The other day Izzy was using the vacuum cleaner and called out over the noise: this vacuum is a D.
I assumed she meant D as in a school grade and nodded in vigorous agreement. Thrilled by the prospect someone shared my disdain for the feeble capacity of this appliance, I launched a detailed description of my secret vacuum fantasy, one that could inhale a fly off a wall from the next time zone.
Izzy shook her head. No, she said, D as in the musical note.
I froze. Oh. The pitch of the vacuum cleaner. The sound it was making.
Scratch the fantasy. Scratch me getting my hands on a machine that could suck the ennui out of housekeeping.
I walked over to the piano and struck the D above middle C just as she turned off the vacuum.
One and the same. And I mean exactly.
Did I freak out and gush and try to make Izzy wear matching lockets and start doing my hair just like hers?
Sort of. But that's nothing new.
Several moments later, as I was taking pasta off the stove and splashing it with cold water in preparation for a salad, Izzy approached and draped herself over my shoulders.
Some random thoughts I've been meaning to share:
1) This lovely and visceral description of a Canadian snowfall from Kimberly.
2) I've almost finished unpacking from our move...six months ago. Recently I put away this cherished copy of Fantastic Mr. Fox and remembered how awesome it is to read aloud to kids.
If you were to ask me: what would you rather have? Crazy amazing hair or your very own personal reader? I'd blanch and whisper: Would his voice sound like Jude Law's when he narrates a movie?? If you replied: No, more like Russell Brand's when he opens his mouth. Then I'd be forced to go with the amazing hair.
But I'd probably always second guess the decision.