Things About Rain

It is pouring outside. Water is running in rivers down my windows and my driveway. I should be wearing my fire turnouts right now, sitting in a big fire engine, waiting for law enforcement to tell us we can go put out the fireball that was once a house way up Onion Creek Road somewhere. That's where Josh is. But it's raining, and my turnouts had a lot of spiders on them the other day when I was at the fire station. And there are plenty of boys on those trucks who aren't being attacked by their vicious uteruses (uteri?) or beckoned by their soft and fresh-out-of-the-dryer sweatpants to a couch full of Very Insecure Dogs. So I am not. I already spent the morning driving kids back and forth between school and sports physicals and I got very wet doing so. It seemed reasonable to me to warm up my coffee and the last piece of Peach Upside Down Cake for breakfast, which I made last night in psychic preparation for a rainy morning,  and take care of the canines. Especially since Emmy was upstairs in whichever bedroom she felt like was the safest, howling pitifully and alone at the thunder and fire siren when I walked in the door. The poor dog has an emotional meltdown every time the pager goes off. Or one of the military jets fly over. You should have seen the puddle of pee yesterday when Josh was shooting nails into the concrete floor of our "new" living room. In some ways I envy her. If I could pull of such a totally pathetic and believable routine of psychiatric issues, I would probably earn myself a mandatory spot on the couch eating bon-bons and watching crap TV. Pretending to be stable only results in people expecting me to do stuff, like take kids to sports physicals and respond to fully involved house fires. (Ok, now that I am not there and I realize the guys are all geared up, I am a little jealous... but the sweatpants....). I am just going to sit here and talk about how productive I was last night, when I made this:

This is Peach Upside Down Cake. I meant to take a picture of the whole thing, but it was gone too fast...


(from's Southern Food site. If a recipe that involves "southern" or  "south" pops up in a google search, it's almost a given that I will head there...)

Cook Time: 30 minutes

Total Time: 30 minutes


  • 1/4 cup butter
  • 1/2 cup light brown sugar, packed
  • 2 cups sliced drained peaches
  • 2 eggs
  • 1 cup granulated sugar
  • 1 cup sifted all-purpose flour
  • 1 teaspoon baking powder
  • 1/4 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 cup hot water


Melt butter in a 9-inch square baking pan. Sprinkle brown sugar over the butter. Spoon fruit over the brown sugar.
Beat eggs until light and lemon colored; gradually beat in granulated sugar. Sift together the flour, baking powder and salt, and add to the egg mixture, alternating with the hot water. Pour batter over peaches. Bake at 375° for about 30 minutes. Cool in pan for 10 minutes, then turn upside-down onto a serving plate. 

I actually went to town this week. Oddly enough, I couldn't wait to get home, and I promptly cancelled the family shopping trip to Portland this weekend. I think the big mistake was going into WalMart, and realizing that there wasn't anything that we could possibly need badly enough to justify ever going there, or anywhere else in public, again. Some days I feel like I am embarrassed to be a human. Not that being a smelly, gaseous, snorey dog would be any better, but people are dirty, and gross, and obnoxious. And we are just silly. The things we "need" or want or do are just silly. I can say this because I am among the most exacerbated representations of all that is shallow and human. I love to shop. I love junk. I love kitsch, and the stuff that nobody would have ever thought they needed to own. Like spoon holders to get dirty instead of your stove top, or corn-on-the-cob holders, or paper plate holders. Or holders of almost any kind. I am a total sucker for cute things. Like that little ceramic animal that serves absolutely no earthly purpose other than taking up space and collecting dust. BUT IT'S SO CUTE! Again, people are silly.

Spending all of this time at home has made me look around, and I see so much stuff that is unnecessary and almost embarrassing. Why do I have a thousand magnets on my refrigerator? Because they're cool. Why are they cool? I don't know, they just are. And they hide the orange juice and strawberry jam that is dripping down the door. I remember being a newlywed, the first time, and having all of this furniture that people gave us, most of which was hideous and we hated. And when I moved away from that life, I swore I would only have furniture in my house that I loved. Or at least Really Liked. Having a husband with somewhat different taste than mine has compromised my avowed standard a little bit, but I have realized that A)even the stuff I love gets dirty and gross and embarrassing and B)the stuff I love changes and some of the things I loathed before, I'd be fine with now. I don't really have furniture that I can't stand these days, but I can't stand the way that the furniture I have, looks. It's dirty. I vacuumed one couch three times last week and truck is sleeping on it now (thunderstorms exhaust him). SOMEBODY got green gum in the carpet, and I am still lacking the hardware to affix that One Last Knob to the shabby chic dresser in my living room. I feel absolutely content with the stuff we have now, and maybe in a dramatic but gradual change of heart, I can't wait to offload a lot of the junk as we go. Including magnets.

It is Friday, I guess. That's what a lot of people are saying. All of my days run together. I suppose that means that Josh is leaving soon for drill in Portland, and I will have three girls to contend with all weekend alone. With all of the horrible things going on in the world, I really shouldn't feel so overwhelmed with this. It's not like my house is a Syrian Civil War, Or a battle of moral parenting skillz on the Interwebs between a cadre of blog artists, or even a fully engulfed ball of fire. It's just a lot of hormones and emotions and dogs. And gum on the carpet. I could go to karaoke tonight. Or get some pizza for dinner. I could take the girls to "town" tomorrow to get "stuff". Or I could take a lot of naps and watch a lot of crap TV. If I had a TV commentary blog maybe I could get away with it. I mean, who doesn't want to read about Kim Kardashian's baby weight or what's happening with Breaking Bad? All of this is made imminently difficult by the fact that I only have Netflix for TV so my entire commentary would be over a year behind. Maybe a television commentary blog for financially destitute and rurally secluded housewives who are avoiding laundry and a box of peaches that need to be canned? I am sure I could blog at their speed. Maybe I will try that. I think I am so totally energyless because the proposition of a "full time" job at the school has cropped up. It exhausts me to even think about working FIVE DAYS A WEEK. FOREVER. Because I am spoiled. 6.5 hour days with benefits and summers off. I mean, what's to even think about? It's a no brainer. Doesn't really matter if my job is scrubbing toilets in the kindergarten room (which, BTW is the grossest thing I can think of, next to middle school boys bathrooms), it's the IDEAL job for me. Even if it's a job. And it happens EVERY DAY...... I CAN DO IT. And I will. Happily. More happily if it means I need to shop for new "work clothes", because like I just pointed out, we don't have enough stuff. What this says to me is "go take a nap right now before you run out of time and have to go to work every day." Maybe what it should be saying is "hurry up and get your laundry done and can your peaches before you don't have time." Maybe I don't speak conscience any more. I think the nap conversation is winning, hard. It is raining, after all, and the dogs are needy...

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