The mosquitoes are subsiding. Crunchy leaves fall gently onto my porch. The windows are open and that familiar crisp feeling sneaks in at night.
Fall is upon us. No amount of wishing or remorse for a summer that went by too quickly and all too neglected will change that. All in good time we'll pick out pumpkins and things that say "Harvest" to put on display in our homes. Everyone is fired up about football and as girls, we physically can not stop ourselves from talking about boots. Is it too soon? It's too soon isn't it? We discuss which boots we plan to wear and with what. Let us not forget the boots that we have yet to purchase this year!
I awoke earlier than needed by the sound of an explosion or gunshot of some sort this morning. Nat moved slightly in his sleep and curled around me a little closer obviously unfazed by the noise. The morning air took me back to my elementary years when the first days of fall would make their appearance. Mom would have put flannel sheets on my bed and I had a few dangerously synthetic night gowns that would spark with static electricity in the night against the sheets. I was often the first to wake up in those days but rather than rise, I would reach for whatever Beverly Cleary, Ramona book I was reading at the time and hunker down for a bit of uninterrupted escape from the trials of my own school work and grade school politics. Eventually, Mom and Dad and Cheryl would wake and we would have toast and eggs and hot Red Rose tea steeped until it was bitter just the way I liked it. The appreciation of a day off from school did not escape me even then.
This morning I'm channeling my inner childhood Julie. The Ramona book is currently replaced with my laptop for perusing blogs and facebook. A sweet husband sleeps soundly next to me and the dog who is rescuing me snoozes on the floor by our bed occasionally opening one eye to see if it is walk time. The blissful satisfaction of a day away from work is not lost on me.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Monday, September 5, 2011
It has been determined that Katie and I are going to write letters. Anyone at Harry Browne's bar on Friday night might know this as I slammed my fist against the bar as I exclaimed it. Not only that, but Katie and I have have developed some radical new safety procedures to implement in this town to keep it safe. It involves hot pink. I'll back up.
As if an earthquake and hurricane were not enough, last week Annapolis had the fun of tracking down a fugitive who escaped from the court house right by my house. His specialties are drugs, violence, taking things that don't belong to him and rape. Yay. A well rounded criminal. He had attempted to flee from court a few days prior so our law enforcement decided it would be swell to dress him up in a dark green jump suit and assign him one female guard. Obviously, he overpowered her and ran for the nearest neighborhood where he hid in someone's garage for twelve hours. Oh, and said neighborhood still had no power from the hurricane.
After fighting everyone ounce of my soul that wanted to put on pajamas, eat a cheese sandwich and watch "Four Weddings," I thought it best fight my agoraphobic urges and go out to dinner with Katie. It worked because when we finished dinner I wanted to go get a drink, so we headed on over to old faithful, Harry Browne's and began our discussion of disasters at hand.
First up, why did our hardened criminal wear dark green? Were they out of camouflage? For that matter, why didn't they just dress him up in a business suit? A police uniform maybe? Katie and I think from now on, the crims' (that's new slang you know) get fluorescent hot pink. Nineteen eighties style. And they DON'T get to wear their own clothes under it like in the case of this guy. (Seriously. WTH?!) But the best part? We'll we're still working out the details. We couldn't decide if an alarm would sound if the suit exited the court house, or perhaps it would blast Britney Spears music, or maybe the suit would just blow up like a puffer fish? Again, it would cost money for set up of suits linked to buildings.
I think I finally narrowed it down. The suit only moves in slow motion. I don't know what kind of engineer needs to design it but it definitely can't be that difficult. Once the suit tries to move fast, it locks up and becomes rigid. Walking = good. Running = bad. And the faster the person tries to move, the less the suit will move. That's right. Anne Arundel County is going to have their minds blown with they get our letters. They might even make us honorary council woman! (I'm not sure what that means, but mostly that we will get paid the big bucks to make more decisions like these, or at least just a lot of money for this one.)
Anyway, Night Notes as follows:
Katie: If I were a fugitive...
Julie: If I were a fugitive, I wouldn't have murdered, robbed and raped.
Julie: He's my doggies daddy.
Note to Self: Just stay home with your pajamas and cheese sandwich.