Anita Marie (Long) Bothwell
May 6, 1975
If you are wondering where I am, come and find me!
Good morning. I am drinking store brand hot cocoa out of a purple Kahlua mug, that proclaims "Anything Goes", which pretty much sums up my mood. Last month on a whim I bought a box of red hair dye, and last night around midnight I finally gathered the courage to take the plunge. After 10 minutes of processing I started to chicken out, so I rinsed. Now my hair is a lovely shade of brown that when the sun catches it just right, looks sorta grey.
When you are in a funk, what do you do?
My friends list is starting to compile a holiday card list. Should I get my act together?
I don't care
A week is a long time. WIll everything go well with my Mom?
the best it can
things will be fine
What kind of bread will you NOT eat?
I don't eat bread. period.
I like all bread. bread = good
Me and my clearance socks
Listen to Mother’s story
Appliances When Charlie Died
I’m no longer 11
I’m nearly 30
Because now I’m her Darlin’
( Some much over due pictures of our placeCollapse )
Susan came back over this afternoon, baring an adult ticket to the fair, compliments of the Mariposa Democrat Club. Since tomorrow is "kids day", we will be off at the fair.
Today we spent taking advantage of the Netflik 2 week trial, thus zoning out, watching Dr. Quinn: Medicine Woman season 1 vol.1 and part of vol. 2. Dr. Quinn rules. Is their another show that holds a 29 year old, 9 year old, and 5 year olds attention hour after hour? Other than Little House on the Prairie?
I give in, I feel like I'm on the prairie. If I sit just right on the patio, so a huge pine tree blocks the house on the other side of the canyon, I feel like I'm all alone in the world. I imagine what it was like for the homesteaders who built this place. Then I go inside and watch a fuzzy episode of COPS, and not feel sooo alone.
Peter has left.
I think we will drive into town and go to the parade. My neighbor Susan(not "Sue"), will be walking with the Mariposa Democrats. So, I'll know someone...
She came over on Thursday, because their was another fire, and she wanted to let me know that it was on the other side of the highway in case I was "worried". Really, I just thought it was smog. That makes fire number 9. I just hope the "arsonist", doesn't burn down this lovely abode.
Off to town. Don't forget the American flag pinwheels.
I've been thinking of things I wanted to write about all day long. Now I'm sitting here, finally with my paws on the computer I just want to go to sleep. Here are just three...
1. I like the quiet, but I'm starting to get lonely. Called Peter crying tonight, just because I was spent dealing with the kids. I have hardly even seen Peter. I know HE'S the one who is more spent, just in a different type of way. Really, he comes home from school after I'm asleep (11 pm or so). Then he's gone when I pull myself up out of bed around 7 am.
2. It's a sad day when your a teacher and your kids qualify for the free lunch program at school.
3. Paper Moons and Macaroons
It was day 3 of soccer try-outs and in-house for Peter, it was day 3 for me of being the wife of a coach and teacher. Since we are tv reception free, radio strong if you like Country Western or Spanish only speaking, and I've been in internet withdrawls since my only access to the computer is when Peter is sleeping. (Cross your fingers that the computer "expert" gets his classroom computers online soon...)
I have been waking up, doing a LOAD OF LAUNDRY -- No hauling up a flight of stairs and plunking 4 quarters to make it run. The drier still needs a propane converter, so IN MY PJ'S, I moosie down the rockery steps and hang my wash to dry. While I do this I look at the hawks, quail, or robins fluttering around. Then I water my petunias, begonias, lavender, aloe vera, and budding herb garden. Maybe a little weeding.
I come inside, yell at the kids for pouring cereal all over my freshly mopped floor. Load the glorious DISHWASHER, wipe down the beatiful blue on white painted tile counter. Feed the stray-cats-that-came-with-the-house, that I named Peaches 'n Cream and Sunflower Seed. Water my pansies that are growing next to the Miners Cabin, maybe empty the bee trap.
Make a loaf a bread or lemonade. Maybe unpack a box or go out and work on clearing brush from the meadow. At some point around 4, I start making dinner, and wonder if the mail came, and climb the 1/2 mile up the mountain to fetch a stray bill and a Highlights Magazine.
After dinner, we wait for the family of deer to come and graze in our yard. Until the older Doe decides that SHE wants the lavender next to the garage. Then I go inside and get a pot and a wooden spoon and chase her back by the barn. She can have the walnuts, persimmons, and crab apples. But leave my lavender ALONE!
I put the kids to bed, and wait for Peter to come home by taking a bath in the most wonderful bathtub in the world. Around 9:30, he stumbles in. Complains that I use too much onions and garlic, and goes to bed.
So here I am. It's 11:40pm.
I think I have almost recovered from the move, having Sarah in town, the huge kink in my back from using a hand spade to till up a flower garden over taken with Bermuda grass, as well as a bout with a 24 hour flu.
Nia got the flu first, two nights after we took Sarah to the Sacramento airport. We had to go up to Chico to finish up a few things, and then I took the girls to my friend Victoria’s place to spend the night. Then we did some school shopping in Sacramento, finally found a copy of Whiskey Tango Ghosts, then came to Merced to do some supply shopping, finally getting home around 12 am.
A few hours later Nia woke up puking. And all day long it was nonstop. The next day Lydia, West and me got worst than sick, and yesterday Peter was dead to the world. How many days need to go by before you become a recluse? I haven’t seen a human being outside my family since Wednesday, much less been off the 10 acres that the house sits on.
Apparently the property corners a crick ( or creek…), the should dig out my hiking boots and brave the rattle snakes and go on an adventure. Or, brave the 4 miles to the community gas/liquor store to shell out $2.50 for the SF Sunday paper.
I NEVER WANT TO MOVE AGAIN! help my sore mussels and aching back.
A more positive post to come.