A Birthday Party

Last year, around this date, I was having a good day. I wrote a few blog posts, got my chapter finished, cleaned the house, worked out - productive city. 

Image courtesy of Fresh Wallpapers

At that point my husband suggested that we all go out to dinner. Filled with the beaming pride of one who had accomplished everything on her list, I agreed.

We went to a pasta restaurant and ordered salads. The waiter poured the wine we had brought into glasses. He lifted his in a toast, and here is what he said:

"Happy Birthday - to ME"

I had forgotten. His Birthday. I had been so blindsided with errands and minutia that I let it all take over the real world or what should be really important. 

Yes, I am a thorough dork.

This year, I wasn't about to let that happen. The thing is, with the new football schedule, Superbowl now falls right on or around his birthday. So I have to get ready for the annual S' Bowl party and then prepare for the big man's big day. (That's what happened last year... yeah, that's the ticket....)

We bought the wireless speaker that he wanted for his phone and wrapped it up. I made his favorite dinner, and a lava brownie cake. The man likes his chocolate.

Our daughter got into it and created a birthday video for Daddy, featuring a Springsteen song and everyone, including her American girl dolls and stuffed animals, holding up Happy Birthday signs. It was her Where is Matt? moment.

Daddy got home and ate hugely. He blew out the candle on his cake and opened his gift. I am certain his favorite part was Baby Girl's video, though.

Guess what? None of the To-Do items on my list got done. And that was just as it should be.

Laundry Day

NOT what my laundry room looks like.

Well, it's that time again. Actually, who am I kidding - it's ALWAYS that time. How does laundry happen so often? I swear I just filled an entire castle moat with clothes, towels, and sheets on Monday, so why is every single hamper in the house filled to the brim? Did some clothes wear the other clothing behind my back?

Here, in no particular order, are the kinds of laundry I wrestle each week:

1. Whites - The worst. Each load is filled with such bitty, piddly stuff. Socks, undies, and bras - those instruments of torture that wind themselves around everything else. 

2. Towels - The Tank load. Each towel weighs, when wet, more than my eight year old.

3. Sheets - It's winter, and my husband just looooooves his Kingsize flannel sheets. Of course, Mr. Man doesn't have to wash them, nor does he realize that each sheet takes an entire load. 

4. School uniforms - My kid is a parochial school student, which means uniforms have to be ready to go in the morning. Just when I have the system down, the principal schedules a "Walkathon" or some such thing, and I have to rush the gym uniform into the laundry that morning for wearing on what was SUPPOSED to be a non-gym-uniform-day. And, yes, I do have a special "The pants will be dried before the bus arrives" prayer.

5. Fave jeans - I don't get it. Kid and I both have our favorite pairs of jeans. As soon as they are washed and folded and in the drawers, some time warp occurs and they immediately have to be washed again. In other words, the good stuff is always laundry and not really clothes at all. If someone could explain this phenomenon, I would be very grateful. Thanks.

NOT what my favorite jeans look like.

6. Mattress covers, bathroom rugs, slippers - The rare laundry loads. They don't get done that often, and when they do, I seem to have to dedicate the machines to their use all day. 

7. Delicate / Handwash items - Never get washed. They live permanently at the bottom of the basket.

And then there are other issues, such as the detergent-to-softener ratio (I'm always almost out of one and the other is too heavy to lift) or the "Clothes Can be a Table Centerpiece" theory, when everything is washed, folded and just needs to be put away. That last step is  beyond my feeble strength, apparently. 

And the one lone sock - but no. I'm sorry I ever raised such a hideous subject. We won't even go there.

Gone Girl, a review

Last night I finished Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn. It seemed to be THE book of the summer, and contrary as always, I read it in the fall.

A friend of mine told me it was a great read, filled with lots of twists. I did indeed find plot turns at unexpected places, and the book itself had that elusive Compelling Factor that made me want to keep reading.

To be honest, I was a bit disappointed. For one thing, I couldn't emotionally connect with any of the characters except Boney, the police detective, and she was a background figure who appeared in only a few scenes. (I think I would have enjoyed the book much more if it had been told from her perspective, but perhaps it would have been a stretch.)

Maybe I'm too much of a traditionalist : I expected more of a cozier read, and Flynn instead offers a harrowing tale of marriage turned inside out. That's not a bad thing at all, and it betrays my own shortcoming, not Flynn's.

When Amy disappears, her husband, Nick, begins a search for her. The disappearance itself is strange, and it grows stranger as the book goes on. It is their wedding anniversary, and Amy always leaves him a scavenger hunt for his gift. In the book, the scavenger hunt is intertwined with the disappearance.

Amy herself is a wonderful creation. She was nothing like what I expected - she's no victim having the vapours, that much is for certain. And that is a wonderful, rare thing. What she is - what the reader thinks she is - gets turned on its head as the story progresses.

The ending is pure genius, but as I said, I never connected with any of the characters. I never read a chapter saying, "Oh no, oh no!" the way I would if I really loved the hero or the heroine. That's a biproduct of the twisty, turning plot, and I can understand that and the genius behind it, but the lack of connection was my visceral reaction.

Missouri, captured perfectly in the novel

As I said, it was compelling. I never wanted to stop reading it, which is a mark of an assured, professional writer. Flynn's prose is deft enough to bring you into several different worlds, from Manhattan to Missouri. I would recommend downloading the sample on Kindle to see if you like it first.

To be honest, I enjoyed Sax and the Suburb and Terps by Elaine Gannon much more (the second, alas, is out of print.) Sax is a jazzy murder mystery, and Terps is a tender, honest story of a marriage, and I was able to connect with the characters in those books right away. But I do appreciate Gone Girl as a completely different, new sort of detective story.