I've spent the last few days with a good friend who's about to start law school. In fact, he should be preparing to be oriented right about now, reading his first cases, underlining issues and rules and holdings. Scribbling in margins and wondering why the hell legal writing has to be so . . . bad. He's my age, 30, and we're both starting over. And as happy as I am in the mountains, as much as I love the peace and the quiet, and the nothing I have to do all day but help my uncle put up siding and medicate the five kittens now living in my laundry room, and as much as I enjoy chatting with my neigbors about county politics, and reading mysteries and eating cinnamon rolls bought from the local bakery where they're starting to recognize me, I can't help but feel truly, deeply, greenly, envious of him.
Because he has a plan. And a purpose. For the next three years he'll have texts to read and outlines to write, exams to prepare for and take. He'll have syllabuses to follow and scheduled vacations. And at the end of it he'll have accomplished something. And as much as he may not know now where he'll want to go when those three years are up, for now, in the longish short term, he's on track. And I'm not. I'm adrift. And pretty soon, in a few hours, my month of constant houseguests will end and I'll have my house to myself. I'll be alone. It will be quiet. And maybe I'll start thinking about what I'm drifting toward. And whether it's time to pick a paddle, and a current. Maybe not. Maybe I'll be able to find enough distractions to keep me from thinking those scary, lonely thoughts. Maybe I'll play with the cats, and stack firewood, and finally (FINALLY) unpack, and I'll be able to keep enjoying the quiet and the nothing to do for awhile longer. But now, right this minute, I'm envious. Because he's starting, and really, despite the title of this post, I'm idling.
Last time I posted about large scary columns of smoke my camera battery was dead so I had no photos to document the occasion. When my friend David came for a visit and saw the smoke for himself, he admitted that he'd thought, reading my post and hearing the panic when we'd talked that night, the night of the rental insurance, that I was . . . maybe being a little overly dramatic. Well, this morning we had another small thunderstorm. And this evening I see a new colum of smoke. This time to the west. And now my camera is working. It's kind of pretty isn't it? In a fucking scary sort of way.
As I've mentioned before, the size of my household has increased rather dramatically in the past month. From two (me and Sugar) to 8 (me, Sugar, Freckles, and Freckles FIVE kittens). It took two weeks of frustrated searching before I found them . . . under the outhouse. Yes. Freckles decided that the safest most comfortable place to give birth was under a toilet. She's an interesting cat. She's also a fertile damn cat. Did I mention the FIVE kittens? (Available for adoption in late September/early October if anyone wants one! Free to good home!) Freckles and family are now safely housed in my childhood bedroom. I took them all to the vet the morning after I found them and apart from some eye infections that just won't clear up no matter how often I get myself scratched applying eye ointment to unwilling kitten eyeballs, everyone is very healthy. Of course they're adorable. 
Who doesn't love a kitten? But they're totally cramping my style. I'm dying to drive over to the Oregon coast for a few days of blackberry jam making and sitting on the beach, but . . . kittens can't be left alone that long. I know, you're all crying for me on the inside. Anyway, due to popular demand (or the half-hearted request of one friend) here are some blurry kitten action shots. Kitten photography is really hard y'all. For the second post in a row I have to say: don't judge.
I don't even want to think how long it's been since that wonderful day on which my stuff finally arrived . . . but I've done remarkably little unpacking since then. For a solid month I had the excuse of houseguests, but it's been a week and a half since they left and still . . . my living room, dining room and bedroom are still lined with half-unpacked boxes and boxes whose packing tape is still intact. But yesterday I made a HUGE stride and finally unpacked the enormous box housing my TV. A 15 year-old TV that I'd thought I'd left behind in DC. That I'd meant to leave behind in DC because it's huge and heavy and really unnecessary. But once the box came off the truck I vaguely remembered that the TV was so freaking big I couldn't move it down to the dumpster by myself and so had ended up having it boxed up and sent along. That's so lame of me. But so me. I don't want it, but it's easier to keep it, so keep it I do. Argh. Anway, here's a cute photo of Sugar playing (this morning) in the two tons of paper the movers used to protect my still working but essentially worthless albatross of a TV. Yes. I unpacked the TV and set it up yesterday afternoon and all the paper is still on my living room floor this morning. Don't judge. I've been busy . . . doing . . . stuff.
