This has been a lucky week. I'm housesitting for my parents while they move my sister into her hurricaned apartment in FL. Having a yard is one of the serious pros of non-city living. Maggie's been following me around like if she takes her eyes off me for utterly one moment, I may spontaneously disappear. It's annoying; we're working through it.
My boss declared next Thursday and Friday officially officious office holidays (five day wkend!), and THEN he took us out for ice cream! Nothing like savoring the prospect of an extralongwkend over a root beer float from Shake Shack.
Sometimes I wish my boss were my grandpa.
I probably shouldn't admit this, but I like to go back to Xanga and read about what I was doing exactly a year ago, or two years ago, etc. I went back to 2004, and wouldn't you know, the Olympics were taking over everything then, too. This is what I wrote: Blah blah blah...like Michael Phelps in that Visa commercial....But Aaron Peirsol gets my gold medal.
I'm telling you, I've been thinking that completely same identical thought for the last two weeks.
Being home has been a time-warp vacation of sorts. I can hear the whistles from early morning preseason practices at the high school, and at night I hear the marching band drums, like a Revolutionary army on the move. (Sometimes Maggie barks at them.) The girl I used to babysit starts ninth grade this year, and she called me Tuesday with night-before jitters: "Um, hi Liz, I was just wondering, like, maybe could you, I dunno, give me an idea of what the first practice is going to be like?" I felt old.
I'm going to go hang out with her now, and grill her on Mr. Sinnott and her first week of practices, and most importantly, what she's wearing for the first day of school.
I love driving!
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