sofa nap with Rob and Bridget

been reading: A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

Despite how I felt about The Kite Runner, I wasn't going to read this one. I'm not sure why, really, other than that what I knew of the story didn't really interest me, and there were many other books I wanted to read before committing to a novel somewhat similar to one I'd already read. But, this book was chosen by a book club that I was going to attend, and since it is certainly a worthwhile choice, I decided to read it after all.

It was just okay. Well, that's maybe not fair. Hosseini is incredibly talented and there is nothing wrong with this novel. But, in my opinion, it does not compare to The Kite Runner. The story is not as compelling, and I never came to care for the characters like I did Amir and Hassan. Terrible things happen, but I wasn't affected in the same way. I think Splendid Suns is skillfully done, and a valuable piece of literature, but one that will live in the shadow of its elder sibling. This novel just did not squeeze my heart like The Kite Runner did. It is not as beautiful or painful, and so not as breathtakingly powerful.

The coffee shop in the swanky new grocery store has a fireplace. A freaking FIREPLACE, people! In a grocery store!

That is all.

Last night I crawled into bed, cozied myself under the covers, and then rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. And saw, directly above me on the ceiling, a spider. Admittedly, it was a very small spider. Like, half the size of my pinky fingernail. Still, I could envision it dropping down onto me while I slept, drinking my eye juice and laying eggs in my ears. Because that's what spiders do.

It was small enough that I would have killed it myself, but I wasn't sure I could reach it, so I yelled for Rob, who was still up, to please come kill a spider! He came right away, without complaint. As I scooted to the far side of the bed and watched uneasily, I was very grateful to him for being so willing to always perform this duty. When we celebrate our 50th anniversary, Rob will have killed over 500 spiders for me. Is there any better measure of true love?

Except this time, something went wrong. He had it covered with a paper towel, and as he was about to smoosh it, I said, "Don't let it fall onto the bed!" and right then the fucking spider fell onto the bed. Or, rather, dropped itself onto the bed. Because he hadn't actually killed it yet. It sort of dangled in midair for a moment, and Rob grasped at it but it was too small to catch, and then we both saw it descend to the bed.

And then we couldn't see it anymore. It was camouflaged by the covers. I might perhaps have had a slight conniption at this point. You know, because THERE IS A SPIDER IN MY BED. If the spider had been any larger, I would have leaped out of the bed and slept on the sofa or something. But it was really quite tiny. So I sat there, frozen and wide-eyed, not sure what action to take other than the freaking out. Rob launched immediately into his calming tactics, telling me some shit about the spider being just as eager to get away from me as I was to get away from it. To which I responded, "No it's not! It wants to drink my eye juice and lay eggs in my ears! That's what spiders DO, Rob!"

He returned to the living room, and I searched the bed for the spider. When I didn't find it, I flapped all the covers back except for the sheet, thinking that might deter the spider from crawling toward me. And then I settled back into bed, albeit in an extremely unsettled manner, trying to convince myself that it probably wasn't even on the bed anymore, that it had surely found its way to the floor and was heading for the shower where it could terrorize me in the morning.

Eventually I was able to relax, and I was almost asleep when I suddenly had to sneeze. So I sat up and grabbed a tissue off the nightstand. And as I was blowing my nose, I felt a tiny tickle on my side. Typically I would have brushed it away without a thought, but I suppose my subconscious was still alert to the possibility of the spider, and so I lifted the sheet and glanced down at the right side of my stomach. It happened in slow motion, you know? I had left the lamp on for when Rob came to bed, so I saw it all quite clearly. The sheet sliding away. The spider sitting on my skin. Staring at me.

I silent-shrieked and flicked it off me, and as it landed nearby on the blanket I yelled, "ROB!!! I found it!" And then I smashed it with the tissue in my hand. Rob came running in and I managed to convey that the spider? The one he hadn't been able to kill? The one that had fallen onto our bed? IT WAS JUST CRAWLING ON MY BARE SKIN.

Headed north, surely, to drink my eye juice and lay eggs in my ears.

Oddly enough, the past few weeks I've found myself wishing I were a football fan. I don't know the first thing about football, and don't care a lick about the sport. But growing up, the game was always on. It was in the background, a muffled soundtrack to our family life. It's still that way when we visit - during the season, the game is always on. It's that way in Rob's family, too. His uncle and cousins will gather for a game, settling onto the sofa with chips and drinks. And for the duration of the game, real life doesn't enter in. Thoughts of work don't interfere. Talk is centered around the plays. It seems so protected from everything, so relaxed. In a world in which conflict is real and scary and so often the good guys are indistinguishable from the bad, it seems to me that football must provide a welcome reprieve - it's easy to choose teams, and safe to cheer for just one side, knowing that in the end it doesn't really matter who wins. Not really. And in a world in which we so often feel isolated, it seems comforting to know that even if you're rooting for different teams, you are united in your football focus with the other people in the room. And, in fact, the reason they are there with you in the first place is because they are friends. They are family.

In my college town, there was a really nice grocery store. It wasn't a national chain, but a family-owned business with just a few stores in the state. Really nice stores. Large floral department, vibrant fresh produce, a cafe with a salad and lunch bar. And the place had a great ambiance - it felt more like a market. It was bright and clean and there were handwritten chalkboard signs all over. And the employees were so nice. Everyone shopping there was happy, I swear. Great place.

I used to go there just to walk around. That's what I would do when I was stressed. (Well, that and shop at Target, which was in the same shopping center. Very convenient.) I would stroll the grocery store aisles, surrounded by shoppers: moms with kids, young couples, elderly men running an errand for their wives, people in suits grabbing food for dinner on their way home from work. Being in the midst of all this reminded me that there was a normal life out there beyond dorm rooms and analytical essays and meal plans. It sounds lame, I guess, but it kept me sane.

Here in Redneck Valley the grocery stores pretty much suck. There is one that is better than the rest, but in no way can it compete with my college town's grocery oasis.

But last week a new grocery store opened here. It's a regional chain, and I'd heard it was nice, so I was pretty excited. Not as ecstatic as when Target came to town, but still pretty excited. I went to check it out last Thursday during my lunch break, and I was not disappointed. There's a cafe and coffee bar. With WiFi! Hardwood floors in various sections. Hardwood floors, people! They have a large organic section, and I even saw organic freaking dog food. And the seafood section was like a fresh market with stacks of fish. You know, with the heads still intact and the little beady eyes staring at you! Which, eew, but also awesome! And there are kiosks throughout the store that provide recipes and also can be used to locate items. No more wandering up and down aisles looking for random ingredients like wheat germ or coconut milk or saffron threads! Woohooo!

Friday evening I took Rob to check it out. Because what else is there to do here? And frankly, after you're married for five years, going to the grocery store on a Friday night totally counts as a date. So I was showing him all the cool stuff ("Rob, look! Hardwood floors! And organic freaking dog food! And do you see the fish heads over there staring at us?!!") when we stumbled upon the wine tasting. WINE-TASTING! At a grocery store! I might perhaps have squealed and proclaimed it our Best Date EVER.

You laugh, but honestly, with the coffee shop and the WiFi and the sushi and the wine-tasting and the olive bar, I'm declaring it THE new place to hang out. I'm totally going to start suggesting we meet our friends for a night out at the grocery store.

And I'm going to start grocery store strolling again, too. Not for stress relief anymore, but rather to soak in the fact that I'm living that fantastic normal life I used to long for.

Inspired by this (and this).

Age 2: I am sick with a mystery illness this entire year. I get better just to be sick again the next month; my mom claims I am more regular than her period. I get very high fevers, so high that I hallucinate. One time I think my feet are monkeys and try to run from them. Obviously, this does not work. The doctors test me for all sorts of scary things, none of which I have. Then I turn three and am all better, just like that. Because of the copious amounts of liquid Tylenol I've consumed, I will never be able to stand the taste of artificial cherry.

Age 3: I am given the Most Horrible Tasting Medicine Of All Time EVER for something, and pitch a fit every time I have to take it. My parents think I'm being completely obnoxious until finally Mom tastes the stuff herself and visibly shudders. Ah, my first moment of vindication.

Age 4: My preschool teachers tell my parents I am "bossy." Like that's a bad thing. Also this year, my favorite aunt moves away. She leaves me her hula hoop.

Age 5: I befriend a boy in kindergarten who is "the poor kid" in class; we always play on the playground together. One day I come home and tell my mom that I am no longer friends with him. She asks why, and I explain that he talks too much. Also this year, my little brother is born and I bring him to school for show and tell.

Age 6: We buy a giant Hershey kiss to give my teacher, Ms. Hershey, for Christmas. It sits on the top shelf of my parents' closet and tempts me every time I see it. Finally one day my mom and I succumb - we agree to buy Ms. Hershey something else and eat the chocolate ourselves.

Age 7: I become best friends with Doreen. Still am today.

Age 8: Doreen and I begin writing a mystery novel together.

Age 9: I win the Young Authors contest in the prose category for a story I've written.

Age 10: In a moment of frustration, our female 5th grade teacher shoves the podium onto the floor and runs from the classroom crying. We all sit there stunned for a moment, and then several girls start crying, too. I find all of this completely overdramatic and pathetic, and think these people are making our entire gender look bad.