Tea, Toilet paper, Tan
All day I have been drinking hot tea, blowing my nose miserably on rough toilet paper, and consoling my cold by reading a depressing and intriguing novel by Amy Tan. The Bonesetter's Daughter is everything I hoped it would be. I'm also glad that I got it for free by checking it out with my library card for my Kindle. NJ Digital Libraries is the bomb, if anyone even uses that phrase. I am a fan of Amy Tan and will remark on her book once I'm done. For now, I am honking my rubbery nose away like the little engine who could.
Yesterday, Saturday, I had to work. Normally it is nice for me to work on Saturday because the library is quiet (as a library should be, but in North Jersey libraries tend to be loud...). And I get a lot of good work done, the kind of work I wish to do during the week but can't from the constant noise of people checking their books in and returning them. Beep. Beep. Beep. "I'm sorry Mr. Ravioli, but you have a 20 cent fine for your wife's romance novel you returned late." says the high school kid chewing gum at the checkout desk. "Listen Doll Face" starts Mr. Ravioli, "I ain't returned nothin late. Your machine just ain't checked it in on time. I pay my taxes here and won't pay one cent more for no Nora Roberts novel. You bettah take that fine off or you will be hearin from the Mayah." He snorts. The kid come back. "Can ya wave the fine?" So I get up and wave the fine, wave Mr. Ravioli's fine, then Mrs. Pacetta's fine, and then Mr. Tiramisu's fine. They were all waiting in line behind Mr. Ravioli and while they waited they thought of reasons they shouldn't pay "no 5 cents for a book that ain't even good." But they all come Modandays or Tuesdays before lunch, between the barber and not after 5 when it is dark and the risk of falling on black ice increases dramatically.
So Saturday's are good. The Mr. Ravioli's are snug in their house and won't venture out because younger people are off on Saturdays and are zooming about town taking their kids heah, theah, screaming at them for driving slow, "The Fu** you drivin so slow for? Managia de la miseria!" Hands waving on what should be calm Saturdays.
This Saturday was uber calm. The weather channel predicted 1-2 inches. Of snow that is, of course. So I felt good that I would change the poster boards to say something for Valentine's Day along the lines of "I love Reading!", would call a few piano movers to compare prices for a piano that was being moved to the library, and work on cataloging some books in Italian. Pretty nice day, snow included.
The snow flickered like confetti, so pretty. If floated like little feathers, so calm. It rested on my car, so cold. It covered the remaining 10 inches of snow from last week, so deep. It stuck. It froze. The temperature slid to 15 degrees F (-10 C). I gazed happily out of the library thankful for a pretty light snowfall and not a monster. At 5 PM we locked up and headed to our cars. I started the car to heat her up, pulled out my snow duster and got out to clean the car while it heated. With my nice Italian leather handmade shoes from Verona, Italy, I stepped in snow."What the hell.." "Chicken and Nuggets!" I politely exclaimed. I quickly cleaned and scrapped the ice off the car. To my dismay I saw that ice started accumulating where I started. "Fu** fu**ing New Jersey!" "Bismark, North Dakota!" I muttered in horror as I realized ice was everywhere. I couldn't feel my toes, and didn't notice that at all.
As I lumbered into the car my toes cried in pain. They were soaked. My italian leater shoes? Soaked. My fingers? Burning with cold. I prayed and slowly slid the car out of the parking lot. What would have taken me 20 minutes to get home took me one hour and a half. All the way the car was sliding here and skidding there. I was trying hard to remember what Oprah or Dr. Phil might have advised on driving on ice but all I could think was "I am going to crash. Ok, just get past that light post carefully. Then try to get to the next." I contemplated the pain of crashing into a lightpost versus flipping over. I wondered if the paramedics would see my ruined Italian leather shoes and appreciate their beauty. Probably not. I could only see 10 feet infront of me. The weather man lied, that piece of pastrami. It was way more than 1-2 inches with ICE.
Finally I got home, ate and fell into bed.
Today? Sick, sneezing, coughing and watery eyes. I want to move to Jamaica today. I imagine wearing a bikini daily and no longer using glasses but coconuts for cups. I will eat grilled pineapple in different ways: with Nutella, with swordfish, with cream cheese (why not). When I move to Jamaica I will change my name to Honey or demand to be called Big Mama. In fact I will change both the kitties names to "Benito". One will be "Benito Mussolini" and the other "Benito Juarez" and only I will know who is who just to amuse myself. One was Leo the other Aries, in case anyone cares. Which really explains a lot about the wars. Anyway, I might even start calling the chef something new. I might call him the Conductor or Phil after the Philharmonic. Who knows. Everything will be great when I move to Jamaica one day. But that dream day is far far away. Today flights are canceled, and even if they weren't I wouldn't be allowed on the plane if they saw me hugging the toilet paper with one arm and my kindle with the other. Enough for now. Time for Tan, toilet paper and bed.
Yesterday, Saturday, I had to work. Normally it is nice for me to work on Saturday because the library is quiet (as a library should be, but in North Jersey libraries tend to be loud...). And I get a lot of good work done, the kind of work I wish to do during the week but can't from the constant noise of people checking their books in and returning them. Beep. Beep. Beep. "I'm sorry Mr. Ravioli, but you have a 20 cent fine for your wife's romance novel you returned late." says the high school kid chewing gum at the checkout desk. "Listen Doll Face" starts Mr. Ravioli, "I ain't returned nothin late. Your machine just ain't checked it in on time. I pay my taxes here and won't pay one cent more for no Nora Roberts novel. You bettah take that fine off or you will be hearin from the Mayah." He snorts. The kid come back. "Can ya wave the fine?" So I get up and wave the fine, wave Mr. Ravioli's fine, then Mrs. Pacetta's fine, and then Mr. Tiramisu's fine. They were all waiting in line behind Mr. Ravioli and while they waited they thought of reasons they shouldn't pay "no 5 cents for a book that ain't even good." But they all come Modandays or Tuesdays before lunch, between the barber and not after 5 when it is dark and the risk of falling on black ice increases dramatically.
So Saturday's are good. The Mr. Ravioli's are snug in their house and won't venture out because younger people are off on Saturdays and are zooming about town taking their kids heah, theah, screaming at them for driving slow, "The Fu** you drivin so slow for? Managia de la miseria!" Hands waving on what should be calm Saturdays.
This Saturday was uber calm. The weather channel predicted 1-2 inches. Of snow that is, of course. So I felt good that I would change the poster boards to say something for Valentine's Day along the lines of "I love Reading!", would call a few piano movers to compare prices for a piano that was being moved to the library, and work on cataloging some books in Italian. Pretty nice day, snow included.
The snow flickered like confetti, so pretty. If floated like little feathers, so calm. It rested on my car, so cold. It covered the remaining 10 inches of snow from last week, so deep. It stuck. It froze. The temperature slid to 15 degrees F (-10 C). I gazed happily out of the library thankful for a pretty light snowfall and not a monster. At 5 PM we locked up and headed to our cars. I started the car to heat her up, pulled out my snow duster and got out to clean the car while it heated. With my nice Italian leather handmade shoes from Verona, Italy, I stepped in snow.
As I lumbered into the car my toes cried in pain. They were soaked. My italian leater shoes? Soaked. My fingers? Burning with cold. I prayed and slowly slid the car out of the parking lot. What would have taken me 20 minutes to get home took me one hour and a half. All the way the car was sliding here and skidding there. I was trying hard to remember what Oprah or Dr. Phil might have advised on driving on ice but all I could think was "I am going to crash. Ok, just get past that light post carefully. Then try to get to the next." I contemplated the pain of crashing into a lightpost versus flipping over. I wondered if the paramedics would see my ruined Italian leather shoes and appreciate their beauty. Probably not. I could only see 10 feet infront of me. The weather man lied, that piece of pastrami. It was way more than 1-2 inches with ICE.
Finally I got home, ate and fell into bed.
Today? Sick, sneezing, coughing and watery eyes. I want to move to Jamaica today. I imagine wearing a bikini daily and no longer using glasses but coconuts for cups. I will eat grilled pineapple in different ways: with Nutella, with swordfish, with cream cheese (why not). When I move to Jamaica I will change my name to Honey or demand to be called Big Mama. In fact I will change both the kitties names to "Benito". One will be "Benito Mussolini" and the other "Benito Juarez" and only I will know who is who just to amuse myself. One was Leo the other Aries, in case anyone cares. Which really explains a lot about the wars. Anyway, I might even start calling the chef something new. I might call him the Conductor or Phil after the Philharmonic. Who knows. Everything will be great when I move to Jamaica one day. But that dream day is far far away. Today flights are canceled, and even if they weren't I wouldn't be allowed on the plane if they saw me hugging the toilet paper with one arm and my kindle with the other. Enough for now. Time for Tan, toilet paper and bed.
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