This is going to be totally stream-of-consciousness, so hold on to your hats.
On Sunday we bid farewell to the Dad, who is spending the week in Mexico. Instead of enjoying the 80-degree weather, he is spending the majority of his time growing pale and wan in front of a computer screen. Computer programmers have it rough.
On Monday we took down all the Christmas decorations. I took down the artificial tree, which was pretty fun except that I had to do it twice. You see, I tried putting the little branches in first and then things weren't fitting properly. Mom said, "You have to put the big branches in first--like with the rocks." To which I replied, "Stupid Covey principles." Those Covey principles work, though.
Then we put everything back in the attic. Getting a whole artificial tree up a narrow little ladder is not a task for the faint of heart, let me tell you. This is somewhat complicated by the fact that I get vertigo whenever I go more than 2 feet off the ground, so Mom had to climb the ladder while the Sister and I shoved from below. At one point I whined that we needed a man (call me a sissy, but hauling trees up narrow little ladders is men's work), but in the end girl power triumphed and the tree is now safely in the attic for another year.
I don't remember what we did Tuesday. Maybe the tree was Tuesday. I lost a day somewhere in there.
Yesterday, that is Wednesday, I spent the morning in my pajamas and then Mom told me, "You have to clean your room before you can have your playdate," so I dug out the Bear Pit and then Durnhelm came over and we yakked for three solid hours. A good half-hour of that was spent on A Short Biography of Scipio the Elder, as given by Durnhelm. For the past few years, Durnhelm has been in the throes of unrequited love. I have tried to break to her gently that Scipio is a) too old for her b) married to somebody else and c) dead, but she persists in her hopeless infatuation. :) Interestingly enough, we also dipped into the topic of Dating Older Men, discussing the point at which older becomes older and the point at which older becomes creepy.
Probably the funniest part of the afternoon went like this:
Sister [while playing a computer game]: I built this house that I wanted to show you, but now I can't find it.
Durnhelm: Well, it has to be in there somewhere. Houses don't just get up and walk away.
Durnhelm: Unless they have chicken legs.
Me [simultaneously]: Unless it's Baba Yaga's.
Me: We are now officially weird.
Then Durnhelm's mom called wanting to know if she was ever going to get her daughter back, so Durnhelm had to leave. We stood chatting in the foyer for another half-hour before she actually left, though. Then we ate dinner. I was hungry. Talking is hard work.
Today we went out and I got a passport form and my picture taken (not a terribly horribly bad picture, either) and I registered to be an absentee voter in the primaries. On the absentee form I had to declare my party. I asked if I could be a Federalist and the county worker said, "Well, you could, but I don't think they're running any candidates this year." So I'm a Republican--there are Republicans I only mildly dislike.
Pretty soon I'm going to be cleaning up the kitchen and then making mashed potatoes--this is probably my last chance before returning to the Caf, where they serve white Play-doh and call it mashed potatoes.