Windsurfing. Spain. Hen Soup. Days 11 + 12

Since I'm new to the silence thing, I'll be the first one to admit I don't always know what to expect. So when I say what I'm about to say, realize I am not doing so with any sense of of authority: I beleive I am entering the phase of silence when you become a stereotypical representation of your former self. Or of June Cleaver. Or both.

I am woman. Hear me cook. Watch me clean.

I write this from my sparkling apartment, where a hearty cornish hen stew is bubbling on the stove and a loaf of fresh french bread is baking in the breadmaker (Note: this is not Evan's pawn-shop breadmaker. He...thank God...asked for that back. This one is on loan from the Shannon Tomkie kitchen appliance archives). I have scrubbed the kitchen. I have scrubbed the bathroom. I would scrub the bedroom if the swiffer wet-jet would just take it like a man and move smoothly over the carpet already.

On Saturday, my fun activite d'independance was a planned walk with the dog around the Cranbrook nature trails followed by a visit to the Shrinking Cities exhibit at the Cranbrook Art Museum (Sarah, it was really interesting, thanks for telling me about it!) The dog was visiting her grandparents for the weekend, though, so I had to walk Evan instead. The effect was, however, roughly the same. Happy-go-lucky creature on a short leash in the woods. JUST KIDDING!! It was nice tho.

But walking a dog?! I'm 23! Shouldn't I have had more...what's the word...ambitious Saturday afternoon plans? Like...dunno...windsurfing or, umm...visiting Spain? I should have visited Spain on Saturday. Or, at the very least, I should have planned to visit Spain and gotten deterred by a really great bag of Dorito's and a Discovery Channel special on ghost ships. Definately more apropos.

So I'm worried. I'm worried that I've gotten old without noticing.

I'm worried I'm going to come out of silence an old lady. One that smells like cornish hen soup.

But on the brighter side, I am enjoying my matronly activities. I crochet, I run at the gym, I read in cafes and cook all the time. I guess being a party of one is one grown-up party. And until I save up the cash for a windsurfing weekender to Spain, I'm going to have to enjoy what I've got.


Now Listening:

Quelqu'un m'a dit, Carla Bruni