Please forgive the vulgarities.  I’m waiting on a part and so temporarily out of order.  However A. has a computer and I’m borrowing it just long enough to tell you to click here.  Really.  It’s cute.  (Yes, it’s my own horn and I’m tooting it.)

Have fun today all you suckers with computers that work and so who have to work — I’m off to the beach!  Whee!

[Remember, click right here.]

I’ve been away, I know I have, I disappear and don’t say when I’ll be back.  Well for one, there’ve been technical things.  I need a new cord, WordPress crashes like crazy, the birds seem to have left. 

I’m just going to say things, they’re not in order.  Howard and Ellen have a  fight about laundry.  She’s been pulling clothes out from the bottom of his neat folded piles for years and it’s blown up, at last, in their face.  Ellen accuses Howard of purposely putting the clothes she wants at the bottom.  They’re at an impasse.

Aunt Betty is gone, I may not have said she was here, but she’s gone and it’s terrible without her, we made jam.  Jam!  Strawberry jam and I’ll give you some if you go get her and bring her back.  (L. didn’t make strawberry jam, by the way.  Go over to her house and look.  Check the refrigerator, the one in the garage.  I bet it’s not pretty.) 

And then, this.  This is crazy.  Click on it, A., seriously.  This is the first chapter of my book, but “wordled.”  Wordle is some sort of word randomizer, gives weight to various things, blah blah, and anyway … here’s Chapter 1.  Yikes, such language.  It’s art, people, art! 

[Derek Jeter, they say, is overrated.] 

I’m melancholy today and I think it’s the orange juice.  I confess, I like the word melancholy and I tend to be things whose words I like, but it also has something to do with the orange juice, I left it out.  I don’t know how it happened, right there on the counter.  I looked and looked for it this morning, I wanted a glass and then there it was, next to my keys.  And I wasn’t tempted to drink it because I like it cold, but I do wonder, can you drink orange juice if you’ve left it next to the keys overnight?  It was too much for me to decide, it’s still there.  As is the lawnmower.  I have a tendency to leave things there, wherever they are, it’s comforting.  I try not to, but sometimes, old habits.

There was lightning in the middle of the night – what is the middle of the night? – it was lovely.  Lightning, we never have lightning.  Big loud thunderclaps and dramatic flash all through the sky.  Better than fireworks.

I’m going to have milk instead of orange juice, I have to go now and get it, I’m thirsty. 

Here I am, I’m here.  I’m right here, I was over there but now I’m here, you’ve wondered haven’t you?

I mowed the lawn yesterday, the one on the side, not in back.  And I left the lawnmower sitting there in the middle of the yard all night because I thought it looked artistic.  I’d take a picture and show you except I don’t know where A. has the peripherals to the camera.  There’s a little cord, you know, or a thing that puts the camera pictures on my computer where I need to have them to put them here. 

So I didn’t take a picture.  I still may, for posterity, and show it to you next year and see if you remember. 

I am working today, working working.   A short piece about crazy love, and then the usual, that damn book. 

Aunt Betty is here and she is doing everything for me, everything, it’s decadent.  And also the blueberries are finally blue and we’re walking back there every so often and eating them. 

I just finished an interesting piece for a very respectable organization and in my bio, I did not mention this, what I’m doing right here, this little “site”.  I think you ought not to tell people either, I don’t think it speaks well.  No one would ever hire me if they knew I only wrote about blueberries, or ants, or men walking into the house (last summer).  And there’s that ghastly thing, still, about animal porn and when all the respectable editors start googling “animal porn” they’ll find me and immediately refuse to hire me. 

So anyway, new place, new bio, and I acted like I didn’t even know about this, and maybe I don’t.  What are you talking about, I don’t even know this teresa difalco person, I don’t even know what you mean! 

I would like M. to write a memoir, he tells the best family stories of everyone I know and then when he starts writing observational essays for the Times and The New Yorker because he’s famous for his memoir, he would not have to include this blog right here in his bio and we’d all be relieved. 

Now, I’ll write.  But not here, in a Word document called “Good Wife draft33.docx”  (I have the new Word, it adds the little “x”.  I also have to remember to save my things as old Words so other people can open them.)