself still with my newly worked core muscles. Huzzah!

Well. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. I am still soft in the middle and I have a long way to go.

This reminds me of a day while Groom was in the hospital with his shattered leg. I've told this story about a million times, so if you already know it, feel free to skip ahead. I won't be insulted: Groom was on heavy painkillers and he said to me, as I walked around his bed, "Oh. Your midsection is so tired."

He doesn't remember saying it, but I remember him saying it. This is the same man who also said, when I asked him whether a pair of pants were too tight, "I'm thinking...ham."

And then there was the time he said, in response to the same "are my pants too tight" question, "Not really. That's how all the middle schoolers are wearing their pants these days."

I was 35.

I have a relatively early morning tomorrow with plans throughout the day, so my challenge will be to get in some form of exercise that elevates my heart rate. I'll have to figure out a way to make the time, but that's what this is all about, right?