Okay. I know I’m in a fairly serious healing crisis. I know it was the practical thing to do, but it is really screwing our life up. Twice this week Dancer husband thought he could use the car, I thought I could and we ended up being frustrated, angry and stranded.
There is little thought anymore. Little coming together. Little dialogue around schedules. We flit and float and all those things the damn von Trapp kids did on their way to bed at night. Here’s my new joke, “What’s the fastest way for a car-free family to lose consciousness and become completely ego-centric? Buy a car.”
Yes, dear readers, you one-car families get it. It is harder to be car-light than car-free.
On the brighter side, I drove the little red wagon to pick up “Knows-how-to-relax” Becky on Saturday night. I was tired. Okay, I was exhausted from cleaning for three days to just get my house passable for a post-Thanksgiving in-law event. Not my idea. I swear. I didn’t want to go, but I pulled myself up from my stirrup tights, circa 1985 and talked myself into getting to the Ritz.
“A Very Brady Christmas,” the holiday show of Electric Arc Radio was divine. I loved the New Standard’s rendition of “Androgynous,” regardless of its brevity. I belly laughed and I listened to Power Suit Peterson whistling like we were at a mud-wrestling contest. I was proud that Sleany McFear found refuge in my city. I beamed with hope over Herbach’s love for Clerkie and most of all, I wept in joy when I finally figured out that the final song was by WHAM. “Last Christmas when I gave you my heart. . . ” When I arrived home, I wasted no time to check google for the lyrics. I stood for a moment like the Statue of Liberty. My tablets read, “I survived the 80’s without knowing any WHAM songs.” My life is so good.