Who's That Talking?

So have you ever been in an empty gymnasium after a big game?

A vacant church after a funeral?

If you have, you know that you can still feel the essence of people long after they've gone.   It's like the raw emotion and energy is somehow still reverberating off of the walls with no where to go.

Welcome to my house, ladies and gentlemen. . .

Because it seems that the quietness of my (semi) empty nest is still not sitting right.  It's as if the walls themselves cannot believe that a home which once held such life, laughter, mayhem and madness has been suddenly asked to settle into a state of nothingness.

And if the walls could talk, my friends, they just might ask. . .

What happened to those girls?  The ones who used to run and play and squeal and stomp?  The ones who learned to toddle, walk and run in these very rooms?  Who used to giggle as they sang their ABC's. .  .  clear the living room of furniture to practice their jigs and reels . . . trip over each other in a mad dash each morning as they ran to catch the school bus?  Where are those kids who stayed up through all hours of the night doing homework?  What happened to those girls who took half-hour showers and snuck into each others rooms to steal clothing?  The very ones who used to come home late and tiptoe past their sentry-of-a-father asleep in the living room? What kind of a house do we live in when a whole day can go by without a constant BUZZ announcing incoming texts?


Give me a second here.

Could it be that I miss them???

Let me take a trip to their car and see what it has to say . . . 

  

Countdown Expired

So in the beginning of the summer I thought it would be amusing to add a  countdown thingy to my iGoogle home page.

And today, my friends, my countdown expired.

Today was the day that Trigger and Ponzi both flew off to school, leaving Drip Dry and me (semi) empty nesters.

And if I told you what the week leading up to today had been like, you would . .  .

Forget it.

I had been fighting back tears for two days now. . .Grew a stress-induced cold sore resembling the chain of Aleutian Islands from the corner of my mouth. . . Spent a guestimated $2,000 in clothing, haircuts, dorm room wares, toiletries, mani-pedis, and school supplies. . . sucked down the contents of a full bottle of wine and cried myself to sleep last night. . . and transferred another $1,000 to fund their Flex accounts so they could purchase books.

And so this morning, at about 10:30, the dog, Trigger, and I waved goodbye as Veggie and Drip Dry left to settle Ponzi into her first year of college.

And by about 10:45, I had the sheets off of her bed (would have been in the washer too, had Trigger's entire wardrobe not still been in there) and had armed myself with a big black garbage bag to scoop up all of the errant tags, bags, tissues and sticky boobs that had been left behind in her packing frenzy.

And then, with her room neat and tidy, I started to feel a sensation that I hadn't felt in quite a while. .  . warm and fuzzy like. . .

It was a sense of orderliness and I liked it.

And, like a relapsed junkie, I quickly tried to get another fix.

But Trigger was still enveloped in her packing phase and you can't rush greatness.

And so I waited.

And somewhere around 2:00 p.m., the dog and I stood on the front porch and had a mother/daughter moment as we watched Trigger's boyfriend drive her away too.

And at precisely 2:01, I discovered that she had forgotten to take her pillows with her but waited until she was safely in a neighboring state to tell her, 'cause God knows I didn't want her coming back to get them.

And then I donned my HazMat suit and proceeded to disinfect her room.

And that poor clothes washer which had been working overtime for the last two days was put to work once more washing sheets, mattress pads, stray thongs, and the mountain of dirty bath towels I found tucked away in her closet.

And then I cleaned their bathroom.

And then I brushed the dog.

And then I realized that I could purge the refrigerator.

And scrub it.

And then I took out the garbage, straightened the book shelves, febreezed the cat, vacuumed the rug, emptied the dishwasher, fluffed the pillows, tried to vacuum the dog but she would have no part of it, and took a shower myself.

And then my mother called to see how I was doing all alone in my empty nest and she asked me,  Did you spend all day cleaning their rooms?  That's always what I used to do.  It made me feel better somehow. . .

I supposed that you could say,

that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree,

before she rushes to sweep it up. . .

How It Was that I Needed Just a Little Bit More than a Hair. . .

So this morning, in order to prepare for what will soon be our empty-except-for-the-boomeranger-but-she's-never-here-on-the-weekends nest, I thought it might be nice to actually do something with Drip Dry.

You know. .  . like, together.

But the problem is that there are very few things that we both enjoy.

He likes golf, exercise, and health foods.

I like cheese, bagels, blogging, and reading.

Sad to say, the only interest we both heartily share is affiliated with alcohol consumption, but it was 8:00 a.m. and, after some back and forth, we decided to take that option off the table.

Now I made the suggestion that we go to church like many couples do, but he quickly refused - even when I reminded him that it was probably the only place in town serving wine at 8:30 in the morning.

But wine or no-wine. . . Drip Dry was not going to church.   In fact, he insisted on going for a run instead, while I - in my sainthood - opted for the hair-of-the-dog route.  But we did, however, agree to meet up later and go to the Sunday morning farmer's market together.

Splendid.

Except that I forgot all about the embarrassment factor that comes with shopping with my husband.  How bad could it be? you ask.  Let me recount just some of the things that came out of his mouth when others were in earshot:

Hey look what that lady bought, Liz, how come you never buy that?  

Garlic?  I've never seen garlic look like that!  Yes, of course garlic upsets my digestive system. 

Seafood!   Do they expect you to believe they raise fish on farms? 

Who's that guy over there, Liz?  No!  Don't look now!  I just want you to tell me who he is.

I've gotta text Ed right now to tell him I'm in a sea of humanity. S-E-A   O-F    H-U-M-A-N-I-T-Y!

I know they all have their teeth, Liz! 

Oh look!  The cheese booth. . . I suppose you're going to want to stop at the bread stand next???

$2.99 for six ears. .  . let's see. .  . that's like. . .  like. .  .fifty cents an ear!  That's waaaaaay too expensive for corn.  It's a good thing I'm here with you.  I have to teach you how to economize.  We'll be retired soon, you know.

Oh, and who's that guy standing right there?  You know him from church.  He's the one married to the lady with the big. .  . 

Hey!  Why did you leave me standing there?

No, don't leave that way, Liz!  This way is much closer. . .  just crawl under that table there between the two stands and we're home free!

Aha!  Now we get to see where they get the stuff from.  Look at those boxes.  I told you . . . this stuff doesn't really come from farms.  It comes from boxes!


Needless to say, I have already scheduled his tee time for next Sunday morning.