It's just that I had such lovely plans for this day. It was a day brimming with possibilities...and suddenly I find myself back at home, waiting for the plumber to arrive. Which, if I pause to consider the heroic deed he will bestow upon our house, makes me one of the luckiest girls in the world.
It's just not what I had anticipated for this day, that's all.
This morning I went to school with the girls and volunteered in Caroline's classroom, which is always a bit of a thrill. One little girl asked me why she hadn't lost any teeth yet, and if this blight would plague her into adulthood. Another girl showed me the sparkly blue extensions in her hair. Sparkly blue extensions! After all, darling, this is Las Vegas. A little boy, without warning, demonstrated the ability to crack his entire set of knuckles at once. Dear me, I felt so sought after, so adored!
I wonder if Caroline will reward me with one of those scratch 'n sniff stickers she's been wearing lately? When I asked her about this recent trend, she informed me they come in very handy when one happens to encounter a malodorous smell.
Good thinking, little one. You are going to take over this house some day. If it hasn't already happened.
But that is not the extent of my thoughts as I sit here, waiting and watching on this lovely Friday afternoon. It's been more than a year or so since I last read The Catcher in the Rye. That book. It sort of shadows me, or perhaps it is more accurate to say I am drawn to it in certain moments. I mean, it seems to be some sort of barometer for my state of mind...as in, if I am reading it, chances are I'm not exactly feeling gorgeous about life.
But it is also one of the very few books to make me laugh out loud. Every time I read it.
And it is also a book, when I see a copy in the bookstore, that leaves me with the irrational urge to purchase it again. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. But I almost always pick it up and flip through the pages, smooth down the jacket, just to make sure it's doing okay.
So you can imagine my reaction several years ago, while watching a movie on television, to see Mel Gibson play a paranoid cab driver with an apartment like a rat trap and a compulsion to do the very same thing. Made me feel gorgeous. It really did.
I was so taken with that story it made me want to read the rest of Salinger's works. But that is the caveat of a great novel...one shouldn't want or expect additional writings to resonate in the same way. I also once borrowed a copy of Salinger's biography, one that was written by his daughter. It wasn't long before I closed the book, realizing I didn't care for the interference of reality in the way I wanted to think of this creative source.
At any rate, I marked the recent passing of J.D. Salinger with a great deal of respect. That guy wrote one heck of a book. He channelled that book. And just thinking about it makes me feel like reading it again. In a good way. Perhaps I'll even go the bookstore and pick up a new copy to mark the occasion.
And all this because I'm still sitting here, waiting for the plumber to come sweep me off my feet...