Just stuff.

I'm not blogging from my phone today, so maybe I'll spell things correctly and use correct grammar this time. Maybe.

Life has been chugging along at a nice pace. We've been doing stuff (I'm not going to say that we're busy, because we are, but we always are so why dwell on that. And I'm not even sure if busy is a bad thing anymore. I think that it just is.). I mentioned in my last post that we had friends over for a end-of-season cookout, and you saw the remains of the beverages consumed. What's funny is that I don't think I had even one glass of wine or a sip of beer all night. I was spending my time talking, or eating, or swatting mosquitoes. Man, oh man, the mosquitoes are still deadly, even this far into October. Another effect of global warming that we have to contend with.

After our cookout two Saturdays ago my family came up to visit. We went on a walk in Boston and then ate dinner along the Boston Harbor. I am amazed at how little Doug and I go into the city. Even when we lived in Allston we rarely went into the city. However, when we're there, we ask ourselves why we don't spend more time there. We complain an awful lot about it, but what do we really know about it? For example, there was a movie being filmed right outside the Old State House. A big-budget flick, too, with Ryan Reynolds and Kevin Bacon. Who knew? Probably people who spend their time enjoying their city rather than wishing they lived anywhere but here. So we are going to change our mindsets a little and we are going to start saying things like, "I like Boston," and "What a nice place to live," and we are going to see how this goes.

We learned that Maria, my youngest niece, wants to live in a city when she grows up. And she wants to be on Broadway. So this means that she wants to live in NYC. She is pro-city and knows this with 8 year-old certainty. I like that.

Maybe this will be our backyard someday; the Boston Harbor.

It fills Doug's requirements of being near the water. It could fill the requirement of being near a public transport line that runs more frequently than the commuter rail. It could also fill the requirement of allowing for a better commute. If the Boston Harbor were in our backyard, do you think we'd actually go on a cruise of the Boston Harbor Islands?

Dreams of water views and twenty-minute commutes don't stop us from keeping things alive and cooking at home. In an effort to live our values, we rearranged some of our living spaces. I don't have many photos to share with you because I'm waiting until the rooms are "complete" to show you the final product, but here's a photo to give you an idea of what we're doing:

Where's the giant TV? In the basement. Where's the bookcase? To the left of the plaid armchair. Where's the computer and table? Out in the sunroom again. Now we have a more formal living space, but I hesitate to call it a formal living room. We are not the kind of people who have "formal" spaces. It is really more of a library, or a study zone. I have been sitting in the armchair to study. Doug has been sitting in the vinyl chair to read. And, without the couch and TV in the living room, we are eating meals at the dining table. The change has been good for us; helps us to structure our time better. We aren't watching less TV, either; we just have it on more infrequently. We use other things, like the radio or record player - or nothing at all - as background noise. There's something very civilized and natural about this arrangement.

But there's nothing natural about Sherman's arrangement with his cone. He has a new one now, because he destroyed the cone he came in. Scratched it to death. Last Saturday when one of our friends came over to our house, he took one look at Sherman, who he had never seen before, and said, "Ew." Maybe it was the ratty cone that elicited that response. Maybe it was the crinkly ear. Or the runny eyes (which are runny because he can't wipe them, thanks to the cone). Regardless, the poor guy needs help. And we just can't decide if we want to pay for it, because it seems that the kind of help Sherman needs is expensive.

Decisions, decisions. Life is all about decisions. Here's one decision that I just made and it was so terribly easy to make - I'm going to bed now. I wish they were all this easy.

Having people over.

(Warning - like my last post, this post is being sent from my mobile device, so please pardon all typos.)

I really don't like the word "entertaining." Or, more specifically, I don't like the verb "to entertain," and the phrase, "perfect for entertaining." Or the phrase, "We love to entertain." I hear these phrases all the time on home and garden shows, the ones that showcase the people shopping for the home of their dreams. Their forever home. Their overpriced, top-of-their-budget, cookie-cutter home on the end of a cul-de-sac, with plenty of yard for the kids and dog to run around free. What does entertaining mean to these people? Bringing people over for some kind of song-and-dance routine?

Doug and I like to have people over to our house. We like people to come over and sit around and enjoy being in the company of other friends, family, or similar-minded people. We like to make sure they feel welcome and taken care of when they come to our home, meaning fed and watered. We like to make sure they have a clean place to sit. That's what we like to do. We like to open our house to others.

We did that tonight. We had friends over for an end-of-season barbecue. Hot dogs and hamburgers on the grill, a couple of types of salad, chips, appetizers courtesy of our guests, and plenty of wine and beer (most of which was consumed, as you can tell by the above photo). It was nice. Very nice. We really like having people over. We like bringing people together at our house so that they can enjoy it as much as we do.

I was thinking as I was baking and cleaning and preparing for the cookout that our house is too small for having people over. That we need a bigger kitchen. That we need a deck or a more convenient door to the patio for more seamless use of the outdoor space. But then I checked myself. Because our house is just fine. Better than fine, even - it is great. It is small and compact so people are forced to be close and socialize together. It is colorful. It is clean and comfortable. It's a home that reflects our personalities. Anything larger, anything more, would be too much. We don't need more. We have enough.

This is why I never say that Doug and I "like to entertain." That phrase reminds me of women who covet dual sinks in the master bath and granite countertops in the kitchen. Doug and I like to have people over. We like to bring people together. We like to do it in our little house with our over-turned plastic totes as tabletops. The day we start "entertaining" is the day we give up hot dogs. That would be a tragic day indeed!

Testing, testing.

I am trying out something new - blogging from my phone. If this is successful then imagine the possibilities! I could blog from anywhere about anything, and even post pictures (like the one here). Maybe, if I can blog anything from anywhere at anytime, I will actually keep up with this blog more.

I took the photo in this blog the other day when I got to work. I pulled my lunch bag out of my tote bag so that I could put it in the staff refrigerator, and I was struck at how elementary school it looked. I have mentioned this at various times on this blog, but as a kid I never wanted to be anything in particular when I grew up. Had no career aspirations, and, really, my only dream was to "be old," which to my ten year-old mind meant retired. I did, however, when thinking about being an adult, think that it would be exciting to have to get dressed up for work and wear shoes that clicked along the ground as I walked. I wonder what my ten year-old self would think about my latest choice of lunch bag. And maybe it's not the bag itself that seems so elementary school, though that pattern certainly screams first grave; it's really the label. My lunch bag is labeled in the same way it would have been labeled back in the day.

Maybe this is just more evidence to help make the case that one never really leaves one's childhood behind, and every day one is, at least a little bit, one's grade-school self. If this is true, then I am glad it's being expressed through my lunch bag and not my aqua-blue high-top LA Gears.