Summer time, summer time

Currently Reading: The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

The summer night is like a perfection of thought.
--Wallace Stevens

Ways Chris and I can tell it's summertime:

• The air conditioner is always on. ALWAYS, And is either too hot or too cold--our AC doesn't believe in moderation
• Breaking into a sweat walking to our cars.
• We drive with the AC at full blast . . . neither of us do that any other time of the year. I usually drive with windows and sunroof down, and Chris will just barely have the AC on when the weather's pretty, but not any more.
• The pool is warm enough that I'll actually jump in. I swam laps the other day . . . in the rain . . . I should do that again . . . but maybe without the rain (I confess, I love the pitter-pat song rain sings on the water's surface).
• Afternoon thunderstorms
• I'm begging for a beach trip . . . oh, ocean . . . *sigh*
• Next week, I start prepping for my first year as a teacher. YIKES!
• I've found bug bites on my ankles again.
• Summer sleepovers! My little sisters are coming over for a weekend sleepover while my mom is out of town for her missions trip to India. :)
• There are more kids visiting us in the library, and lots of parents asking about summer programs and "Sunshine State" books -- books chosen by the state for each grade level to read.
• I'm itching for a new haircut again. And a "back-to-school/work" shopping trip. I hate shopping . . . but there are some times out of the year that it feels almost necessary.
• Chris wants to go shopping, too. He hates shopping more than I do, but he sweetly offered to take me . . . see previous post. :)
• My wardrobe has begun to include flip-flops again . . . Chris's does not change. Ever. :)
• And most importantly . . . Last month there was a monstrous cockroach in the bathroom. Just like a roach to catch you with the trousers down . . . or almost down . . . GAH. I bellowed (I don't scream . . . I yelp and I bellow . . . I don't know why), and Chris insisted on squishing it instead of using RAID. WHY?!?!? Luckily, we haven't seen any other pests since. Not once. Fear of a brutal death must be keeping them away.

Pretty Woman

Currently Reading: Watership Down by Richard Adams

Any piece of clothing can be sexy with a quietly passionate woman inside it.
--Anonymous

I discovered early in life that I would never be a fashionista . . . but I denied it. Denial's easy when you're wishing hard enough for something. I've just about given up, honestly. Chris could care less. He's worn the same t-shirts since high school and won't retire them until they're in tatters, especially now that I can sew the holes up for him. Fashion though, has been a topic as of late. : )

We're on our way to dinner with Chris's parents, when Chris blurts out, "So . . . you wanna go shopping?"

I frown, completely suspicious. The game's afoot, Watson . . .
"I thought you hated shopping."

Chris shrugs. "Well, you need new clothes for work, right?"
"Riiiiiight . . ."
"So, I thought I'd take you shopping."

My heart melts. "Aw, you're so sweet! But, you know, I can go by myself. I don't want you to have to suffer through it with me." (9 times out of 10, I hate shopping, too).

"Oh, it's fine," Chris says. He pauses, then adds. "I thought, you know I could help you pick out a few things. Some cool button-up shirts like my favorite that you never wear anymore."
Ok, side note -- his "favorite" was a hand-me down pink and black plaid shirt that was tight to begin with . . .then I put on a few pounds . . . so now it's been passed on to my younger sister. End side note.

"Because," Chris says, hesitating, "that fitted stuff looks really good on you. Shows off your figure. Now, you wear all these flowy things and well . . . it confuses me . . . because you don't want to look fat . . .but you wear these things that make you look heavier than you are.You're beautiful, no matter what. I just don't know why you like flowy things."
"I don't think they make me look fat. They're supposed to fit this way. I like it."

Chris smiles lamely.
"So you want to take me shopping . . . so you can dress me up like you like me?"
His grin brightens, and I burst out laughing. "Oh my gosh! You are so cuuuuuute!"

"Why do you always say that? I don't get what's cute!"
I just keep laughing.
So I'm going shopping sometime soon with my husband. So he can try to dress me up for work . . . and so I can find a few more "flowy" things.

Classics and Blood

I wanted change and excitement and to shoot off in all directions myself, like the colored arrows from a Fourth of July rocket.--Sylvia Plath

Currently Reading: The Bell Jar by Silvia Plath

I adore Sylvia Plath. I fell in love with her when I discovered her poem "Mushrooms." I told Chris about her, how she was bipolar, severely depressed, married to another poet and a mother of two, then committed suicide by breathing in the fumes from her gas oven. "Wow, sounds great," he said dryly, and gave me a look.
I can't help it that great brilliance is often tortured. A literature professor told a friend of mine once that those who had never struggled with alcoholism, drugs, sex, or depression would never be great, true artists. I would like to prove Dr. Potts wrong, but he may be right. The untortured may slip through the cracks of time unnoticed, while haunted souls hover over posterity with art and agony. Then again, I don't remember reading anything addictive or chemically imbalanced about C.S. Lewis's personality, but maybe I just haven't read enough.

Chris's 27th birthday was Sunday. So was his sister's 23rd. Julie claims she was the most wonderful birthday present ever bestowed upon any human being; Chris jokingly argues she was an intruder who ruined his day. We spent all day Sunday with his family. We usually attend church with Ryan and Julie, but this time Mr. and Mrs. Bocchino and their youngest daughter Melanie came along, too. She had fake nails again. If you want to know Melanie's mood, you look at her nails. Something I've figured out after hanging out for eight years. Wow, that makes me feel old. Mel's moving out for the second time sometime this month or next. The first was her first semester in college--hated dorm life, couldn't find a good roomie. Now, she's trying to rent a house with multiple roomies. Good luck, lovie.

After lunch, we spent the afternoon playing Wii Mario Kart, Wario Party (Chris said it was the most pointless ADD drug-induced game he'd ever seen), and Super Smash Bros. I almost won, once. in Mario Kart I kept a steady fourth place and was usually first or second smashed in Smash Bros. Chris had hoped to marry a game saavy woman. Sorry hun.
"It's ok, you're better than I had hoped," Chris said.
Nice recovery, kiddo.
Chris and Ryan, on the other hand, are techno warriors. Julie and I didn't stand a chance. Lovely relaxing day. Good start to the week, really.

Chris and I attended Ryan's graduation from the Police Academy the next night. I was able to see Ryan's family for the first time since my wedding. Didn't get to talk or hang out too much -- it was later in the evening, crowded, and everyone was visiting with Ryan, as they should be :) Congrats to Ryan -- he's worked long and hard, waiting a long time for this opportunity. I know that Julie is so proud of him. During the ceremony, staring at those 37 men and women in uniforms and suits, how stereotypes form for a reason. Everyone hates stereotypes, but so many of them are true in the broad sense, not in the minute sense for every individual. Looking at the graduates, stiff in their starched navy, sporting crew cuts, unsmiling in formality, you just went, "Ah, of course you're an officer. Mhm, of course, it fits. There you are." I hope I don't sound critical -- I admired them and their commitment; it was just an image that stuck with me. Police officers give wonderful service that helps hold society together--without law enforcement, we'd be violent animals (trust me, I know: I watched RoboCop today, and, when the police force went on strike, the scifi version of Detroit when to hell . . . that and human nature is a beast all it's own, with or without cyborg cops -.^).

I put in my resignation form for the library yesterday. Completely surreal and unplanned. RaeJean, my lead, approached me the night before saying, "Talk to Kelly as soon as you can, things have changed."
You see, I had talked to RaeJean earlier about how I should resign -- basically how far ahead of time should I tell management so that they had plenty of time to find a replacement, if they needed one. RaeJean had said two or three weeks ahead was plenty of time. Then, apparently, circumstances changed. The sooner I could tell my manager, Kelly, the better.
I couldn't think of what to say, couldn't think of how to type my formal letter of resignation, just drew a complete blank, starving for tact and poise. Golly, how do you tell someone you want to leave?
Turns out, I didn't need to think of anything. Kelly popped a "Sarah, RaeJean said you had something you wanted to talk to me about?"
Uuuuuuhhhh . . . yes. Yes I do.
So I told her, as politely and calmly as possible, told her how much I've loved being here and how much I've learned, which is the truth. I loved my coworkers, I loved the learning experiences. It's been a blessing being here . . . but it's time to move on. Kelly was very sweet and understand, said that she had enjoyed having me and watching me grow. I was touched. She apologized for putting me on the spot, explained that she was leaving early that day before my break, when I had been planning to speak to her, then thanked me for the early notice.
It's completely surreal. July 23rd is my last day.
Wow.

On a very happy note, I've been invited to join a book club by a couple of old high school friends, Abby and Anne. I'm so very, very excited. As much as Chris loves books, he doesn't read nearly as much as I do. I devour. My sisters-in-law have little interest in literature. Mom and I talk books and have found some we both like, so I have a bit of a reading buddy, there :) It's just hard to talk "The Hobbit" with Mom when she couldn't understand why anyone would live inside a hill behind a round green door. I love my mother ;) So now, Anne, Abby, and I (and perhaps a couple of others, I don't know) will be reading Jhumpa Lahiri's Unaccustomed Earth, which I have never heard of but am eager to discover. Yay literature buddies! X-D

I'm wondering if the blog title is a bit overdramatic . . . Blood was just a reference to family blood ties, really. I thought about titling it "Classics and Oil" because I can't get rid of the smell of massage oil (Chris gave me a coupon for a free massage--my first one--and, while it was very relaxing, I had no idea how smelly it could be). I tried washing it off and changed clothes but it's stuck in my nostrils like unwanted congestion. I just hope no one else can smell it -- it's as bad as some of our unbathed patrons. Blech.