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…and the way you adjusted the rearview mirror, excellent!

When I was very young, I used to write “About The Author” blurbs about myself in preparation for the day when I’d be famous. Well, okay, who am I kidding — not only when I was very young. All throughout elementary school, junior high, high school, and even college, I wrote them, on paper and in my head. I looked through my old writings in the hopes of finding one or two to quote here, but no luck. I remember what they were like, though. “Sage Tyrtle lives in Northern California. She is in fifth grade and spends most of her time alone. She loves to read and sing and watch tv. Her favorite book is The Secret Garden. She owes everything to her fourth grade teacher, Ms. Randolph.” Every time my life changed I’d rewrite it. Every time I moved, every time my father got a new girlfriend, every time I had a new crush or hated a teacher, or adored a teacher, I would rewrite it. I realized the other day that for the first time I can sit down and write an About The Author that people will actually read. Now if I can only figure out which page of my web site constitutes the back flyleaf…

I’ve been reading a novel all morning about people with children divorcing, remarrying, having new children, having boyfriends, having girlfriends, and although I’m trying my very best to read it in a detached way it’s dredging up some pretty unpleasant memories. Some good memories too, though. Like how one weekday morning my dad accidentally locked us out of the house and we ended up going to McDonalds for breakfast, and the food was terrible but we had a great time anyway. I think the most ironic paragraph in this book (and in my opinion it’s not at all meant to be ironic, it’s meant to be very Heartfelt and Oh Pity Us We Are So Downtrodden and Trapped) is the paragraph in which the divorced hero, who has one eight year old daughter, and the divorced heroine, who has a teenage son and daughter, are bemoaning their awful fate, to be stuck with three children who are in the way of True Happiness, but wait — all is not lost, because they only have to tolerate the teenagers a little longer, and the eight year old has to grow up some day, and what do they want to do with all this wonderful, glorious, newfound freedom? Yes, you guessed it. They want to have a baby. It reminds me of male animals who kill all of the current litter in order to force the female into heat again so that they can father a new litter.

Last night we went to the grocery store and the library, I drove, and when we arrived I was dying to show my favorite librarian the new keychain I’d been given, which is the flat shape of a coffee mug and has this quote engraved on it: “‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’ — T.S. Eliot” but she was busy so I plundered the new Agatha Christie videos instead. I remember that when I was eleven years old and visiting Kitey I started reading her collection of Agatha books, which gave me nightmares, and I still giggle over how traigic I must have seemed, saying earnestly, “I like those books, they’re scary but so interesting…I wish I had a dictaphone!” and she had to explain that a dictaphone was nothing more than a tape recorder and that I did in fact already have one.

When we arrived home I parked rather wildly because I was nervous, and Todd went ahead to put away the groceries, I stayed behind and re-parked the car on my own. Quite thrilling. The last time I drove a car by myself (okay, okay, you couldn’t really call what I did last night driving, more like forward/reverse forward/reverse steer steer steer forward — FUCK! I thought I was in reverse!) was the day I got my driver’s license, back when I was seventeen, and even though all I did was wander around the neighborhood it was such a feeling of open-ended possibilities. As if I could drive all the way to Florida if I wanted to.

From the silliness file:

(Sage is driving. Todd is in the passenger seat. Sage has asked Todd to point out when she shifts particularly well, or starts off spectacularly, so that she knows when she’s doing things right.)

Todd: Wow! That was great! Seriously, it’s like something clicked, you’re driving so well tonight. Good downshift!
Sage (smiling): Thanks, sweetie.
Todd: Good job downshifting at that light, really.
Sage: Hurrah! I’m finally getting the hang of this!
Todd: Aw, I knew you could do it.
Sage: Ack! Help! The back window’s fogging up — how do I turn on the rear window defroster?
Todd (pointing): Don’t worry, it’s right there, push that button.
Sage (pushes it): Phew. I couldn’t see anything for a minute there.
Todd: Nicely done!
Sage (giggling): Are you actually complimenting me on my ability to turn on the rear defroster?
Todd: Oh. Um, I guess I was. Whoops.

Misers With A Heart Of…er…Gold

you could say my admiration went up in smoke