It's the old small talk!
Tonight was the final marching band competition of the season. Our band received the highest score of the night along with best music, best percussion, and best visual. I love every single thing about marching band, so I’m totally high right now on their final night wins. Hard work, dedication, and so forth.
This is how I’ll be spending the remainder of the evening.
It’s 11pm and I pushed a xylophone up a hill and now I’m sitting on the couch wearing layers and it’s time for bed. Ah, but NaBloPoMo.
Tomorrow will be the final band competition of the season.
This photo was taken ten years ago and: TIME.
This is a Russian Pumpkin, meaning it’s a White Russian made with fresh pumpkin syrup.
This is warm pumpkin bread pudding with pumpkin ice cream.
Today I am wearing this jacket.
The leaves are turning red, I’m back to twice daily hot tea, and I’ve been wearing my Jackson Hole hoodie to bed. Marching band season is winding down, I finished The Miniaturist this afternoon, and my Swing Left socks will be off the needles just in time to vote. Autumn. My favorite.
It’s local (to me) and each jar holds twelve ounces of raw wildflower honey and limitless amounts of sparkle and joy. Like water for chocolate.*
The honey is super dark (meaning full of antioxidants) and super sweet (meaning I’m no longer putting honey AND sugar into my tea).
Best of all, every bottle is bedecked with a black and white photo of me in a bee suit, and if you live in St. Louis I’ll sell some to you.
This afternoon I had access to a marimba, some sheet music, and a quiet house.
Suddenly I’m all sparked and it’s like giving a mouse a cookie, I suppose, because now I need to know how it feels to write my own music.
I’ll probably be performing my tunes on a big stage somewhere in 2020. I’ll be sure to share ticket info with you since you’ve been with me from the beginning.
Former UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon said this to the Human Rights Council in March 2012.
The midterm elections are coming up in two weeks. Vote with your heart and your head.
On Friday evening, Harper and I went to the Enterprise Center to see Twenty One Pilots. Jeff surprised us with the tickets on Tuesday night and Oh, So Much Joy. (The seats were amazing. We’re so lucky.)
I take pills to keep my brain (and transverse colon) working. As a result, I am physically incapable of crying. Ah, but when Twenty One Pilots sat down fairly close to us and played my favorite song? I felt lachrymosity.
And when the show was almost over and they played Leave the City?
My lip. It quivered.
Music definitely knows my shortcut.
Fluid Pudding was down yesterday, and when I say Fluid Pudding I mean this very website—not me. (I have been called “Pudding” before. A few people have asked, “Are you Fluid Pudding?” Honestly, I love when that happens because it makes me feel like Parker Posey.)
So, because the site was down, I wasn’t able to update, meaning I failed at my own personal NaBloPoMo. BUT, what if I update twice today? Would that make up for it? Here’s the beautiful thing: I didn’t give myself any rules. I rarely do, because I trust that I’ll do the right thing. Let’s see what happens.
Me: I’m trying to teach myself the marching band dance break.
Meredith: Why would you do that?
Me: Because I’m 48 and dependable and who knows when they might need me to step in?
Meredith: No.
Harper: Don’t ever do that again.
We’re not completely out of the woods with the site (or the use of clichés). I’ve been told I have to go into my site code and change some things.
Obstacle #1: Go into my site code. Obstacle #2: Change some things.
I’m giving myself three days.
Day One: Pretend I don’t have to figure out how to find my site code. Go to a marching band competition. Maybe eat a funnel cake.
Day Two: Make some hot tea and take some deep breaths and figure out how to go into my site code.
Day Three: Change some things.
This evening a friend and I went to a book reading and author signing at Left Bank Books. The author, who is a friend of my friend, was charming and smart and I’m looking forward to reading her book.
Looking around at the bookstore reminded me that Amazon is convenient, but Amazon isn’t really where it’s at. Left Bank Books is where it’s at.
After the reading we jumped across the street for a taco. I went with the Autumn Taco, which held sweet potatoes, spicy nuts, cranberries, and more good things I can’t remember like some sort of specially treated onion. Vegan. Perfect. The tacofication of Thanksgiving.
This morning I spent some time working on my election socks. The last time I tried to knit election socks was way back in 2008. (I haven’t yet finished my 2008 socks, but I do remember how happy I felt when Michelle Obama’s 2009 inaugural parade dress matched my unfinished socks perfectly.) Anyway, the fact that I’ve turned the heel on the first midterm sock is huge.
I asked my new Ouija socks if my mary janes are broken in enough for a bloodless public outing. They said, “Yes. Goodbye.”
Jeff and I will be celebrating our 17th anniversary on Saturday, but because we’ll be celebrating it in two different states, we decided to do a family dinner this evening. Just so you know, I ate my weight in grilled pineapple and right now my stomach hurts more than the backs of my (bloodless!) ankles. I call that a win. (I call most things a win. Glass half full and all that jazz.)