Sorry for the delay in posting. Monday I took the boys for eye appointments, and I’ve been helping with Band Camp at the high school.
Monday, July 23: Humid, hot, muggy. Bleah, it feels like August in Florida.
And, yeah, I know what August in Florida feels like. When I was growing up, my dad the CPA was entitled to three weeks’ vacation every year. Of which he only took one week, and always in August, because when my mom would start planning summer family trips he’d say, “Sure, third week of June is fine,” – and about the second week of June, he’d be saying, “No, I can’t do it next week. I’m too busy.” So she’d put off the trip a week, two weeks, a month… and he continued to be too busy. It would go like this all summer until my mother would say, “Ronald, if we don’t go anywhere by the third week of August, we won’t get to take a family vacation.” And she’d fix him with the Mom Stare of Comply-or-Die. He’d sigh and rearrange his work schedule. So we’d go on vacation the third week of August, in ungodly hot muggy weather – to Nags Head, NC, or Virginia Beach (which in the 70s was absolutely filthy with cigarette butts and horseshoe crab shells and beer pop-top tabs that could cut your foot, though it’s been cleaned up now), or to my aunt’s house in Knoxville, TN. Twice it was to Orlando, for Disney World and Sea World and the Weeki-wachi “mermaids” and the fort at St. Augustine. The second time we went to FL, I was fourteen, my sister was nine and my hyperactive little brother – who’s now 6′ 4” and about 260 pounds, with tattoos and pierced ears and a goatee – was four. We drove to Florida from Virginia in a four-door VW Rabbit diesel four-speed hatchback. Five people in that cracker box of a car, one of them prone to motion sickness, and one of them addicted to He-Man figurines and pow-pow noises, and on the way there the AC conked out. GAH.
SOTD: Neela Vermeire Trayee. Which I thought I wouldn’t like at all, because I usually don’t like these reserved, intellectual, incense-woody things. However, this one is actually sort of friendly. You know, like the tall geeky guy with weird glasses who likes Star Trek, but not enough to own every single action figure plus a Klingon dictionary, and who turns out to have a soft spot for Springsteen and for carrying heavy items up dorm stairs for lit-poet-choir girls, and when you look close you realize he has pretty eyes and a great crooked smile.
SOTE: Dior Poison esprit de parfum. This stuff is sort of growing on me.
Tuesday, July 24 – Another Hot & Muggy. SOTD: JPG Fragile edt. Nice. Not earth-shattering or anything, and not the all-tuberose thing I was expecting either. There’s a big hazy veil of hedione over the flowers. It’s pretty. I wonder if the edp is considerably different.
Gaze and I went over to the fairgrounds during the get-in-free hour, to see if we could just take a peek at the photography exhibits and the judging results, but for some bizarre reason, the gate people (local staffers, not the carny guys who own the rides and midway things) weren’t letting anybody in. They cited the fact that there was a thunderstorm warning over the area, but I’m pretty sure they screwed up and got it wrong. The quote was “The state says we can’t let anybody in when there’s a thunderstorm on the radar.” I can’t imagine that the Commonwealth of Virginia would keep them from opening the gate to the fair because of the threat of lightning… I mean, Busch Gardens doesn’t stop letting people in when it storms. They just tell people to take shelter, and they don’t run the rides. DUH. What the county fair staffers should have done was to NOT LET PEOPLE STAND OUTSIDE. They should have done one of the following: a) passed out free gate passes to everyone standing in line between 2 and 3 pm, and then insisted that everyone go back to their cars to wait out the rain, OR b) opened the darn gate and then insisted that everyone take shelter in the food court areas, or in one of the several large buildings, while the rides stood idle. Also, c) updated the darn website so that people know not to leave their houses when the gates aren’t even open.
GRRRR. We left.
This evening, The CEO just sold a big wad of bull semen (geddit, wad? HA), for way more than we paid for it, because the bull has died and his breeder is starting to run out of stored stock. Woohoo, an investment gamble has paid off. SOTE: Shalimar Light.
Wednesday, July 25 – The CEO left for his trip to Denver with the National Cattlemen’s Beef Advisory Board, taking the GPS with him. We’ve decided to call it Miss Direction (geddit, misdirection? HA). SOTD: Uhhh, nothin’. Forgot in the morning. Later, I had a pulled-muscley sort of thing in my upper back that I don’t know where it came from, but it sure ruined the rest of the day, and I didn’t even bother with smellies until late in the evening, when I was craving the wonderfulness of Le Temps d’une Fete.
Thursday, July 26 – Hot n’ muggy. I mowed. SOTD: testing various things. We did some laundry, and then I took Gaze to his middle school football parent conference thingy… Looks like the VHSL (the state body regulating school sports) is really hitting the Concussion Awareness issue pretty hard now, and who’s to say that they’re wrong? I was encouraged by the points the football coach was making, about football being a reward for off-field behavior, and the student-athletes should be a) obeying their parents, b) keeping their grades up, and c) making good effort at practice, not to mention d) behaving as role models and good examples of leadership, hard work, and excellent citizenship in all the arenas of their lives, whether that is school or the bus or having fun on their own time.
Friday, July 27 – Hot. Muggy. Yep, it’s the tail end of July. SOTD: Parfums de Rosine Rose d’Ete. This thing is still very simple, a powdery-fruity rose floral that feels very cool and comfortable. It’s not distinctive in other seasons, but for summer it’s a favorite.
Thunderstorms in the late afternoon. Watched “Drumline” on the DVR with Bookworm and Gaze. I love percussion. Love it. Can’t wait to hear cadence… there are only a couple of seniors on the high school band’s drumline this year, and the section leader is a junior. It seems like a really small drumline to me, and the balance seems off to boot: two quad toms (or tenors, if you prefer that term), three snares, and four bass drums. I’d take somebody off a bass drum and toss them onto snare, if it were up to me, but then, I like a fat snappy snare sound. I’d also pull a couple of mallet players off the front ensemble (there are nine!) and march them with cymbals. Just my opinion, of course, and it ain’t my band. Mr. Butler does a terrific job of instilling responsibility and team spirit, which is to my mind more important than a nice fat snappy snare sound…
Saturday, July 28 – Hot. Muggy. Can’t believe we’re going to the fair today in all this hot mugginess. We cleaned up, and I put together some fruit salad. Then we had a gathering with some people from our small group at church. Ate hot dogs and hamburgers, and the kids played with Nerf guns. (Quote from Thomas F: “Where’s Jeremiah? When I see him I’m gonna SHOOT ‘IM.” Spoken like a four-year-old brother of an eight-year-old…) SOTD: DSH La Fete Nouvelle, nice hay-almond-musk summery thing.
The fair was hot, crowded, and full of people wearing clothes so skimpy and strange that I’d immediately collar any child of mine wearing them and yank them back into the house to change – i.e., normal for our county fair. I heard one Virginia Tech college student say to another one, “Hey, you oughta see the fair. That’s when all the freaks come out.” True. I saw more piercings and tattoos and belly buttons and cleavage-on-display and strange makeup on fairgoers than I ever see at any other time in this county! Not that dressing strangely makes you a “freak,” but it’s a style of dressing I don’t often run across in this conservative place. What bothers me more – a lot more – about the fair is the stunning number of people running around with toddlers and holding cigarettes in their hands, at about the level of the average two-year-old’s face. Grrrrr.
The kids rode rides until I made them go home at 10 pm. Taz pretty much brushed his teeth, pulled off his jean shorts, and collapsed into bed, but Bookworm had been riding rides with a band friend of hers (her old saxophone section leader, as a matter of fact) and the friend’s boyfriend (one of last year’s drum majors), and was all chatty. I had to make her go to bed.
Sunday, July 29 – A little cooler today than yesterday. SOTD: Cristina Bertrandt #3, nice white mixed-white-floral thing. Good sermon today, and Gaze said on the way home that he would like to be baptized soon – wonderful news! We cleaned up Nerf guns and bullets and paper plates from yesterday, and did some laundry, and then Bookworm went off for the first evening of band camp. We watched some Olympics – men’s beach volleyball, swimming, women’s gymnastics.
SOTE: Opus Oils Dirty Sexy Wilde. Innnnnteresting. Not very Me. The CEO will be home late tonight, and this smells like a “dude” smell, so I’d probably better wash it off before he gets any funny ideas about it.
Oh, and I have a new favorite swimmer: Nathan Adrian is hot. Also very tall (6’7″). Also-also, he’s half Chinese (genetically speaking), like my niece and nephew Primrose and Curiosity. Bookworm says Ryan Lochte is cuter, but I disagree; I’d rather pinch Ryan’s cheeks and pat him on the head than ogle his muscles. (OMG, I just realized – I’m talking like a cougar. That is cougar attitude. Holy moly… see what those cute swimmers have DONE TO MY HEAD?)