I bought tulips, lilies of the valley, and hyacinths (they called me the hyacinth girl).
I wandered through Lowes, lingering by the pansies and their vibrant colors, and I stopped by all the loves streams and water fountains they had set up in a secluded area (the wind blows the water white and black). Now that it's spring (now that the lilacs are in bloom), my recurring obsession with home improvement stores is in bloom, and I tend to bring things home (she has a bowl of lilacs in her room).
The stream nearby is defrosted, so in the morning, when I drive by, the fog rolls off it (the yellow fog that rubs in back upon the window panes) and its like driving through a movie scene.
I'm listening to Ragtime right now (in a minute there is time for decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse) while Vor and I drink tea with the dog (talking of Michaelangelo).
And when I think about this blog, I think Dante said it best:
S’io credesse che mia risposta fosse / A persona che mai tornasse al mondo / Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse / Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo / Non torno vivo alcun, s’i’odo il vero / Senza tema d’infamia ti rispondo.
I watched this guy in the room. He was big and intimidating, and I knew what his game was. I watched as he tried to get the female attorneys to step out in the hall with him, and they all looked uncomfortable. I watched as he politely spoke to the men. It's a messy case, with lots of attorneys.
"I need to have a word with you." He's staring at me. Most of the attorneys have run to grab coffee or water on the break. He heads towards the door of the hallway, assuming I will follow. I remain exactly where I am standing, in front of the court reporter's chair. We are on a brief recess.
"A PRIVATE word," he emphasizes, when he realizes I am not following him. I don't budge.
"No." I cross my arms, in my best I am not threatened by you manner, and do my best to stare down at him, even though he is about six foot two. "What would you like to speak about?"
Suddenly, his demeanor changes. He's very polite, and very uninterested. I've made myself a hard target. I won't even bend a little, cave to a demand of going into a hallway that is perfectly safe, given all the police around. If I had made that bend, maybe he would have tested more and more, until there was no safe harbor. But I didn't. I made myself a hard target. The female attorneys he hasn't approached yet follow my lead.
But that means he moves on to someone else.
I am under no illusion that I am remotely safe around this guy. Outside of the courtroom, I would find the nearest police officer. In the confines of the courtroom, I'm okay. I'm glad that I've come to a point where I have the wherewithall to recognize a predator and his tactics, and I am confident enough in myself in the courtroom that I can tell someone where to stick it.
But a small part of me is just screaming. Why did it take me this long to know this? Why wasn't I taught as a child to recognize that instinct that is screaming dangerous predator and act accordingly? Why was I taught to smile and be polite? Would things have been different for me if I had known this sooner?
1. Yes. My mother caused a massive crisis at the Scrappy/PD (sister/brother in law) home by dropping her cell phone in the toilet without knowing it. Apparently, once the REMOVED THE TOILET FROM THE FLOOR the cell phone turned on, informed everyone it was out of battery, and then shut down. The jury is still out on whether that thing will ever be used again. I have a picture, but I won't post it, because I think the Internet would collapse. It's that disgusting.
2. Yes. I am totally losing it as a blogger right now. Not that this matters to my huge and ever increasing fan base--love you guys! beauty waves!--but I do try. I am so tired when I get home from work. I worked until midnight the other night, and from 7:45 to until after six pretty regularly. I am beginning to think to people should get a license before they have children, and I have seen some really horrible stuff lately. I'm truly, deeply offended and angered by the laws that place the rights of parents higher than the rights of a child to be safe and stable.
3. My sister... hmm. I am still in a tizzy about this. It looks like something that can be handled easily if caught in time, but it makes me worry. Alot. ALOT. I don't even really know what to say. I'm just full of low level panic right now, a low enough level that I have a grip on it, but not low enough that I don't know that it's there.
4. Telly. He's a Golden Retriever. I am dead sure of this. But really, he must have the jaw stregnth of a pit bull, because he has destroyed every hard toy in this house. These are things he should not have been able to break, but he did. My dog is a chewer. I have never had a chewer dog before. This is not good for this dog. Also, he steals my socks--usually my dress socks, the expensive ones-- and makes off with them like a bandit. He chews, hides, and swallows them like a drug dealer trying not to get caught by the police.
5. We have company this weekend. I wish I felt more social, because they are great people. I would like to park myself in front of the TV with the entire Jane Austen BBC series.
I'm sure I will have more to tell you about later, especially in reference to what I am about to say, but for now, it is sunny and beautiful outside, and I need to go enjoy that.
Ahem. I'm just going to say this in a run on sentence, because in cases like this, punctuation really takes away from the story.
My mother's cell phone has been lost for four days and turned up yesterday in the toilet pipes at my sister's house, where she has been recovering from her surgery, covered in --stuff-- I'm sure you can imagine, my brother in law had to remove the toilet bowl from the floor to get at this cell phone, and my sister sent me a picture.
Okay, fine, you can email me at graceandpressure [at] yahoo [dot] com. Don't all flood me with emails at once, you know. If you're emailing about craniosynostosis, put it in the subject, and I'll respond quicker. Deal? Deal.