Yard Work

One of the main reasons I bought a home is because I wanted to till and take care of the Earth. You guys. I freaking love yard work. This was instilled in me at a very early age.

Flashback! 1987

Cathie: And don't come back inside until every blade of grass has been dusted! Twice!

Eli: But I'm only three years old!

End Flashback

See?! I grew up on yard work. Yard work was my only friend for the better part of three decades. There were a number of shovels in the garage that I considered to be family. We still get into awkward fights every year at Christmas.

So when I bought this house in December, it was with eager anticipation that I began my paper-chain countdown to yard-work season.

Yard-work season has arrived. And I am suddenly beyond overwhelmed.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

You guys. Wednesday was garbage day and you forgot, AGAIN to remind me. This is getting really serious. In the four months I have lived in this house, I think the garbage bin has made it to the curb on time exactly three times. And the first time was two days after I moved in and there was basically nothing in it but I was just so excited to participate in the neighborhood activity so I rolled it out there anyway. Isn't reminding me on Tuesday night to take the garbage out to the curb one of your duties listed in our Stranger contract? I inform you about mole rats and satanic chickens and you make sure I take the garbage out, don't sign up for triathlons, and stop unnecessarily taking my clothes off at the dentist and pharmacy.

June Snapple wouldn't forget to remind me. Just sayin'.

And now, your Pictures and Distractions:

My new exceedingly heavy bar stools. NOT THAT I KNOW WHAT A BAR IS, CATHIE.

Blog Comments

More often than you might expect I get emails from blog readers who are curious about how I feel about the comments on Stranger. My friends and family are constantly asking me about this, too.

"Don't you think it's annoying when someone leaves a comment telling you to marry Jolyn/Rebecca/Hannah/TheQofC?"

"Did it make you mad when that anonymous commenter said that your writing is boring?"

"Why don't you delete the comments that call you a liar and say that you exaggerate?"

"Why don't you ever respond when people accuse you of being gay? THEY ARE ACCUSING YOU OF BEING GAY!"

You may have noticed that I'm not the world's most avid comment responder. I make a point here and there to pop in and say hi, but mostly I'm too lazy and tired and distrac . . . oh look! A bird!

My Favorite Complication

A French woman asked me from the driver's seat where to turn. I pointed to the street and she emphatically and in a strong French accent told me that the homes lining the road were "lovely." Rebecca nodded along, agreeing with her mother's pronouncements.

For reasons that made absolutely no sense to me, I was asked to assist on this mommy/daughter adventure to retrieve Rebecca's vehicle, which was parked somewhere halfway across the valley. They needed it driven back to Rebecca's home in our neighborhood. I was sure there was at least one unnecessary person in this process. And I was sure that one unnecessary person was me. But when Rebecca had called moments earlier and asked me to drive to her house to assist, I knew that compliance would be easier to survive than an explanation.

And in any event, Rebecca time is always welcome in my life. I know few people as wonderful as that half French woman.

Rebecca's mom wanted to make a quick stop on the way to see my house, since she hadn't had the opportunity previously. So I directed her back to my starting location.

That Old Couch

Several years ago I graduated from law school and moved to the BIG city with nothing but a dance belt and a tube of chapstick to call my own (please see Waiting For Guffman if you have not already). I had no furniture. None, whatsoever. And suddenly, I had an apartment that I needed to fill.

Unfortunately, I also had no money. I had spent my twenties sinking every penny I could get my hands on into education and traversing the couchsurfing world and now that I was done with school I had taken a government job in the state judiciary, which SPOILER ALERT did not pay me one million dollars.

Suddenly feeling the need to furnish my adulthood in one fell swoop felt incredibly daunting. I had moved to Salt Lake City with a law school friend, Matthew, who was in the same position as me and so the two of us went on a quest to find as much free furniture as possible to fill our 7th floor two-bedroom apartment on Broadway Ave.

We found this and that, here and there. Grandma furniture. Old lamps that needed to be taped up. Tea kettles, Venetian masks, and Snuggies. The usual things.

Joint Custody Woes

Matt: Here Ollie! You want some!?

Eli: Stop right there, sir. I've been meaning to talk to you about this.

Matt: Talk to me about what?

Eli: About your habit of giving Mr. Pants whatever food you happen to be eating.

Matt: And what's wrong with that?!

Eli: You are teaching him terrible habits and now he has come to expect it so I can never just eat in peace when he's here at my house because he's constantly barking at me.

Matt: What are you proposing here?

End of the Week Appointment

The last time I wrote to you I had just pulled into the office late at night, again. I rolled in on Thursday evening sometime around 10:30 and began working on a project that I needed to try to get done by the time my meetings started midday Friday. What proceeded was one of the longest nights I've had in years.

I watched the clock progress through 1:00 AM and then 2:00 AM and then 3:00 AM WHEN IT IS NOT EVEN LEGAL TO BE AWAKE.

Every hour or so I would get up and make a quick lap around the hallway to try to get the blood flowing. It was creepy and quiet and if anyone out there is interested in murdering me that was seriously your best opportunity to do so and you blew it.

By the time my colleagues started showing up, I had been working for 8 or 9 hours straight. I was beyond exhausted, having pulled this all-nighter at the end of a very long week.

Pictures from my Phone & Weekly Distractions

Alas, we have made it to the end of the week. Somehow. And somehow, again, I just rolled into my office at 11:00 PM for a full night of work and a busy day tomorrow. This work week from hell and I are in a battle to see who can out-survive whom.

Until next time. Here are your Pictures and Distractions:

With Kate riding horses last week.

A Young Lawyer

I rolled into my house sometime late in the evening last night to get some rest. As usual, it took me three or four times longer than I anticipated to get ready for bed. No matter how tired I am and no matter how many or few distractions there are, it always somehow seems to take so much longer to get ready for bed.

I climbed under the covers, telling my Siri command to "wake me up in three hours." It responded, "your alarm is now set for three-thirty A.M."

Three-thirty. A.M.

I didn't really realize how ridiculous this schedule was until I heard the words come out of the i-phone. But I dozed off before I could dwell on it for too long.

I woke up before the alarm ever sounded. About an hour earlier than I had anticipated. And it was the kind of waking up that I knew was going to be long-lasting. I wouldn't fall asleep again. Not for a while, anyway. Too much running through my mind. Too much anxiety.

Things Cathie Said in the Car

I spent a lot of time last week in the car with Bob and Cathie. It was a blast. I highly recommend road-tripping with people in their 60s, especially if those people are my parents. They listen to Paul Simon the entire time and have the best, yet outdated, gossip you've ever heard. But more than anything:

Things Cathie Said in the Car