"Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy"

 We are all very excited that J's brother Tim is getting married in April! I have many wonderful things to say about Tim and his bride-to-be. Yet, as excited as I am about seeing them joined in the sacred institution of marriage and in supporting him as a loving and encouraging family, I am even more excited about the backless dress that J is planning on wearing to the wedding.

I'm excited because I've SEEN it. She tried it on when it arrived, and immediately announced that she'd need to get something to cover up the back at the ceremony. She's probably right about that. It isn't that the dress is immodest or provocative--she just look DISTRACTINGLY good in it. I quoted Shakespeare upon seeing her, who said (somewhere in his works, I'm sure) "Hot DAMN!"

My assignment for wedding prep was to wear the black suit that I wear all weekend every weekend. (I'll have it dry-cleaned immediately beforehand, I promise.) But my second assignment was to find a tie that would complement J's dress.

This turned out to be a fun project. We ordered ties/vests/accessories for the boys in the same emerald green as her dress, and I looked high and low for something in the appropriate color and style.

I found, back in January, a silk tie with silver dots on the J. Crew website.

"There it is!" I cried. I quickly purchased it and then went back to thinking about J in the backless dress.

Several days later, we got a package in the mail. 

"My tie is here!" I announced. J came back into the library to see it, and we both looked in stupefied silence as I pulled a red dress out of the package. It was a lovely red dress--strapless and summery. Size medium. It was in a plastic bag that was clearly labeled "Green Silk Dotted Tie." But it was not a tie. There was no way to wear it around my neck.

I was on the phone with customer service, and found out that I couldn't do a straight exchange. I'd have to mail the dress back, and then they could refund me the amount for it. And then I could order a tie.

I mailed the dress back. The tie immediately went out of stock.

So I resumed my search of the internet for the Perfect Tie, and couldn't find anything. The whole matter fell out of my head for a few weeks, and then I checked again and the tie was back in stock! I quickly ordered it a second time and told J to watch out for a package.

She texted me while I was at a rehearsal last week: "You have a package!"

I asked her to open it for me and send a picture--I wanted to see it in person.

She texted back a picture of herself holding a red dress.

"What did Dad say?" Owen asked afterwards.

"I can't repeat that." J answered.

Customer service was contacted again. No, they were still unable to do a straight exchange. But they COULD overnight me a green tie for free if I purchased another one and sent the (second) dress back. 

The "overnight" ended up taking five days. But, look what arrived in the mail yesterday!

I haven't decided whether or not I should keep it this time. I think that I need a good, long look at J in her dress to decide whether the color matches.

"Here's yet some liquor left"

 

"It is indifferent cold, my lord"

 The sun was briefly out today, and even James is ready to be done with winter.

"Dad, I'm ready to be done with winter. And that's saying something for me."

(James sleeps with his window cracked all winter long and wears shorts and a t-shirt around the house.)

It's certainly stupid cold outside. I've been trying to run very first thing in the morning--even before I have my first cup of coffee. This morning I padded through completely virgin snow at 5 and didn't see anyone else in the neighborhood except for two dog-walkers down by the (closed for the season) ice cream shop. 

Our cardinal friends were back outside yesterday after having been gone for over a week, and I've also seen enormous dog footprints in the yard in the morning. (I'm sure that they aren't bear-prints.) Last year it felt like all the birds in the neighborhood all returned on one March morning, and we stopped school to watch and listen. That day might be just weeks away now.

Or it could be a frigid and eternal March. This is, inevitably, where we get suckered into believing that the winter is over.

Wendell Berry, "Winter Night Poem for Mary"

As I started home after dark,

I looked into the sky and saw the new moon,

and old man with a basket on his arm.

He walked among the cedars in the bare woods.

They stood like guardians, dark

as he passed. He might have been singing,

or he might not. He might have been sowing

the spring flowers, or he might not. But I saw him

with his basket, going along the hilltop.

"And from his mother's closet hath he dragged him out"

One of the noblest things that you can do as a homeowner is to convince yourself that some irksome and obligatory task is actually a fun privilege. (Help me out, Tom Sawyer)

I put "Clean out the linen closet" on our February fun calendar and even suggested that we play the Tetris theme as we sorted out months years of mess and neglect. It was SO much fun that I think the boys should take care of this very fun job the next time it comes up. (Est: 2032)

The first item of business was to get rid of all of the towels that had animal hoods on them, since we no longer have children so small that they need to be wrapped (giggling) up in a crocodile hood once they are removed from their baby bath. 

I sorted the cleaning chemicals, the travel toiletries, the replacements toothpastes, deodorants, and travel liquids, and refolded a dozen sets of various size bed linens, each of which is missing at least one component. 

I found a paper bag marked "Lush" at the back of the closet and remembered that several years ago I bought a bath bomb (avocado-scented) for J as an idea for a romantic date night and hid it away in the back of the closet. What I had failed to remember at the time was that our bathtub is the least romantic place in the house, and possibly the least romantic place in the entire western hemisphere. It is slow-draining, grody, scuffed and peeling-painted, mildewy, caulk-separating, germ-festering and generally anaphrodisiacal. It's probably a good thing that we never tried that date.

Also appearing in the linen closet were dozens of LEGOs (of course), pieces of pencils, a half-empty box of Saran Wrap, an EyeWitness book about music, and someone's Favorite Rocks collection.

I'm sorry that you all missed out on the GREAT FUN that was cleaning out the linen closet, but don't worry...I'll let someone else take a turn next time around. 

CATCH-22, Chapter 19

"Will a minute and a half be enough?"

"Yes, sir. If it doesn't include the time necessary to excuse the atheists from the room and admit the enlisted men."

President Trump Colonel Cathcart stopped in his tracks. "What atheists?" he bellowed defensively, his whole manner changing in a flash to one of virtuous and belligerent denial. "There are no atheists in my outfit! Atheism is against the law, isn't it?"

"No, sir."

"It isn't?" The president colonel was surprised. "Then it's un-American, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure, sir," answered the chaplain.

"Well, I am!" the president declared. "I'm not going to disrupt our religious services just to accommodate a bunch of lousy atheists. They're getting no special privileges from me. They can stay right where they are and pray with the rest of us. And what's all this about enlisted men? Just how the hell do they get into the act?"

The chaplain felt his face flush. "I'm sorry, sir. I just assumed you would want the enlisted men to be present, since they would be going along on the same mission."

"Well, I don't. They've got a God and a chaplain of their own, haven't they?"

"No, sir."

"What are you talking about? You mean that they pray to the same God we do?"

"Yes, sir."

"And He listens?"

"I think so, sir."

"Well, I'll be damned," remarked the president colonel, and he snorted to himself in quizzical amusement. His spirits drooped suddenly a moment later, and he ran his hand nervously over his fake orange short, black, graying, curls. "Do you really think it's a good idea to let the enlisted men in?" he asked with concern.

"I should think it only proper, sir."

"I'd like to keep them out," confided the president colonel, and began cracking his knuckles savagely as he wandered back and forth. "Oh, don't get me wrong, Chaplain. It isn't that I think the enlisted men are dirty, common and inferior. It's that we just don't have enough room. Frankly, though, I'd just as soon the officers and enlisted men didn't fraternize in the briefing room. They see enough of each other during the mission, it seems to me. Some of my very best friends are enlisted men, you understand, but that's about as close as I care to let them come. Honestly now, Chaplain, you wouldn't want your sister to marry an enlisted man, would you?"

....

"The hell with it, then," the president colonel asserted in a huff of independence. "I'm not going to set these damned prayer meetings up just to make things worse than they are." With a scornful snicker, he settled himself behind his desk, replaced the empty cigarette holder in his mouth and lapsed into parturient silence for a few moments. "Now that I think about it," he confessed, as much to himself as to the chaplain, "having the men pray to God probably wasn't such a hot idea anyway. The editors of the Saturday Evening Post might not have cooperated."