Renovate

My parents rock! I just need to say that first. They have been visiting for the past two weeks to help us get Wes's new studio ready. My dad knows how to renovate, construct, re-do anything. Mom assists him, finding the tools he needs and making his life easier, but she also assumes other projects, such as the break room, which she has painted a bright yellow.

We have the studio space pretty much ready--with a bright red wall, a white wall, and kind of a Tarheel blue wall. The process has been rife with comedic moments, particularly with physical comedy. Dad banged his head four times in one day, Jonathon tried to push his head through a glass shelf, and Dad attempted to put his coffee mug on a glass shelf despite the glass sliding door being closed. Mom thought Dad should saw off the end of the cabinet that kept knocking into Dad's head, and Wes misheard Mom, thinking she was urging Dad to saw off his head. (That reminds me of a story a former student and current friend wrote. His foot got caught in a tree he wasn't supposed to be climbing during recess. When the principal showed us with a chain saw, my friend thought the principal planned to cut off his leg.)

I can't wait for people to see the studio. (It's the old Giradin Jewelry building on Patterson St.) I want it to look good so bad that I spent part of today on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor with Comet to clean up scuff marks. I thought an advanced degree meant never scrubbing floors with that intensity, but apparently, I was wrong. I kept telling myself today, "Use this as writing material."

Some chatters stroll into Hildegard's and sit beside us--of course. But they're talking about stuff on You Tube, so that might be interesting. You Tube has renovated Internet entertainment options. Hmm, a weird sound erupted. I thought it was one of the chatter's cell phone ring, but no . . . that was part of the music. Weird.

Speaking of weird, I wonder who the guy is who has been walking around the block and sitting off to my right. He walks around the coffee shop periodically. I wonder if I'm supposed to know him. I do that quick smile that says, "Hi, I don't have time to talk to you." And I don't. I have to write!

I LOVE that I have scheduled time for writing--even if it's just once a month. That beats not making time for writing once a month. Lindsi had to move away to write. Her computer didn't like us. It needed juice, and we don't keep that stuff around us. Her computer was jonesing for a hit, so Lindsi obliged. Okay, yeah, I'm just having fun now.

The music seems a tad loud; the lyrics interfere with my thoughts, but the music makes my toes tap. This song turns mellow, slow, and my fingers slow as well. That's weird. I wonder if we could get students to write more if we played fast-paced instrumental music while they wrote. That might be an interesting project--to explore the connection between music and writing.

I think Andrea may do something with that for her teacher demo. The ideas for teacher demos I've heard thus far intrigue me. We're going to have a GREAT summer. I can tell.

I scratched my face and realized my hand smells like Comet. It's not a normal smell for me, but one that takes me back to childhood. We used Comet to clean the bathroom and the kitchen. I rarely use it now, but Mom told me it would remove scuff marks. She's right, but it's a tedious process. I'd rather mop, but I've mopped that room at least three times without making a real dent.

I've been to Hildegard's several times the past two weeks. I brought my nephew for ice cream twice last weekend, and we brought my parents for ice cream twice as renovation breaks--mostly just to get out of the building. I thought I'd eat here tonight, but I wasn't really hungry, so I settled for caramel pecan fudge ice cream--two scoops. After all, Lindsi's pregnant, so I needed to celebrate. Lindsi will have company this summer: Amanda and Sonya. That's awesome--our first BWP babies. They're going to be great writers and readers with all kinds of fabulous stories to tell. I can't wait to hear them.

For now, though, I'll settle for the stories/ramblings/incoherent thoughts of Lindsi and Vicki with perhaps more to come from our other long-distance pals weighing in a bit later.