Lazy Summer Days

I am such a sloth.

Truly.

I seem to be in a pattern. I get up at 6:00, shower and dress for work, make coffee and head out the door after letting Socks out for a quick trip to the back yard.

I work all day. I have been hermitting, I admit it. I bring my lunch to work and spend it sitting on the top deck of the building while I read my book or if it rains, I eat at my desk.

I come home and make something simple for dinner. TV dinners. Soup. Oatmeal. Peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You would think that I would go a-blogging now that Bing isn't here to nag me after an hour online, wouldn't you? Nope. I check my blog for posts, smile at them, post them and then usually get off online and go outside to garden or read or just stretch out in the Adirondack chair. I have certain television shows that I have grown emotionally attached to for some odd reason:

1) The Big Bang Theory
2) Modern Family
3) reruns of Moonlight on thursdays at 8
4) True Blood (must. not. miss. ever. need. my. eric. fix.)

Sometimes I stumble on a movie that I never thought I would like but do...



Other times, I sprawl on the sofa completely naked and read.

I am amazed at how much I love walking around naked in my own home...well....when the shades are drawn.

I've lost a bit too much weight, my doctor says, so I am indulging myself with malts from Goodrich, two slices of pizza instead of one and peanut butter crackers for a late night snack.

My sisters are coming into town this weekend and we are all going to go see a Joan Jett outdoor concert. I plan to throw caution to the wind and wear a black leather almost mini skirt. Kohl eyeliner. Cherries in the Snow lipstick. And I plan to dance like I mean it when "Do You Want To Touch Me?" comes on. I won't revert totally to my head banging days; I will not be looking for someone to bring home with me. I mean, I do realize that I AM a married woman. Or as my tight assed sister in law, Felice, would say....a married woman of a mature age.

I can't help it. I just want to be that rebel that my sisters remember so well and that I haven't been since I became a mother. I can't party all night anymore (arthritis) but I can party for maybe two hours....

I will be leaving on Monday to go visit Liv for her birthday. She turns 11 on Saturday but they won't be in a civilized area until Monday, so I will see her then. I will be home on Wednesday. Socks was originally supposed to travel with me but Tinton reminded me that Lyme disease is prevalent where they are, so we decided not to risk it. Ticks can hide much more easily on a dog than a human. Sven will keep Socks company while I am gone.

Bing comes home on August 12. Liv comes home August 20th. Tinton and Nirand will accompany her home and then stay for several days so that Tinton can escort Liv to her first day of school on August 23. SIXTH GRADE. My daughter will be in SIXTH GRADE! How the hell did that happen?

Life is almost too sweet for me these days. I never ever thought that I would say that about this summer spent alone. I have missed both of my girls, but I have undergone a transformation too. They went on their physical journeys and I went on my spiritual one. I feel as if I know myself remarkably well now. I always knew myself well, but there was always this weaving of my motherhood and wifehood surrounding me. I found out that, when left on my own, I not only do well, but I prosper. I am incredibly happy in my own skin with myself for company. And that is not a paltry thing to find out about about oneself at the ripe old age of 52. I know that what I want in life is to be Bing's partner and Liv's mother, but also...that I am not anyone's other half. I am fine standing all on my own.

How liberating this feeling is.

My garden is bursting out happily, not suffering with root rot as so many of the other gardens are in this rainy hot summer. In three weeks, I will be ready to can and freeze.

I apologize for the shabby way that I have been blogging this summer, my dears. I suspect that I will be back with a vengeance when the air begins to snap with falling leaves, but for now....

I am basking in the sweet, lazy, hazy, hot, sun drenched days of summer.

Not dead or anything

Thanks for all of the e-mails asking me if everything is okay.

Yes. Everything is groovy now that Bing's sister has left the premises. She was supposed to visit for four days. She showed up a DAY EARLY. I was laying splayed on the sofa reading a magazine when I heard the doorbell ring. I peeked out my hurricane blinds.

Ugh. What the fuck was SHE doin' here? She wasn't supposed to come until FRIDAY. It was Thursday. It was almost time for me to get my weekly fix of Moonlight. Nothing like a good strong drink of Alex O'Loughlin to get everything all sweet in my world. And then...

FUCK. FUCKITY. FUCKITY. NO!!!! NO FUCKIN' WAY!

Shit. No way to ignore her. She IS Bing's sister. So, I pulled my face into a smile and answered the door. I asked her why she was here a day early.

"The class I was teaching ended early since we had such a poor turnout!" she exclaimed, her voice all squeaky and excited.

I asked her in my sweet sister in-law voice why she didn't call to tell me ahead of time. She smirked at me.

"SURPRISE!" she bellowed.

Yup. Big fucking surprise alrighty.

The five days seemed like ten and I am just now coming down off of them. She was just...yes...I'll just say it: A HORRIBLE GUEST.

She thought the a/c wasn't cool enough.
The bathroom wasn't finished yet? (Ok, I'm with her on this sucker. That bathroom needs to get done yesterday, Bing.)
Why didn't I have the GOOD oatmeal? This is not Quaker. She likes Quaker. This is steel cut Irish oatmeal. It is too gloopy.
Was I aware that the shower head in the shower is off center?
Doesn't it sound like fun to go to the railroad exhibit at the Durham Museaum? (Shit, no.)
Why don't we order a pizza? No, not black olives. No, not hamburger. How about pineapple and canadian bacon? What do you mean that is not real pizza?
Why doesn't your dog like me? (He has really good taste.)
Why don't you and Bing ever return my phone calls? (Sorry. I tell her to answer you. She ignores me.)
Do you think it is smart to just let Liv go gallivanting off with her father? I mean, he only sees her infrequently. Aren't you afraid that he will kidnap her? (Of course not. Now excuse me while I go frantically text my child.)
That bed in the guest room is sure lumpy.
Do you always sleep until noon on the weekends? Isn't that kind of indulgent?
You only have ham for lunch meat. I like roast beef.
Tell your dog to stop staring at me like that, will you?

It was not pleasant. So, I am recuperating. She is gone finally.

For one truly sickening moment it appeared that her flight home would be canceled due to a storm. I never prayed so hard in my life for the sun to come out. It finally took off three hours late.

I went home, took the dog for a long walk and took a nap. Being alone in my house felt like someone just gave me a present.

Felice also commented that I am not as pretty as I used to be. That I am beginning to look my age now. Not that I was ever all that gorgeous or anything but apparently I used to be much better looking.

Oh...and she thinks my glasses are "too young" for me. "You look like you are trying to look hip when really, you are a mature older woman now. Do you really want to look like a rocker chick?"

I sent an e-mail to Bing telling her that I hate her sister. I am ugly too. And oh yes, why do I insist on wearing either sun dresses or shorts and tee shirts when (in case I didn't hear her the first four times) I AM AN OLDER WOMAN NOW.

I never jonesed for a joint so bad in my life when she was here. I also wanted to drink many drinks and smoke cigarettes.

It is over. Finally.

So..who was your worst guest and why? Can they top Felice?

Crazy in Love

I am still chuckling.

Bing knows that I am listening to a lot of Snow Patrol right now. So...she sends me a video to watch in one of her e-mails a few days ago. It is a song by them called Crazy in Love. She writes:

I admit that I am not a huge fan of this group, sugar. But, hey, one of their songs spoke to me. It is this one and I admit that I got lost in thoughts of you and me and a bed when I was listening to it. What do you think?

So, I listened to it carefully again. I sometimes think that I have poor hearing, because I have trouble with lyrics but I really love the way their music sounds. Something in it just gets my soul breathing and my spine relaxing. I smiled as I listened, and I liked it very much, although I thought that one of the lines in the song was a little raunchy.

I wrote back to Bing and said that yes, I thought the song was a good one but reminded her that maybe this one should be a song that we don't want to play with Liv in the car. I wrote:

It's bad enough that she asked me what head was. Do I really want her to ask me what it means to "hump your face?"

In her next e-mail, Bing asks me where the hell I got THOSE lyrics? Not in Crazy in Love, for sure. She says she will listen to it again, though.

The next e-mail is pure deadpan Bing.

Sweetie, I think you need to look into getting a Miracle Ear or something. I think the lyrics you thought were about face humping were actually "hoping you page me." It is the only one that sounds remotely like what you thought. But, hey. Could it be that maybe you are just missing me? Dreaming about face humping, dear?

So, I googled the lyrics this time and as always, she was right.

Take a listen and see if you could have made the same mistake.

And care to share any of your mishearings? I am all ears...

Cold feet

It's odd. When Bing first left, I felt...bereft. Lonely. I spent the first ten days eating cocoa puffs and staring into space. Well...when I wasn't at work. Finally, Harriet yanked me up and forced me to go on what she called "girl dates" with her.

It was exactly what I needed.

Now...it is almost halfway through the summer and I am starting to get cold feet about Bing coming home. Liv coming home, I can handle. Being a mother is something that is so hardwired in me now that it never leaves my skin. I will slide right back into that role with no problems. I never lose my skill, being a mother is like having an arm to me. It's there, a part of me. I don't contemplate it too much, just accept it as part of me.

But, I am sort of getting worried about what will happen when Bing comes home because....

I have become very, very comfortable being alone. I am finding that I truly enjoy sleeping alone in our bed. We have a full size one, never bought a queen or a king sized one, so once in a while, it was pretty close quarters in there. I remember when I was single for all those years, I used to say that I could never co-habit because I liked sleeping alone too much. I also liked to say that while I liked giving the bed a work out now and then, it was always nice when they left, when the sheets were changed and it was just me under the covers with my late night reading again.

And then...well...Bing joined me in bed to have and to hold forever and I adapted. The bed was not mine, but ours. When she left, I felt like I was adrift on an island. The bed felt huge and terribly empty.

I adapted. Now, the bed feels like mine again and I don't know that I want to share it again.

I have grown to love my quiet, clean home. With Bing....it is all about music. And if the music isn't on, the television is. I got used to it. I never liked it, but I adapted.

Uh oh. Now, I don't know that I can go back to all that noise. Can I adapt again to the constant accompaniment of noise? And unfortunately, I realize that her music is noise to me. I just don't like jazz or reggae. Not much anyway. Now that I have been left to my own devices, I am immersing myself in Ben Harper, Sufjan Stevens, Kings of Leon, Lee DeWyze. And I don't want to go back to zoning out when Bing's music comes on. I want my OWN music to be playing.

And the mess. Ugh. Yes, Bing is....messy. She is just clutter prone and tends to let piles grow around her. Piles of mail, piles of school things, piles of clothes to take to Goodwill. Sort of like Pigpen on Charlie Brown. She just sprouts....piles. And I realize that I dislike piles. A lot.

I saw a preview for a movie based on a book by Elizabeth Gilbert that I remember reading and liking very much. And it suddenly hit me that this summer, this time all on my own, has been like my own epiphany. My own private reckoning.

I have not grown to simply enjoy my solitude, I have become giddily adoring of it. I wake up to the alarm on weekday mornings and it is still hard, but getting up and getting myself to work is infinitely more easy than getting up, getting Liv ready for school and doing the whole goodbye ritual with Bing. I lollygag with my first cup of coffee, sitting with my robe loose over the tee shirt that I sleep in, out on my back steps. I sip my coffee, eat my yogurt and look at the sun just beginning to shoot rays over my vegetable and herb gardens, my roses, my bleeding hearts, my poppies. I always put one small splash of cream in my coffee and it is pretty to look at. The dark roast turns into a lake of tanned brown. Sometimes I make a piece of toast too and slather it generously with peanut butter or honey. The honey often drips into the web of my hand and I lick it off carefully, like a studious raccoon.

I listen to my cds on the way to work. I used to listen to books on tape but this summer, I have been carefully meandering myself through music and discovering what I enjoy. I listen to old Cat Stevens cds, new Snow Patrol ones and sing along crookedly with Ben Harper, Lee DeWyze and Sufjan Stevens.

Work is work. There is work to be done and once the white coat goes on, I become the face of the professional, ready to tackle the different hoops that I must jump through. I keep a stick of golden cocoa butter in my desk and in between appointments, I slather it across my hands. I keep hemp oil in my desk to slide across my lips from time to time.

After work, I drive leisurely home. The key word here is leisure. I am in no big hurry. I sometimes meet Harriet or pick up my mentally retarded (and yes...we say mentally RETARDED in my family) niece to go get a slice of pizza.

My evenings are journal worthy. I work in my garden, the oppressive heat of a prairie summer pressing less acutely on my back as the sun begins to weave off the day to go home to rest. I pick a perfect roma tomato, a green pepper and a small cucumber for my dinner. The tomato gets drizzled with olive oil and broiled. The pepper is eaten in raw strips and the cucumber is dunked in milk and vinegar. I bought a bottle of champagne last weekend and told myself that it was so much bullshit to save it for an occasion. I have been drinking it with my dinner, be it yogurt, Mrs. Grass chicken noodle soup or vegetables from my garden.

Socks and I are lazy together. When I garden, he prowls the yard, his eye sharp for rabbits and squirrels. Sometimes we sit in the Adirondack chair together. I read and gently rub his belly. He is shameless, flopping over on his back to present his big dog belly at me, his eyes growing dreamy as I scratch his stomach. I hum under my breath, call him all kinds of silly names: my dopey dumpling, Mr. Bellyboy and Ernie Poafpybitty.

He has stopped sleeping on Liv's bed, his head hopefully straining for sounds of her. Now, he sleeps on the rug next to my bed, sometimes, when it rains and thunders, he moves to the foot of the bed, telling me in dog language that he is protecting me. I see through his alibi. I understand the need for pretense to protect one's ego.

I sometimes watch television, but it is not a nightly occurrence. I watched The Big Bang Theory one night. Another night, I caught a Seinfeld re-run.

I know that when Liv comes home, I will easily slip back into my place with her. But, I worry about whether I will be able to go back to my life with Bing without feeling just a little put upon. I have cold feet about my marriage promises. I admit that I am letting distance get between us. She e-mails frequently and I always promptly answer, but I don't share much. Sometimes, I will tell a small story about watching a rabbit nonchalantly nibbling on my petunias as I sat not six feet away and how instead of shooing him away, I watched his little mouth work neatly and succinctly over his treat. I share small parts of my day. I skip the larger picture, the one where I am reveling in my freedom to have large pockets of silence in my day.

I lay in bed at night and imagine her hands on me. Her lips. But, I can never seem to stay with the fantasy. My body is not in need of sex, so I seldom even bother with masturbation. Instead, I allow my mind to wander to song lyrics, to wondering about silly things...like how interesting it would be to have a 900 number that you could call when you felt like you needed a hug, an ear, a remote listener. For times when you felt like talking but didn't really want to bug your family or burden them with your inner volleyball. A number to call when you need to talk, but don't wish to be analyzed by a therapist or to have a friend feel the need to talk you down from whatever ledge you are stuck on. A stranger who listens but doesn't know enough about you to make any judgments.

I love that first pressing of toes into my sage green bamboo sheet at night when I tuck into bed.

I am so very afraid that I am not missing Bing properly. I feel as if I am betraying her by enjoying my solitude like this. And yet, there is a feisty ache inside me too. It's the need that I have had since childhood to be alone. And I feel justified, too. Like...so the fuck what?

My friend, Nirand believes that as it gets closer to mid August, I will start to feel the pull of missing Bing again. I hope he is right. I really do. Because, what on earth will I do if I can't get back to that place of us?

That post where Maria admits that she might as well be a 15 year old boy

Oh. God.

Harriet came over for dinner and a movie tonight. I told her to bring over something interesting, something to sink our brains into. I specifically instructed her to bring something that Bing would never sit through, a documentary or a chick flick, maybe something similar to Kinsey or Out of Africa.

So she brought over Superbad.

Told me to just shut the fuck up and watch. I was ready to roll my eyes and be just so above it all. I settled in with my diet Dr. Pepper and pretzels.

The movie started.

AT one point I was laughing so hard that I nearly had soda pop come flying out of my nose.

Harriet and I cackled so hard at one scene that I am quite certain that the line "What is that stain on your pants?" is going to send us into hysterics over and over again.

I loved this movie. I laid on the floor laughing like a hyena. I was literally gasping at one point.

I will NEVER watch this with Liv. And I don't even know if I can watch it with Bing. It might ruin my rep for being the serious, sophisticated movie watcher in our house.

But, God...I am learning so very much about myself as I adjust to my summer alone.

I've learned that I like the television off most of the time.

I've learned that I can kill large spiders who slide out of my bathtub drain with my bare hands.

I've learned that I can put gas in my own vehicle.

I've learned that it is okay to listen to music all night long and then start bawling because I will never be able to wear a little black dress into a bar again and get lots of very nice stares. At my age, I am fighting varicose veins, am wobbly in heels and my arm and stomach muscles are no longer firm. If I walk into a bar wearing the clothes I wore when I was 23, I would get long pity filled stares. But, I can still listen to music and remember.

I've learned that I actually like Anderson Cooper and will watch his show at night instead of anything else.

But, what I have learned the most is that I think I have a fifteen year old boy living somewhere inside of me....

Because I swear, I am STILL laughing over this scene. I was laughing just watching him trying to look cool and dance. And then....later...GOOD HELL...I was a goner. Laughing so helplessly and hard that my stomach muscles ached.



So, what's your dirty little secret favorite movie?

Conversations

Sven, one of my favorite neighbors, came by to visit last night. He will be a senior next year at a west coast college, has a football scholarship and is beginning to chafe at the reins now that he is nearing the finish line. He leaves to go home next week for summer football camp and shared that he was ready to just "get on with shit." Like most of us when we were 21, he is aching to get out in the real world. His mother is encouraging him to go on to law school. He is not so sure. He will graduate with a degree in economics, his girlfriend graduating nursing school at the same time. She is a California girl and he suspects that they will be moving to Orange County so that she can be near her family and he, near her.

Sven and I sat in my adirondack chairs, glasses of cold chardonnay in easy reach. We talked about how it is so hard for grown ups to watch children grow up.

Sven:Remember when you took me to get my driver's license when I was 16? My mom was sick and you offered to drive me there. Liv was in first grade, I remember that because we had to be done in time to go pick her up from school.

Me: Oh, yes. I remember. You kept missing questions when I quizzed you in the car and I was secretly worried that you were going to flunk big time on the written test, but you got every single one right!

Sven: I did? I don't remember that, just remember that I passed and I was sweating bullets the whole time I did the driving test because the examiner was this little scrawny guy who kept making jokes about how dumb jocks were. I guess I looked like a jock to him.

Me: You were! You were like that Jacob kid in the Twilight movies, except that you were blond. When I met you, you were 12 and kind of a chubby kid and then you hit 14 and suddenly you were like...this brawny logger or something.

Sven: You know what I remember most about that day when I got my license?

Me: Nope. What?

Sven: After I passed the test and we were walking back down the block to your car? We had to cross a busy street and you instinctively reached over and took my hand! Like I was five! And here I had been feeling so smart and old and accomplished....

Me:(laughing) I DO remember that. But, what I remember most is that you LET ME take your hand and even let me hold it until we crossed the street. I knew you would be a great adult then. You were already kind to little old ladies....


Conversation with Liv

Liv: So, we had shrimp fajitas for dinner at this Mexican restaurant last night and I think I got food poisoning or something. I woke up about two in the morning and threw up. A lot. And Mama? Dad was great, he acted like a real Dad about it. He held my hair and asked me what you did when I got sick. I told him that you wiped my face with a cold washrag and so he did that. And then he tucked me back in and said he'd sit on the edge of my bed until I fell back asleep, in case I needed anything. And you know what Mama?

Me: (strangely choked up)What honey?

Liv: When I woke up the next day, he was sleeping on the floor by my bed. He said that he wanted to be sure that I was okay....I felt better so he made me some blueberry pancakes. And he used honey instead of syrup and you know, Mama, I think I like honey best too.

Me: Oh, sweetie. I'm glad you are having so much fun.

Liv: Dad and I have found some really pretty rocks for your garden. How are the vegetables doing?

Me: Good! They miss you, though. They miss the way you weed like a little fiend...

Liv: Mama? I have a question. You know that Kings of Leon cd that you like? Well, we were listening to it when we were driving one day and there was this line in one of the songs that talked about head while I'm driving and I asked Dad what head was and he took the cd out right away and he turned beet red and said that he didn't know what that was. So, what exactly does head while I'm driving mean?

LONG PAUSE.

Me: Um. I...um...I don't know.


Lame, I know. And I know my daughter. We will be revisiting this. But, I did make a note to myself to NEVER listen to Kings of Leon with her in the car.

Conversation with my bff, Harriet.

Harriet: I can't believe you said you didn't know! You little coward.

Me: WELL. What should I have said? I don't want her to think that we listen to dirty songs. I guess...I just...well...I never thought too much about lyrics before. And she took me by surprise! Seriously, what should I have said?

Harriet: You should have told her that it means, well...that it means...like paying attention.

Me: (snickering) Oh, RIGHT. That is a MUCH better answer.

Conversation with sister in law

Felicity: (who is from Chicago)So, how about it if I come keep you company next weekend? We can go out to dinner, have some girl talk and maybe take a little trip out to the cemetery to put flowers on my mother's grave...

Me Well....wow. What a um...very lovely...um idea. It will be so nice to get a chance to um...visit and um...stuff. I look forward to that!

(close up of Maria silently banging her head on the table and screaming silently at the ceiling....NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!)

Chasing Cars

I feel as if I have to re-learn everything. How did this happen? I lived alone happily for decades, even stumbled around before co-habitating because I didn't want to lose my privacy.

So, how did I get from a to b? How did I get from a solitary loner to a woman who feels just a little bit crazy when left alone?

I never expected this.

I have discovered that there are some aspects to being alone that I enjoy muchly. (I know that is not a word, but I just say fuck it, it works.)

I enjoy watching whatever I want on television when I want to. Which, surprisingly, is very little. I have only occasionally turned it on. But, I am very grateful not to have it blaring at me just because Bing wants it on.

I am rediscovering music. I went cd shopping and spent a goodly sum. I never used to care that much about music. Bing has as many cds as I have books and that is a LOT. My own stash is small. Not anymore. I have discovered that I really, really love Kings of Leon, Oasis, Snow Patrol, Sufjan Stevens, Ben Harper, David Cook and many, many others. I find myself listening to one song and then another and another. I am stunned by how much is out there and how much I have missed. I have also discovered that my music taste is not even close to Bing's taste.

Which pleases me. I like being on my own musically.

What I am missing has surprised me.

I expected to miss sex. I haven't really missed it that much. Instead, I miss the everyday coziness of having the inside of my wrist kissed, catching a smile across a room, a playfully leering wink when I get out of the shower. I miss the smacky goodbye kisses, the more lingering goodnight ones.

I thought that I would miss going to movies together. I don't really miss those either. I miss the smaller moments together, the short calls at work asking how my day is going. I miss having Bing ask me if I saw the weather forecast. Will it rain today? I miss having her put gas in my car, loading up my change purse with quarters because she knows that I sometimes need a snickers bar or a diet Mountain Dew to get me through the rest of the day at about 2:30.

I miss the exchanged amused looks when Liv says something precocious. I miss being pulled down to lap sit or share a bite of toast. I miss the occasional bunch of violets or a single rose on my pillow after an especially rambunctious night of lovemaking.

I miss having my collar straightened before I leave the house because I am always in a hurry and always mussed. I miss the way she bends down to tie my sneakers good and tight because my arthritis is bad today and I can't tie well.

I miss seeing her round up the driveway after her run, the dog loping along beside her, her hair spiked with sweat and her tee shirt with dark rings under the arms.

I miss her catching the alarm before the loud Mexican music that we set it on bugs me too much. I miss the foot rubs as we watch the 10 o'clock news.

I miss wasting time together, asking her what a ten letter word for anxious is and knowing that she probably knows.

I miss the private jokes, the way she looks at me and says "Do you want me to buy that turkey?" which is a two decade old joke about a friend of ours who promised to buy the Thanksgiving turkey when we were in college as her contribution towards the dinner and then feigned surprise when we expected her to buy it at the grocery store. Now, whenever one of us is feeling lackadaisical about performing a chore, we say that to each other and the other one has to laugh.

I miss her saying, "I could tell you was mad...." Another private joke that has to do about visiting the deep South and eavesdropping on a lover's quarrel in a KFC. Now, when one of us wants to make up after an argument, we can usually hit a ball out of the park if we preface the apology with "I could tell you was mad...."

I miss the arm slung around my hip in sleep.

It isn't anything big that I miss, it is the small everyday things, the chasing cars together in our heads, just laying together and forgetting the world for a while....

Oatmeal can fix so much

A hard day.

The computer isn't working. I checked with Bing in e-mail. She told me to "clear my cache." I have no idea what that is.

Anyone care to help? I have a MAC. When I log on, my home page is Yahoo. I get there through Firefox. But, when I try to log on, it comes up

SERVER NOT FOUND.

It does this over and over and finally comes on randomly after I log out and log back in about ten times. Any ideas?

Until then, I will just make a bowl of oatmeal, read and listen to my new favorite band, Snow Patrol.

Oatmeal can make just about anything seem ok.