Warmer Climate
I am not particularly proud to admit that I spent a full two hours in the wee hours of Saturday morning perched on an ottoman watching ants go in and out of the Terro ant traps I laid out for the occasion. I had a glass of WINE, even! And later, a few bits of dark chocolate! It was like TELEVISION, watching these little creatures go in tiny and come out with huge fat bellies full of delicious, delicious poison — bellies so fat that they could barely make it back into their nest, which I’ve discovered behind the windowsill in the sun porch. And more than once, I rubbed my hands together with mad glee and at least twice — oh, at least — I called Adam down from upstairs to check out the action. “Nature at work!” I would yell up to him. “You’ve GOT TO SEE THIS!”
Never mind that “nature” was actually us, with our cruel, murderous intentions and pancake-syrup laced with Borax stuffed in a plastic case.
This all took place around 1 a.m., when anyone who is still young, prurient and single is out at the bars, dancing the night away with tequila sunrises and saketinis, while I was wearing yoga pants and an old Depeche Mode T-shirt clutching a glass of (cheap) wine watching ants carry translucent stripey abdomens of poison back to their queen. It goes without saying that I am now seriously considering an ant farm.
Enter a series of non-sequiturs, as usual:
One of my friends has an odd habit of defining every high-scoring word after she says it. I can’t decide why she does this — maybe it’s because she’s a teacher, maybe it’s that she thinks I’m dim, and I’m not sure what the word means. It’s also possible that I’m not reacting properly, for she often uses these words as a punchline of sorts, as if she’s testing me to see if I get it. It could be that I’m not responding fast enough, and she’s afraid she’s misled me. Oddly, she does not do this condescendingly, which seems incongruous, but there you go.
Either way, it drives me a little nuts, for I have yet to hear a word out of her mouth that I don’t know — the only one I puzzled over for any length of time was thaumaturge, and now yes, please, go look that up and tell me if its use is EVER NECESSARY, because it isn’t. Sometimes an extensive vocabulary is best used judiciously, unless you’re steeped deeply in academia, where such talk is necessary to engage in a lexicon-laden pissing match.
Anyway, instead of enjoying our usually lively conversation, I spend the majority of our time together listening for words she might have the urge to define and arranging my face in the best semblance of comprehension I can muster. Friday afternoon, in fact, I interrupted and preempted her with a definition of “masticate” because I sensed she was about to, and because, yes, HELLO, I UNDERSTAND, but wouldn’t you know, she went ahead and explained it anyway.
By the way, Eat, Pray, Love is over and done with, and Split has been devoured like an ice cream sundae, complete with brain freeze, for I ate it up far too quickly. I do this, sometimes, with things I know I’m going to love, and I’m both intensely gratified and deeply disappointed when they’re over, for who the hell knows when Suzanne Finnamore will publish another novel? Three in eight years do not a prolific author make. But the fact remains that Finnamore is one of my writing heroes, if not THE writing hero of my entire life. No one, and I mean no one, has ever constructed such beautifully rich sentences in so few words, and she makes me want to be a better writer — in fact, she makes me feel like I CAN be a better writer, and I don’t know why that is, but she does.
That being said, please don’t start with Split, if you’re new to her. Otherwise Engaged is the best place to begin. Start there. Maybe now is a good time?
Which brings me, by the way, to the fact that ages and ages ago, I joined Goodreads, and never really used the account. I like the idea of it, in theory, but like anything, I need other people to make me pay attention to it. Thus far, my only friend is Lara, so if you’re a member and feel like friending me, go right ahead. You can make fun of my abysmally pedestrian literary taste and I can siphon good books to read off of your no-doubt superior selections. A win/win for everyone!
I hope you had a great weekend. Personally, I’m about to pass out, as I took the dog for a three-mile walk today (I have to stop treating her like a golden retriever — the girl can’t take it), and both days, we found ourselves at the driving range, hitting golf balls into nowhere in the hot sun. It’s like summer here in Vermont, which thrills and terrifies me, for if it’s this hot in April — seriously, all windows in the house are open, and I’ve worn skirts and flip-flops, like Florida — what the hell do June, July and August hold for us? I should add that the hottest day of my life was in Bennington, VT, at my brother’s wedding. In June. There is no air conditioning here, anywhere. We’re screwed, I know we’re screwed, don’t remind me.
Happy Monday!
*Snow Patrol
18 comments April 20th, 2008