I don't think you know this. I, Little Miss Sunshine, LOVE the library. I love how it's calm (even though it makes me want to do cartwheels and whistle sometimes), I love how if you shook out the words from every book into a big jumbling heap on the floor, you'd be swimming in them. I love how you can almost find a book about anything!
Sarah, my compatriot, being a good English major and fitting general friend requirements for LMS, also loves the library.
We got library cards last week. And we took pictures.
One of the many posters on the library walls advertised a local writer's reading night. Being the girls we are and liking the things we like, we went. When we arrived, we found ourselves the only ones in tennis shoes, the only ones in jeans, and the only ones under 55 (I'm being generous). We looked at each other, picked and seat and listened. One after another, local authors read short fiction, poetry and things they had written about their lives. There was a woman with white hair and a black headband and great elocution who read her poetry that's been published and awarded, and she kind of had a pointy nose. I liked her rhythm. A man who loved his dog wrote from the perspective of his dog during puppy class. A couple people wrote about romantic intrigue and a couple wrote about travels. And they had peppercorn cheese. And wine, which we didn't drink, and crackers and more cheeses! The peppercorn was the best.
When I hear people reading pieces, it makes me want to write. I don't know if it's the competitor in me or the creator in me, but I see something good and I want to try it for myself. Their next reading session is in October or December or something. Sarah is a writer, so she has buckets of things she has read and could read. My bucket is empty, save blog posts and university stuff, but maybe I'll write and write and write and something will be salvageable. I hope it is poetry, but that's ambitious.
In the meantime, or the nicetime, Sarah and I are job hunting. Guns propped on our shoulders, camo clad, we are stalking our prey. Cafe? Library? Or the confusingly ambiguous "Early Years Project Officer"? Whatever it is, we want to make some travel money. People keep telling us we just have to see the rest of Oz (Australia), but their next sentence isn't, "So we'll just buy you a ticket and put you on a train". I think that means we need a job.
We're house sitting again. They have a dog. His name is Attila. He's not scary, just big and loud and labradoodly. The house is grand. Old, dark wood everywhere and sinky red carpet. We sing at the top of our lungs so we don't get intimidated by the bigness of this house. It's always interesting to see what people have in their pantries. When you're house sitting, it's ok to snoop in the kitchen because they say you can eat their food while they're gone. These people have a fetish for pasta and sauces. Plum sauce, fish sauce, mayo dill sauce, balsamic vinegars and pestos and tomato sauces. I think we're going to be all pasta-ed out by the time we leave this house.
And we have FRIENDS! I mean, we had friends before, but I mean we have friends our own age! How do I know this? We got an invitation! People don't invite you to things unless they like you, right? We're going to a bonfire tomorrow! I don't even know what to wear to an Australian bonfire that starts at two in the afternoon. Should I be going for "spring is here, I feel sun dress-y" or "skinny jeans and a cardi because I'm an intellectual" or "I'm fun and athletic, so I'm wearing shorts and a hoodie". So many things to say with clothes!
Love from the beach,
LMS
Sarah, my compatriot, being a good English major and fitting general friend requirements for LMS, also loves the library.
We got library cards last week. And we took pictures.
One of the many posters on the library walls advertised a local writer's reading night. Being the girls we are and liking the things we like, we went. When we arrived, we found ourselves the only ones in tennis shoes, the only ones in jeans, and the only ones under 55 (I'm being generous). We looked at each other, picked and seat and listened. One after another, local authors read short fiction, poetry and things they had written about their lives. There was a woman with white hair and a black headband and great elocution who read her poetry that's been published and awarded, and she kind of had a pointy nose. I liked her rhythm. A man who loved his dog wrote from the perspective of his dog during puppy class. A couple people wrote about romantic intrigue and a couple wrote about travels. And they had peppercorn cheese. And wine, which we didn't drink, and crackers and more cheeses! The peppercorn was the best.
When I hear people reading pieces, it makes me want to write. I don't know if it's the competitor in me or the creator in me, but I see something good and I want to try it for myself. Their next reading session is in October or December or something. Sarah is a writer, so she has buckets of things she has read and could read. My bucket is empty, save blog posts and university stuff, but maybe I'll write and write and write and something will be salvageable. I hope it is poetry, but that's ambitious.
In the meantime, or the nicetime, Sarah and I are job hunting. Guns propped on our shoulders, camo clad, we are stalking our prey. Cafe? Library? Or the confusingly ambiguous "Early Years Project Officer"? Whatever it is, we want to make some travel money. People keep telling us we just have to see the rest of Oz (Australia), but their next sentence isn't, "So we'll just buy you a ticket and put you on a train". I think that means we need a job.
We're house sitting again. They have a dog. His name is Attila. He's not scary, just big and loud and labradoodly. The house is grand. Old, dark wood everywhere and sinky red carpet. We sing at the top of our lungs so we don't get intimidated by the bigness of this house. It's always interesting to see what people have in their pantries. When you're house sitting, it's ok to snoop in the kitchen because they say you can eat their food while they're gone. These people have a fetish for pasta and sauces. Plum sauce, fish sauce, mayo dill sauce, balsamic vinegars and pestos and tomato sauces. I think we're going to be all pasta-ed out by the time we leave this house.
And we have FRIENDS! I mean, we had friends before, but I mean we have friends our own age! How do I know this? We got an invitation! People don't invite you to things unless they like you, right? We're going to a bonfire tomorrow! I don't even know what to wear to an Australian bonfire that starts at two in the afternoon. Should I be going for "spring is here, I feel sun dress-y" or "skinny jeans and a cardi because I'm an intellectual" or "I'm fun and athletic, so I'm wearing shorts and a hoodie". So many things to say with clothes!
Love from the beach,
LMS
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