Blueberry cornmeal muffins, with red papers. ha.
I think I might eat this one
So here’s the plan: Muffins & bananas for breakfast (any minute now).
Maybe a bike ride?
For dinner: Grilled shrimp & brats and that potluck broccoli salad with bacon (I am going to make my version with bacon, toasted almonds, raisins, shallots – and the mayo, vinegar, sugar dressing, yes, but way less sugar than the recipe says, and no cheese) and either a ramen & cabbage salad, or a soba noodle & peanut dressing salad. And strawberry shortcake.
The Shorewood Hills fireworks – probably bike over and watch from the Dept. of Transportation parking lot, like usual.
And I’ve got the last Grateful Dead show ever, July 9, 1995, playing in my iPod in the kitchen. I was not there – I was so fed up with the Dead at that point, Jerry was too drugged up, and the moments when you could be transported by the music during a show were too few, out weighed by the amount of discomfort, boredom, asshole deadheads standing next to you, and sour notes. My friends from Madison came down, two families (including a brother in law): 4 kids, 2 moms, 3 dads. I stayed home and took care of the kids, with one of the dads, Ward’s brother, who we called Uncle John.
I promise pictures later.
This day last year, I was wandering around feeling like it was the end of the world, because of the drought. Everything was dry and crispy.
This year, I have a falling feeling, too, but for different reasons. The weather has been equally scarey – too wet instead of too dry, flooding, water in the basement …. But this year, by coincidence, Mark’s forced retirement and the end of my inherited TIAA-CREF annuity both happened on June 3oth. I thought I was going to have two more months – I was sure the annuity didn’t run out till August. So the big shock came Tuesday morning when I was still in Chicago and the regular-for-the-last-9-years deposit to my account did not appear. I’m worried about the money – I’m petrified about the money – my income is dropping precipitously, and so is Mark’s. Knowing I have less money makes seeing everything old and potentially falling apart and breaking in the house more worrisome. Like the cracks in the kitchen floor, and the bare spots where John’s crutches suctioned up broken bits of tile last winter, and the water in the basement, and the walls that need paint, and don’t even get me started on the other house – especially because I really need it to stay valuable, so I can sell it and pay off the mortgage.
But what’s even harder is that it’s like losing my parents all over again. Sure, sure, I know I’m whining when I really have it good. I’m going from an upper middle class income to a just plain middle class one. I’m a spoiled Daddy’s little girl – I always had my dad to run to when there was any trouble or I needed money, and because he paid into his TIAA-CREF from 1957 – 1998, he left a huge inheritance and continued to help me from beyond the grave. But no more. I’m it now. I should feel lucky that I’ve made it to the great age of 57, almost 58, with so much parental support – but I just feel like the rug’s been yanked from under me – heck, more than the rug – the foundation.
