The Life and Times of Florence Knitingale

Wednesday, September 05, 2007

Full Circle

It is my way to run around frantically in the morning before leaving for work, after announcing to anyone who will listen that there is no WAY I will possibly make it to work on time and I'm going to be terribly late and get fired and go home in disgrace and I'll have to sit in the yard and eat worms. Okay, so no one will ever want to purchase a book entitled "The Way of Knitingale", but you stick with what works. In any case, I was starting my day today in much that manner when some interesting truths came to me. It went like this.

One of the many little tasks with which I fill up my mornings is the brewing of a large cup of tea. I always believe I will have time to drink this in a civilized fashion, perhaps while reading the paper and glancing fondly over at my beloved Mr. K. Then I have a good laugh and go dump the water out of the travel mug that's been soaking overnight in the sink because I didn't get to the civilized and fond glances thing yesterday, either (in my defense, neither did Mr. K, so I would have had to glance fondly at the cat who tends to think I'm weird when I do that). I had arranged my stuff for work neatly on the counter to take with me (read: I had tossed my knitting bag on the counter in such a way that the yarn slopped out of it and got covered in bread crumbs from Mr. K's sandwich, forgot my cell phone and had to make two trips upstairs--one to forget what I wanted, and one to get the cell phone--lovingly set the new red purse on the chair where nothing bad could happen to it, and tipped my water bottle onto the hardwood while swearing like a trucker and trying to mop it up by sliding a dishtowel around with my foot. In other words, and average morning.) and I was about to pour the tea into the mug. Which was when I had my first moment of realization:

I was wearing brand new, white, brushed cotton scrub pants. Brand new. Soft and comfy, with a drawstring waist. Carefully matched with a white long-sleeved tee, and a scrub top in blues and greens and white. Lots and lots of white.

And a big travel mug of tea. Which has a lid with a lip on it to help prevent spillage and all...but c'mon. Is there a more tempting invitation to the universe than new white scrub pants and a big mug of tea in the car on the way to work with no time to go home and change? I think not. Which is when I had my second moment of realization: I could change the outcome of this.

I put my stuff neatly in the car (read: tossed it in randomly and was somehow surprised later to find grapes from my lunchbag under the seat planning a future in the raisin business), went back, and dug a dishtowel out of the drawer. I then got in the car, laid the dishtowel across my lap, and drove to work and drank my tea, thus guaranteeing that nothing would spill. I could have shaken it like a tamborine and nothing would have spilled, because the universe doesn't find it amusing in the least to mess with the prepared. It ruins everything. Now, if I'd not brought the towel, I'd have dropped the entire cup in my lap, the lid would have popped off, and I would have spent the whole day working with a light tan crotch and lap. Such are the vagaries of fate. When I got to work, that was when I had the third and last moment of realization:

I was sitting in my car, wearing what might as well be jammies and a bib, drinking from a tippy cup. I had come full circle.

When I looked around, I merely confirmed my suspicions--behind the seat was a bag of hard candy, to keep me from becoming cranky and whiny on long car trips. I had a shiny red purse, one shoe was untied, my hair needed to be brushed, and the cd I was listening to was one I've listened to so often that it's a good thing I don't carpool with anyone because they'd kill me. The evidence is clear. I've become 2 years old again. Only now I can drive and not nearly as many people can tell me no.



  • At 5:58 AM, Blogger Marianne said…

    Oh honey, I'm laughing with tears streaming down my face... 2 year old indeed... aren't we all?

  • At 7:00 AM, Blogger ccr in MA said…

    I'm laughing all the harder because I have an actual peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch today.

    On the other hand, I finished my square yesterday, and I'd like to think there aren't many 2-year-olds doing that! I'll send it along soon.

  • At 8:26 AM, Blogger ~Tonia~ said…

    LOL It is sad that we can't even trust ourselves to not spill something on our clothes. I usually end up with something on my shirt. :) I swear I should invest in a stain removal company.

    It is just as bad here and I have a 2 1/2 year old to tote as well so you should see the prep and all the things in our SUV for him and I. It is sad. =) I think I carry more to keep me occupied than for him.

  • At 9:31 AM, Anonymous Gwen said…

    Full Circle indeed!

    And my kindergartener was walking around the house yesterday, drinking milk like it was coffee in a car cup. He had the little slurp and everything down. Which made me think about how many people I see everyday with sippy cups clenched in hands.

  • At 11:21 AM, Anonymous angie Cox said…

    Oh snort , Holly was just saying I need a tipee cup now !

  • At 12:06 PM, Blogger All 9 Muses said…

    Good Lord! I wish we didn't live so far away from each other! I think you must be a twin sister I lost at birth. Ever get to Ottawa?

  • At 4:44 PM, Anonymous MonicaPDX said…

    ::helplessly giggling:: Man, your inner child is just zooming backwards in age, isn't she?

    I'd like to proudly report that for once, when I went out to brunch and a movie with my stepdaughter - wearing a brand-new linen/rayon tank top, 'cause it's cooler than a T-shirt in the mugginess we were having... ::portentious pause::

    I did not spill any food on it!

    The event of the decade, I swear. I always spill something when we go out and have a meal. (And it's always carefully chosen to contrast perfectly with the color of my top, light or dark, for better visibility. How do they manage that?!) I'll probably set the sucker on fire the next time I wear it, whaddaya bet?


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