girl at large

Coasting

When did Alone become a dirty word?

Checking in with seaside community rental/condo manager: "T'aw, just you? That's too bad!" Excuse me? Checking out at Safe Way, explaining that I don't need a discount card because I'm just visiting the area, and no, not visiting friends, just the area: "Really? By yourself? T'aw." Is this a conspiracy? This happens everytime I travel alone, even for just a 'weekend' getaway across county lines. And the worst part? It's from WOMEN. Only women. Men never ask, never comment, never "T'aw" (imagine sad puppy face). I beg you, ladies, remember that we can be independent. We can travel alone. We can work, we can have mortgages, degrees, car loans, we can vote...and for crying out loud, we can drive a car by ourselves to a hotel and Enjoy Time With Ourselves! p.s. What really bugs me is this....It never crossed my mind, not once, to be disappointed that I was alone for my getaway. I was thrilled. Driving curving, misty roads in my beloved little car, iPod loaded, puppy panting in the passenger seat, fuzzy slippers and hot cocoa mix in the back....excitment, happiness, calm was all mine....it never occurred to me that my enjoyment of these things should be diminished in some way because I was alone. It never does until I get "T'aw"-ed.

Mini Road Trip

Two days off in a row, a break in the rain and a little car languishing in park? I'm outta here!

There's not enough Ivory Soap in the world.

Usually, though no graceful dancer type, I can bend and single-hand scoop on our morning and evening strolls just fine. Plastic baggy in hand, a quick flip and the deposits are swiftly dispatched. Not this drizzly morning. I dropped my keys in...in, in....the dooty.

As Fate would have it.

Remember my Rowenta rave? That very night, while pressing my latest completed project with my new beloved iron...thwat pop!..It blew a fuse! What is it with Germans and power? After waiting in the darker dark for a few hours, the building manager finally returned home. Fuse-less. (My heavy-duty wonder had MELTED the fuse, a complete replacement required). I was desperate. Come on, we've got 15 minutes til it closes, I'll drive you to the hardware store myself! So, despite the prime real estate parking space, I moved the car to get light (and Imac, and TV and CoffeePot and GermanIron and oh man, how did we get by without electricity?). With great relief, in half an hour, though my primo parking spot was gone, I had all my equipment buzzing and humming with life again. The next morning, when I drove away from my in-the-boonies parking spot, I went round the block where I had been parked the evening before....to see that a Huge Tree Downed by Wind Storm Destroyed Two Vehicles. ! That iron saved my little car. One German looking out for another.

Bersitis Be Damned

I finally finished this fancy schmancy frilly tablecloth, a present for my grandma Eileen. It's cotton thread, 1.75mm hook, 48 motifs to make a 60" d round. It was intended to be done in time for Christmas, but the attack of bersitus cost me more than four weeks. I don't think she'll mind. I'm just so glad it's done, at last!

It's a fine machine, it makes ironing a pleasure. Really, I'm being serious here.

I had an encounter in Target yesterday (yes, I only seem to be able to go as far as Target on my days off, the weather here encourages nesting with an unstoppable force) that the marketing department of a certain German manufacturer would have loved to have overheard. My dear, beloved Rowenta had been lost--lifted really, by a renter in Savannah. I don't blame the renter for taking the superior machine, use it once and who could blame her? In its place was left a sad, generic model that could barely warm tea, much less press a shirt. This inferior iron, in its despair for being despised, had finally flung itself off the board, dashed itself to cheap plastic bits on the floor boards below. So, I was inspecting the Rowenta offerings in the small appliance aisle. I was not alone. The other shopper looked at me, and said, "You must get a Rowenta." Turns out, her 15-year old classic Rowenta had just yesterday finally died. The look on her face was of real loss. I knew that look. We chatted and shared stories of our treasured tools, praising their qualities. The Accuracy--wives all over the world wish their husbands were this accurate with liquids. The Reliablity--the Synthetic setting never scorches. The Heft and Feel---the plate always glides. We had a moment. After some discussion of the preferred model (oh, how we yearned for the Professional!), we wished each other well with our new machines--as if wishing each other well with new marriages, as if we had shared this moment at a bridal shop.