An update on yesterdays adventures

Well, after I signed out here, I dashed into the bedroom, grabbed some warm thick socks (black, which was sort of pointless, because under boots, who knows what color they are?)  I sat on the bed, yanked them on and ran out to the living room where Will was all ready to go.  I rummaged through the hall closet (No, my shoes are not lined up in neat little rows.  They were when we first moved in, but life has played havoc with them.) And found my boots.  On they went over my comfy hiking socks.  I grabbed my raincoat, slipped it on, tied it smartly around the waist, rather pleased with my problem-solving skills and my last minute quick-thinking adjustments, when I noticed my son standing by the front door, one foot on the stairs beside him, looking at me, with an odd expression on his face.

“I’m ready to go,“ I said, flinging the strap of my purse over my shoulder.  He didn’t move, and he certainly wasn’t opening the door and heading out for the car.  “What?“ I asked, suddenly feeling uncertain.  “It’s raining.  Why?  You think I shouldn’t wear the boots?  They’re pretty boots, sort of.“

“Mom,“ he said, in that voice that makes me feel like I’m a two-year old girl.  “You look like you’re going to a funeral.“

“What?“ I said, but I knew what he meant, the minute he said it.  A black sleeveless blouse and a flowing skirt, with sandals, no problem.  Add to it, a button up black cardigan, a black, calf-length raincoat, and big black rubber boots with a tiny rhinestone accent, and I looked like I just came from the old country.  All I needed was a rosary and a babushka on my head.  “Okay,“ I said, looking in the tall thin mirror that was in the middle of the old hall coat-rack.  “Maybe I should . . .“

“Change?“ Will said, helpfully.

We were running late now.  I ran back to my bedroom, flustered.  Grabbed something un-funnerial out of my dresser.  A bright red, bought on sale, never-worn-because-good-mercy-of-god-what-had-I-been-thinking blouse.  Ripped off my tasteful-mother-of-son top and on went this . . . thing.  So, floresently red that it almost made my teeth hurt, but there was no time to fiddle-faddle.  I already should have left 5 minutes ago!  I ran into the bathroom were there was a slightly larger mirror with Don on my heels.

“You gotta go,“ he said.  Like I didn’t know that?

“Is this too wrinkly?“ I fretted, pulling the fabric down, like that would help.  “Is this too wrinkly?“ Smoothing my hands over the fabric.

“I’ll put on the iron,“ he answered.

“No,“ I said, patting at it ineffectually.  “I don’t have time.“  He started to head out the door.  I knew where the ever-so-helpful-hubby was going, but there wasn’t time for that. 

AND THEN . . . I was hit with a brainstorm.  “Wait!“ I said, super excited.  “I’m going to blow-dry it!  I bet it will work.“ 

“I’m putting on the iron,“ Don said, and left, but that didn’t quell my enthusiasm.  Was I an-out-of-the-box-problem-solver or what?!  I whupped that ancient blow-dryer out of the bathroom closet and blow-dried that shirt.

It was nice and warm, and guess what . . . IT WORKED!  It was FAST!  All the wrinkles were gone by the time Don returned to the bathroom to tell me that he had plugged in the iron and set up the board.  GONE!

I felt so pleased with myself that I didn’t even mind that my bright red shirt was ugly.  It was wrinkle-free!

Anyway, after several hours in the car, Will driving some, me driving the rest.

We actually got to the city a few minutes early, so I stopped at a bakery and got a couple nice loaves of light rye bread, and in our walk back to the car, I noticed that I was the only person on the entire street that was not in summer gear.  Everyone was in flip-flops and shorts and sleeveless t-shirts and summery blouses.  The sun was shining exuberantly, and there I was clumping along in my floppy rain boots, rain coat flapping around my legs like a black crow. 

“Where did the rain go?“  I said, and Will laughed.  When I got to the car, I removed the boots and coat and put on my sandals.  Unfortunatly, what was going to be a tasteful hint of red, wasn’t.  I looked like a walking Stop sign with legs. 

Oh well.  At least Amy’s mother was nice.  And it was wonderful to see David and Amy again. (They were over here for Wednesday and Thursday, David’s days off.)

Not only that . . . but Dave took me to Oak Bay Bikes to see his friend, Derek, and I BOUGHT A BIKE!  A brand new bike with a basket for my groceries and a helmet and everything!  And I was going to get streamers too, but at the last minute, good sense prevailed.  That is not to say that in the future I won’t splurge on them, because 50 is just a few short months away, and if I can’t indulge in streamers at 50, when the h_ll can I? 

Will and I had a great little road-trip.  Cozy, companionable, with lots of good conversation.  And when we got home, I put a nice pot roast on the stove, with spices and red wine and cut up some vegetables and popped them in as well. 

Then I took my bike out and wobbled up and down the road a few times, trying not to squawk too loud.  I haven’t got the turning down and have to do a sort of straddle walk with the bike to face a different direction, but going straight(ish) I was finally good enough, to put Molly on a short lease and off we went.  Molly was happy, and I was too.

I love my bike.

Posted by Meg Tilly on Sunday, September 06, 2009 in Chewing the Fat