Today Was Too Much Fun

Like Ricky Gervais, I am being highly ironic. I am most definitely NOT having too much fun today. Why not? I hear you ask, because you are that most wonderful of Blog Reader: good at sympathetic pretension.

And if you're not, well, by all means pretend. I'm okay with that.

First, I slipped on some really slimy Post-ModernTimes Garden Produce out on the deck. I fell into a towel from when I'd cut the boys' hair, which had been sitting out on the deck in the rain (for longer than I care to tell you about but they had hair cuts over two weeks ago). It was, umm, airing. In the rain. That takes all the hair off it, you know. One less thing for the laundry. Anyhow, the two intersections were more than my Jane Austen self could stand: slimy compost + yucky towel = BeamMeUpScotty-itis. And when my bruised vanity whined to the kids they said what Richard had said earlier "You should have put that stuff in the compost LAST YEAR. That stuff is OLD. No wonder you slipped on it. It's already composted. And Dad's been telling you not to leave hair-cutting towels on the deck - remember that time the bees started nesting in that towel last spring?"

Hardy har har. Funny, my family.

Then, the printer ink ran out. At a Desperate Moment. A Critical Juncture. The black cartridge, it seemed. I refilled it. It left a residue over the next page I printed. A really gross BLACK residue. I should have refilled the COLOUR cartridge, I thought (note to self: let the printer know next time you refill a cartridge so you won't do this again). I then refilled the colour cartridge. Turned out I was - SIGH - wrong when I determined that particular thought. It was NOT the colour cartridge. It was my printer being ornery and old and exceedingly cantankerous. I dripped my florid way into the bathroom and watched the cartridge drip into the sink. My bathroom sink, my lovely white and clean bathroom sink, was suddenly awash with dark green ink, a peculiar green which diverted me temporarily with its amazingly lovely greenness, at which point I tossed the blotting tissues in the toilet to watch the colours diffuse and gosh was THAT fascinating but it didn't fix the printer, so I returned to the Scene of the Crime and contemplated its imminent death.

A few Q-tips, a couple of "Clean Printer Heads" commands, and some "Why don't you keep track of when you refill the cartridges?" comments from the Teenager later, my printer was like Lazarus - returned from what had once seemed Certain Death.

Phew. I won't mention what the Teenager said when he went into my bathroom and saw the green and yellow unflushed toilet water. Suffice to say he wasn't quite as enchanted with the idea of Colour Experiments in the toilet as I was.

But it WAS cool.

Then lunch beckoned. For my kids - I was still reeling from The Towel On The Deck Incident and, not for the first time, wished there was someone else here to make lunch.

And dinner.

And maybe even breakfast tomorrow.

But alas, it was not to be. I might be a Jane Austen Heroine but I do not have Jane Austen assistants or servants around to maintain the fantasy, sadly.

So I made lunch (the humble tortilla, rolled up with peanut butter and jam). Afterwards, we went for a walk. Blustery winds. Blustery rain. Cosy hats and mitts. We threw many a stick into many a raging creek. We watched the clouds scutter. I contemplated my new boots and, for the first time that day, felt glad.

When we came home I watched this video ( mockumentary about eating sushi in Japan). FDPG and I laughed rather immoderately, considering. More gladness.

And finally, when I was standing in the kitchen thinking that I wanted to eat Japanese food for the rest of my life but wondering what the hell a Japanese dinner looked like if it didn't involve sushi or noodles, a very large pileated woodpecker landed on the deck.

On my hair-cutting towel. He preened a bit, then glanced over at me and squawked a couple of times.

He didn't sit there long enough for me to get a photo of him, but it was long enough for me to realize one thing:

He liked my towel. My horrible, wet, hair-covered, hair-cutting towel. He was complimenting me on my Towel Leaving Habits. It meant that he had a nice soft landing pad for his giant toes.

I KNEW I'd left it there for a reason.