Thoughts from a week of rain

After my accident on Saturday (what, you didn’t hear about that? Here’s the quick version: I borrowed Brian’s truck to move a picnic table, the truck hydroplaned, and I spun around before ending up in the embankment on 220. I’m fine, and the truck is mostly okay, at least as far as I know), I got out of the truck into the pouring rain and slid in the mud. Because I was completely unable to process what had just happened, I channeled all of my upset feelings into my shoes. “My yellow shoes!” I thought (I was wearing them because I like to wear bright colors on rainy days). “They will never be the same!” (Street cred is one thing. You don’t want your Chucks to look too new. But caked in mud, that’s completely different.) And when I say they were bad, I mean they were so bad that the state trooper said, “Could you please wipe off your shoes before getting in my vehicle?”

I spent most of Saturday resting and watching Gilmore Girls and reading, and Sunday I decided to get up and do some of those things I’d meant to do on Saturday: laundry, sweeping the kitchen floor. When I put something in the pantry, I noticed my yellow shoes sitting by the front door where I had left them the day before. I took them upstairs, got out the soap and OxyClean, and did my best, channeling all my “not processing” into scrubbing the mud off. I put the shoelaces in the laundry (tied in a sock), and left the shoes to dry in the sink. They seem to be dry now, but we’ve had a lot of rain and I’m not planning to wear them again until I’m sure I’m not slipping in any more mud. They aren’t perfect (I guess we’re back to the street cred level), but they are just shoes after all. They don’t have to be completely clean.

In other news, I finished Blue Shoes and Happiness over the weekend, and I enjoyed it just as I have enjoyed Alexander McCall Smith’s many other fine books. A coworker and I decided that his writing in The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency series is deceptively simple. The rhythm of the language makes it sound a bit like the books have been translated from Setswana, which is a difficult thing to achieve. The humor and tone, as well as the strong characters, make me think that a lot of care was put into the books to make them sound just right.

Now I’m reading Gail Godwin’s Queen of the Underworld, and as I told Carla, it makes me think of her: a reporter just out of journalism school working at a paper in Miami . . . I’m enjoying it more than I thought I would, to be honest. There was a lot of talk about Cuba on the inside flap, which I thought would lose me. Cuba is figured prominently in the story, but it’s not in an off-putting way at all. After I finish this one, I’ve got two more Gail Godwins on my bedstand that should take me a while.

I don’t really have a way to close this entry – there are a lot of things on my mind, and some of them will probably come out in the next few weeks, but for now, I’m still in not-processing mode.

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