Office furniture normally doesn’t send me up the river, but I’m thrilled about this acquisition. Our filing system (I use that term very loosely) was a mess of the first order, and we desperately needed more drawer space. The cabinet came in a box, of course, so Scott had to channel his inner carpenter and put it together. I have to say, there is nothing more attractive than watching your husband competently assemble a piece of furniture you have wanted for a very long time (unless, of course, you are watching your husband uncomplainingly wipe up your child’s vomit in the middle of the night in a tent in a state park. On the scale of spousal irresistibility, that’s hard to beat.) I had a very happy busy night labeling hanging file folders and organizing and sorting and recycling. It was a long process (I went to bed after one — aiee!), and in the process of shifting folders around I managed to pull some muscle in my left shoulder, but it was worth it. I’m not going to say that this is the magic bullet that suddenly makes my life a model of order, but I do feel that if I needed to find some paperwork from my past (my S.A.T. scores? A resume from 1998?), I’d stand a fighting chance.
2. I’ll admit that I’m struggling a bit with it being August already. (How did THAT happen?). One of my teaching colleagues used to say that June is like Friday, July is like Saturday, and August is like Sunday … and she’s right. Sigh. I really do like my job … but, like most working folk, I like vacation even more.
3. Culinary observation of the day: root beer floats are really, really good. They scream “summer,” even when it’s freezing cold (the Bay Area seems to be the only part of the United States that has not received the “Summer of Sweat” memo).
4. I was a very happy gal at Mass yesterday, because the choir sang this arrangement of the Litany of the Saints.
I adore this piece, and when there is a trumpet player adding his lovely embellishments (as there was yesterday), it’s enough to make me want to weep at the beauty of it all. It reminds me of my boys’ baptisms, and of my changing attitude towards the saints, whom I’ve come to think of as my homies — people who weren’t perfect, but who managed to integrate their quirks and struggles into an overall search for goodness. As Robert Louis Stevenson once wrote, “Saints are sinners who kept on going.”
Amen to that.