convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #18

i am talking to strangers

for my final breakfast of my holiday vacation, i made sure to order from the best bagel place in the world. it’s so good i rarely eat bagels anymore because this place (in the town where i went to high school) has spoiled me. i always make sure to get my fill of bagels when i’m at my folks’ house.

guy: is that your sister?

he pointed at baby mac.

me: no, that’s my niece. *points at sister J* that’s my sister.

guy: i’ve seen you both in here from time to time.

me: oh, yes, i’m here visiting for the holidays.

guy: yeah, you were here earlier this week.

me: i was. the bagels are so good here. i can’t resist them.

after just two visits in a week, i’m practically a regular. is it any wonder why i love this place? this never happens to me in boston.

 

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feelings

H2O deprivation

water deprivation is a serious thing because it leads to dehydration and crazy brain. i think (unofficially, of course) water deprivation is said to be a particular form of torture.

on new year’s day, the water stopped running at my parents’ house.

it was due to the wire in the well or something technical like that. i, of course, missed the texts from both my mom and sister J warning me of this fact and that perhaps i should take a shower at the friend’s house i was staying at before heading home and so i showed up tired from a late night of new year’s revelry / an early morning wake up call and wanting nothing more than a hot shower.

there’s nothing like beginning the new year with an unclean start.

the power and the internet and the TVs and the fridge still worked, so we were only deprived of running water. it was sort of bizarre to have all amenities except water because usually it’s that the power gets knocked out, taking all forms of modern life with it.

with this water-less hurdle in front of us, mom and dad ran out to the grocery store to pick up more gallons of water and made use of the bathrooms at the grocery store. sister J and bro-in-law T took baby mac shopping and they made sure to use the bathrooms at the outlets. sister E and i traipsed to the neighbor’s house to use their facilities and to borrow two gallons of water (for flushing toilets) because who really borrows cups of sugar? water and working bathrooms are the way we roll.

and later that night, we went out to eat for an early birthday celebration and it was then that my mom revealed my birthday gift.

the 2.5 jug of water.

simple. clean. efficient. funny. timely.

that’s how we roll.

and the birthday cake tasted just as delicious served on paper plates and eaten with plastic utensils.

(in case you were worried, dear reader, the next day, about an hour before i left to return to boston, the well was fixed and so, on the second day of january in 2012, the mumford family experienced the marvel of running water.)

 

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convos with strangers

conversations with strangers #17

i am talking to strangers, why aren’t you?

last week, i dialed the number for a spa local to my parents’ house because i’m finally going to use the gift certificate my friends gave me for my birthday last year.

me: hi, i’d like to set up an appointment.

receptionist: WOOOOOOOOOOAH.

me: *thinks to self: did i say something wrong?* uh. *laughs nervously*

receptionist: you’re the first person who’s called this week to set up an appointment. everyone else has been ‘can i get a gift certificate for christmas?’

me: oh, well, i’m calling to use a spafinder gift certificate, so i’m not that different…

we discuss the details of my appointment and with that all arranged, i hang up. since my massage isn’t using the full monetary value of the gift certificate, the remaining money has to be credited to this local spa because they can’t give me “spafinder” money back. (side note: spafinder is a general gift certificate to be used at any particiating spa throughout the country. pretty nifty, huh?) it makes sense they’d have to credit me money to their spa, but i’m not in my parents’ town all that often. i don’t want the money to go to waste.

i go to close the browser i had open to the spa’s information when the word prenatal catches my attention. my brain starts churning. i had a christmas gift idea for sister J, but you know what? this might be even better.

i redial the number for the spa.

receptionist: hello?

me: hi, i just called to make an appointment, but i’d like to make an addition to it.

receptionist: is this abby?

me: oh, yes, hi. can i add an hour prenatal massage for my sister?

receptionist: you sure can.

we then discussed the particulars of sister J’s pregnancy so they could assign the proper massage therapist for her. and with that i checked off the final item of my christmas present “to buy” list, happy that i was finally using my birthday money, but more excited that i’d be able to give sister J a tiny sliver of relaxation in a time that’s been fraught with craziness.

writing

in the kitchen, again

once upon a time, i was in the kitchen and i learned some valuable lessons about writing.

this time, *I* was involved in the baking of the cookies and somewhere admist the frosting, dipping, decorating, and rolling, i learned even more about the craft of writing.

first, you start with the raw ingredients: the story, the laptop, and/or the characters OR in the case of the baking, the frosting!

second, you begin writing OR decorating. the first attempts will be slightly disasterous, AS THEY SHOULD BE.

third, you read through the draft, fleshing out the areas you skimmed over in the hurry to get the story down onto the paper OR you try out some newfangled methods of embellishing the plain old frosting.

fourth, you read through everything again and fix plot holes and character motivations and dialogue and you make it RAZZLE DAZZLE for all those people who will be reading your story (you hope) OR you take out the piping instrument and add extra dollops and twirls and swirls to RAZZLE DAZZLE the guests who will be eating these cookies with us, as is evidenced by sister E’s cookie below.

fifth, sometimes there’s a bit too much in the story and it’s best to cut out your darlings OR good effort, bro-in-law, T.

sixth, after yet another round of edits, things are starting to stablize and normalize and a complete story takes shape OR the simplest icing can sometimes be the prettiest.

seventh, you look at the big picture make sure all the moving pieces and parts and characters and storylines fit together OR wow, that was a lot of hard work and that’s only 1/4 of the total number of cookies we decorated.

eighth, the story is complete with just the right amount frosting and sprinkles, wait, that’s the cookie. look at it. okay, my mom frosted that one. can’t you tell by the perfection? and the even amount of icing everywhere? and the same colored sprinkles that make it sparkle in a way that’s just different enough to be pleasing. she’s got a jillions years of experience, but still, look at that angelic cookie (literally). it’s goregous. basically, if i could write stories like she ices cookies, i’d be in business! the JK Rowling style of business.

epilogue: and then there are the pecan balls (the BEST mumford cookie recipe we’ve got going) and since they’re brother G’s most favorite cookie and since he and his family live on the west coast and since pecan balls don’t fare well in the mail, he had to learn how to make these in his kitchen. he sent us this photo: “93 pecan balls. All mine. Because I licked each one.”

“This is what kids look like after finding out their dad licked 93 pecan balls.”

moral of that story: you have to be creative in the way you tell the story or claim the cookies because with ALL the other writers and family members out there, you’ve got to make sure you get your piece of the pie (figuratively and literally.)

the end.