sometimes in reverse

Every time I hear the weather report, I think of Holly Golightly. Why must everything remind me of something else? Even this blog entry reminds me of "Intro to Psychology," taken at a small community college in Bettendorf,Iowa, (Mississippi river boats, sweet corn, my grandparents) where I only lasted a semester before I ran out of money. There I was taught how the mind is organized into schemas. Compartmentalized. Emily Dickinson knew about the compartmental mind, and she never even attended that community college in Bettendorf, Iowa.

My late-model Lexus (I feel I have to say "late-model" because I don't want anyone to think I'm bragging for having a Lexus) is where my toddler's chicken nuggets go to die. I always smile to myself when I imagine a cop pulling me over and asking to search my car. I imagine he would terminate the search right after he pulled the first chicken nugget out from under the seat. I still love that car. I was coming home from my mom's funeral last July when a big semi in Paducah, Kentucky, threw a gigantic rock into the windshield right in front of my face. The windshield cracked, though the rock didn't make it all the way through. That's what I would've called a "godsmack" in my younger days. A kick while down. Insult to injury. Let up a little, I say. I'm coming home from my mother's funeral, for Cripe's sake. These days I try to not blame God so much for things. Now the cold weather is causing the crack to spread out from its original concentric circle. It's creeping to the left a little more each day and will have to be replaced soon. And the car goes in reverse most of the time--not all of the time.

I came around the corner today at Target and was starstruck/moonstruck/sunstruck (everything alligned) by a wrought iron pavillion. Target has a new line of international looking furniture (the "Global Bazaar")that helps me to forget and remember and just be where I am. I don't expect you to get it. Truly get it. There are Moroccan trunks and Oriental rugs, and I go there, all those places, just while standing there in the store aisle. Anyway, the pavilion. My husband described it as "whimsical," but he didn't want to disappoint me, so he gave in. It is whimsical, and I love it for being so. I suppose it could be utilitarian if you forced it to be so. I don't.