Everything is different now.  The rest of the snow and ice didn’t come, there’s just slush.  Slush is ugly, it’s gray, everything’s dripping, it’s unsightly. 

It’s no longer glamorous to drive the truck.  In fact today I’ll take it out of 4WD, which isn’t nearly as fun.  And I’ll feel silly driving it to the cleaner’s and to lunch and to wherever else I feel like going in a big loud truck. 

Everything’s wet and looks broken, so now the party, I want to move it to dark.  When it gets dark and all anyone can see are little white Christmas lights, that’s when it starts.  From dark until darker. 

There are people coming soon to clean my house.   I already love them.  Then Scruffy is getting a bath and blow-dry and probably a little trim.  Deborah is dropping off wine, though still, there’s no bartender.  If you’d like to apply, you can have it, you’ve got the job, it’s yours!  It pays, and there must be some benefits.  Um.  I’ll think of them in a minute.

Oh, damn, there’s RSG.  RSG, I forgot when I loved your brilliant plan yesterday, I forgot there were all these appointments.  Scruffy and the wine, mostly, both smack dab in the middle of day. 

I still have a cold, I’m still drinking orange juice.  Some things haven’t changed. 

So the thing is I grew up doing all this.  At one time I was tough.  I chopped the wood, I drove in snow, I could start fires and put them out and tap a keg.  I was small-town girl tough.  That was then, though, now I’m soft. 

I have a chance, though, tonight, to redeem.  There’s now almost TWO inches of snow and I made plans.  I made plans and A. has my SUV and I have his big 7-series — no way I’m driving that – but I also have the truck.  It’s a real truck people — GMC, circa 90s.  It’s not one of those fruity things they sell now, with docking stations and limo-sized cabs and sea-breeze smells and people telling you where to turn every 5 minutes. 

No this is a serious truck.  I have to put it in 4WD, it doesn’t just know.  I have to put it in 4WD and then shift on over to Jennifer’s house, and we have to all sit in the front and I’m just saying it’s a real truck.  A tough one like the ones I used to make out in.  And I’m driving it tonight because the snow has attacked and I’m a small-town girl back in a small town and we don’t get snowed in.  No, no.

A. is in a hotel.  You might think that makes him a sissy, or maybe a man in an illicit affair, but it’s neither.  There are meetings and they’re late after work and early in the morning, and yes I know that’s what they all say, this isn’t about A., though, it’s about me.  Driving my truck.

The last time I drove a real truck in the snow, I think there was beer.  That was then. 

I’d take a picture but I’ll be driving.  You’ll just have to imagine. 

Some updates:  No school, now, all week.  I got orange juice.  I won’t get my book out.  I do need you to bring me soup, and maybe some new movies or a tranquilizer gun and there is more ice in the pool today than there was yesterday.

And my throat hurts, I think I have a tumor.  Melissa Lion has tubers.  That’s different. 

There’s a documentary I want to see, it’s in LA and New York this weekend, and then in Mac in 2014.  M., go see it and tell me if I should come out.  It’s called Waltz With Bashir and Very Short List recommended it, are you on their list?  You should be.  Give them your email, then they’ll send you one back every day.  Theirs will have a book or movie or television show or … book, I forget what else.  And half of them will be from the Sunday Times and you’ll already know all about them, but sometimes they’ll recommend something unique. 

Ugh, I sound snotty and mean don’t I?  If you’re reading this Very Short List, please forgive my tone.  I promise Change in ’09, it’s just the ice outside and the cold and the latch on the back door that shriveled up and now won’t close, and the prospect of another 9 hours of Mario Kart until I can lock everyone back in their rooms.

It’s not you, Very Short List, it’s definitely me.

The one thing about snowflakes and having an inch of snow on the ground is that I find the morning news much more entertaining.  There’s drama and intrigue and scary storylines.  People stand on hills and point to cars driving slow, everyone’s got a theory, lots of people warn.  I do like all that.

I’m staring at a very phallic-y hole in the wall right now (we started to remodel, then stopped).   

Hasta Revoir

It’s 21 degrees outside in my driveway.   I know, I know, you live in Montana and it’s 500 below zero and you’re crying icicle tears for me right now.  But it’s a dry cold there, mine is a cold cold.  And because of the cold cold the back door won’t close.  The little thing that comes out, you know, the boy part; it’s shriveled up, it won’t latch.  A. had similar problems with his car today. 

Yes, I know, it’s 2008 and some people have a thing called a garage, we do too.  It’s just busy at the moment holding all the junk we should throw out.  So A. couldn’t take his car, he had to take mine, and I’m sure he’s ramming people in the rear as I speak.  The children and I, then, are stranded.  There’s a truck but no one has the keys and we’re almost out of Cheetohs and there’s no orange juice.  I wanted orange juice when I woke up.

You see?  I have hardships.  They’re terrible ones.  There’s no school again, it’s the second day of that and Wii, from overuse, will probably blow up.  I could walk to Annie O.’s but there’s ice.  I live in one of those towns where it doesn’t snow so no one has ice melting stuff or plows.  I could walk in the ice and fall, or I could stay here and send her livers.  (That’s Facebook talk, M.)

I could also make cookies, I have all the stuff. 

A. is at work and I miss him, I hope he calls.  I know.  This in spite of all the hits and misses and near uncertainties of 2008.  I think he could light me on fire and I’d still miss him if he left. 

Are you wondering about my book?  If I’ll make it or not, if it will get out before next year, in spite of the cold cruel world and other obstacles of life?  I think it will.  These days of no school and making lunches and snacks won’t help.  Still I feel confident.  I think it will. 

You’re welcome to bring me soup today, though if the ice melts I’ll walk to The Sage.  I’ll take the kids, they like the soup, too.  In lieu of soup, then, throw me a pancreas.  A pancreas will do just fine. 

We have an inch of snow and ice so everything’s closed.  A.’s here and we’re watching Presidents dodge shoes.  I have 15 gloves that don’t match, I might get new ones.  Oh, and I have a cold.  It’s right at the beginning, when you know it’s coming and you’re screwed.  I’m drinking juice.

Mehmet Oz is on the Today Show … no wait, not The Today Show, the other one.  The one on CBS, anyway he’s telling you how to stay beautiful all day long.  Brush your teeth, have good breath, floss blah blah.  Posture, stretch, yellow light bulbs, lots of green and red.   

I’m listening to A. making business calls, it sounds funny.  And the cat’s eating my hair.  This is what goes on, people, when there’s an inch of snow and ice and everything’s closed. 

I’ve been talking to Pat on Facebook, who I haven’t seen since high school.  It’s fun, he’s a newspaper editor and he’s writing a book.  I think he tried to make out with me once at church camp.  I need to confirm it, though.  Do you remember that Pat?  It was some camp, there was a girls’ cabin and boys’ cabin.  You and Todd B., I remember, were there.  Todd was all over everyone and you were all over me.  Was that you?  I’m exagerrating for effect, of course.  Ratings. 

The Ideas issue of the Times Magazine yesterday mostly bored me, except for this. 

And that’s all.  It’s cold with ice and snow and everything’s closed and I’m taking the next five minutes to drink my coffee. 

Oh, there you are.  Hi.  Hmm.  Let’s see, where … to start.  Okay, nothing will be particularly relevant or thought out or in any kind of meaningful order.  Here we go.

McCoy Tyner was on NPR yesterday.  Was it Fresh Air?  I’m not sure, I just heard the promo and I really wanted to listen, I think he was on at 2.  What comes on at 2?  Anyway, I was driving and then I left the car before 2.  I have radio issues here, have I mentioned them?  I don’t get radio, not the stuff I want anyway.  I get a classic rock station from Corvallis, no, wait Albany.  The place where Brad’s from, I’m sure he knows it.  106-something.  Anyway, it’s fine to work out to, but that’s it.  I don’t get NPR inside, so I didn’t get to hear McCoy.  Yes, I could have streamed it, but the sound on my computer is out.  The sound works for iTunes but nothing else.  I’ve researched it, I need to reload drivers or something dumb.  I don’t, however, know where my disks are, any of them.  The nice man who sold me the laptop that I hate sent me off with a neat pile of CDs and told me never to ever lose them.  I laughed a little in my mouth right then, because if he knew me at all he wouldn’t have bothered with the disks.  Lose them.  Ha.

These are all boring little trivial things, aren’t they.  I know that, but here’s the deal:  1) I’m pretty sure none of this will get me sued, and 2) it’s kind of a boring little trivial day, don’t you think? 

I get to go talk to a guy at noon, a little before noon actually, and that won’t be boring or trivial but I’m not going to tell you about it until Monday.  It’s not a big secret, I just have questions and I’d rather tell you about him when I have answers. 

So we’re having this party, did I tell you that?  We always do.  Seven years out of 10, blah blah, I’m sure I told you.  I was so organized about it last year, we’ve been much more organized about it in the past.  And this year it’s not that we’re so disorganized, there’s just one piece of it that I doubt, the way it’s going, that we’ll get to and that piece is the inviting.  I don’t think we’ll invite anyone.  Sometimes you can’t do everything, sometimes things slip through the cracks.  I’ve ordered wine, I think the bartender’s lined up, I’m keeping it simple for food I’ve figured out all that — (oh, wouldn’t it be fine to fly D. in to do food?) — anyway, yeah.  I’ve scheduled the rug guy for just before so you won’t have to step on Scruffy’s dried messes, etc.  BUT, the inviting.  I just don’t think with my schedule that I’m going to get to it.  I have some of your addresses from last year, and some I don’t.  I made a postcard … sigh. 

I just really don’t feel like doing it, okay?  It’s not fun.  I have to walk all the way into the other house to use the printer, the printer is propped up on a box.  It’s supposed to be wireless but it’s not and, of course, my battery lasts for .007 seconds so it’s physically impossible to even get to the printer without crashing in a big fierce way. 

C. and I both got our hair cut yesterday without even planning it, total coincidence. 

That’s all I have. 

On Sunday, next Sunday, just come over if you want.  Don’t sue me (ha ha!)  Tell your friends to come, bring me backup CDs with my sound drivers or whatever.  Walk Scruffy while you’re here, I promised him a walk.    And honestly, that’s it.  That’s the best I can do for today. 

Dear Readers,

Yesterday a man, let’s call him X., wrote me a long, lovely and grammatically-flawed letter.  It was romantic in a way, to get it — a real letter, through the mail!  Upon opening it, I smelled Listerine.  

X. used big words in the letter; words like “actionable” and “defamatory,” he even used Latin words like “per se.”   X. also repeatedly used the word “blog” which I feel obligated to point out to him should not be capitalized.  ”Blog” should look like this, X.:  blog.  Not this:  Blog.   Unless, of course, it starts the sentence.

X. chose the passive over active voice, I generally frown on that.  But my pure delight at getting hand-delivered mail — a real letter! – made it easier to overlook. 

It also made me nostalgic.  I want to pay X.’s gesture forward, in fact, and send you a letter.  Would you like one?  I can’t promise it will be long, I can’t guarantee Latin or big words, but if you click here to send your address, I will today or tomorrow write you an old-fashioned letter, one with an envelope and a stamp, and no clumsily worded threats of litigation. 

Right now, though, a woman is waiting to color my hair.  I’ll tell you all about how that goes in your letter. 

Yours truly,

Teresa Lin 

To the concerned party who sent me letters about lawsuits, the post you weren’t fond of has been removed.  Trails left by internet cache, though, are beyond my control. 

Merry Christmas.

I had so much to say.  And now that I’m here, I’ve forgotten all of it.  That’s the problem, I need to work where people walk by.  I forget what I was thinking of, then look at Scruffy, and then I’m back to the same old shill: dogs and ants.

I don’t have a lot of time this morning, I’m due at L.’s by 9 for my latte.  I hope she knows to make it double, I need doubles, this engine can’t run on just one lousy shot of ground-up beans. 

Very Short List today is plugging a book by Pierre Bayard, he wrote “How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read,” which prompted M. to write this.  Anyway, he has a new book now, it’s called, “Sherlock Holmes Was Wrong,” and has mostly to do with (or maybe all to do with, I’m skimming) “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”  I’ve never read Conan Doyle, have you?  I’ve had people look down on me for that.  Do you?  Do you look down on me for it?  If you buy me a Conan Doyle book for Christmas — let’s, for convenience, make it the one Bayard writes about — then I’ll read it and by March I’ll have read Doyle.  It might change my life, it could make me new friends.  I’d still keep you as a friend, of course.  You bought me the book.

So Conan Doyle, double lattes, I’m planning a big salad today for lunch … Oh, and I’ve finished my Christmas letter, I didn’t send one last year and no one’s been the same since.  My synopsis, too — done.  At least until I look at it again and see it’s rot.  Do you want to read my synopsis?  It’s better than my book, I have to rewrite my book now.  You see how this goes?  It’s miserable.  Regardless, if you want me to send you anything at all today, click here and tell me what you’d like.

Oh, and tonight … tonight, right?  Go to Back Fence PDX, it’s at the Mission Theater, it will be very cool.  Click here for more about that.