... our pets heads are falling off

Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock Mark, Sidney and I are going to walk through the front door, lock the deadbolt and drive to Pennsylvania for half a week of Evans-family gathering, thus leaving behind this recent chaos and destruction that seems to be falling upon our heads.

When we walk out the door we'll be shaking ants from our feet coming from a steadily growing colony currently taking up residence in the kitchen. I shiver as I write it. A few days ago there were two itsy bitsy ants on the counter beside the sink. In the morning, more. We called our exterminator Bob, whose cell phone number is programmed into my speed dial, but his number had changed so we were unable to bypass the central office. "We're sorry, Bob is booked up until Wednesday afternoon." Keep in mind, we are leaving tomorrow MORNING. "Bob can spray outside the house while you're gone, and when you return we'll have him come back and spray inside." For what purpose are we spraying OUTSIDE? I don't care if there are ants outside, it's my dishwasher, utensils drawer and pantry that concern me.

We will load up into the Jetta, Mark's car from high school, and not our brand-spanking-new Passat because about two weeks ago the large plate that runs underneath the length of the car... fell? Came undone? Dropped? Dragged the highway for 30 miles. Due to the fact that its repair will cost in the neighborhood of $300.00, Mark climbed underneath the car and zip-tied it up. Solution for the forseeable future.

Once loaded into the car, we will cross the threshold of the driveway, which is now a river because our water meter is leaking. We didn't even realize that the water was actually bubbling forth from the iron plate on the curb by the driveway until this afternoon at 5:45 pm, when we quickly called the city, whose representative promised someone would be out within two hours. They came at 7:45 pm (irony?), took the plate off, stuck a crow bar down into the water-filled hole, and then said, "You need a plumber to look at this." What is your job description? "The city won't be responsible for this issue unless the leak is within five feet of the hole." Dear Lord, let it be within five feet. Mark and I spent the ensuing hour calling plumbers to find out who could come tomorrow in the morning, if they could fix the issue while we were either en route or settled in Western Pennsylvania. When I talked to Vic, he said this: "Hm, that doesn't sound good, but it's fixable. Unless, you don't live in Ardmore do you?" Yes. "Oh damn." Fab-u-lous.

I'm taking deep breaths. We will leave tomorrow morning at eight o'clock and pray that on Sunday when we come home our house is still standing.

outer space and a new baby boy.

I swear lately it feels like I am in outer space. The temperatures have finally broken, but for a while there it was like sun-walking. I do realize it was hot across the continent, but inland NC heat is like walking from air conditioning (if you are so lucky)into one of those heavy, prickly, kind of bendable electric blankets - it's on you, under you, all around you and down your throat. I actually gasped for air when I turned on my car and the AC tried to gust through, then drove to the post office where the thermometer read 107 degrees. This is something other-worldly. I haven't written much or edited much of anything in months, which also makes me feel stagnant and shriveled like a raisin (ironically created by the beating down of the sun), though I have been voraciously devouring literature since the spring. I believe writing and reading literature are two sides of the same coin, and hopefully all of this reading is in some way informing me and forming my writing mentality, style and the purposes I hope to achieve. Something needs to tip me, though, back to the actual craft. However, where I am, in this ocean of stories, also contributes to the outer-space feeling because I am beginning to have trouble distinguishing reality from fiction, especially when I keep falling asleep reading. That makes everything exceptionally weird.

My dear friend just gave birth to her son three months early in pretty desperate circumstances, and I keep feeling like I'm there, with her, in Richmond, even though I'm here. Imagining her in the hospital being rushed around by doctors and nurses, her emergency c-section, her new baby son feels very strange. This can't be real, can it? I suppose it can. I keep dreaming and praying for him, for them, but it seems so out of this world. She is the kind of person who keeps calm and sails on. Her unflappability has always disarmed me because it is so different from the way I am, and I think that's why we are such good friends. When she found out her son would be born with some physical abnormalities a month and a half ago, she took it in stride, practically talking through the implications of having a child with some special needs who might undergo several surgeries in the first few years of his life. She mourned some of her expectations, but had this brilliant attitude, thankful for his life. And then, when she was put on a week of bed rest, followed by a week in the hospital where Tucker was ultimately born, she just maintained that steady faithfulness. Here now I can imagine her peering through the glass windows into NICU to watch his fingers open and close, his little head under the small beanie. It's out of this world.

As time goes by there seem to be an increasing number of circumstances that blind side us and I'm more and more cognizant of the imperfection of this world. HOWever, I also think I am (we are) developing a greater love for life. There is more to fight for, and that perspective, the vigor it fosters, is something to be thankful for.