Expectations
I think my expectations are too high when it comes to Macs. Everybody talks about them as if they’re the holy grail of computerdom, but ya know, I’m just not al that impressed.
Call me a blasphemer, I know it’s tragically uncool to be hating on the Mac, but I’m just not in love here. Its battery only has about four hours of life, the startup disk is constantly full and we’re having a heck of a time keeping it configured to our crappy internet service. Add to that: the power cord cost $32 more than my old Dell’s to replace, the locking mechanism is shot, the software we want costs more AND it’s less than three years old (my old laptop managed a good six years before giving up the ghost).
Harrumph. I’m crabby at it.
As for other expectations, they have been wonderfully exceeded lately. The weekend before my birthday my husband surprised me by sending me out for a hot stone massage at a local day spa (this was nothing short of heavenly) and when I got home…..
He’s making me a chocolate cheesecake. Yum-O! I’m a blessed girly.
Funny Story...
Last Tuesday I looked up from my book to see a five year old standing in my living room. Surprise!
But how did he get there you may ask?
Well, I shall tell you.
Next door we have a pair of five year old boys who think we are cooler than the proverbial cucumbers and way more interesting than TV (yay).
On Sunday we asked them into the yard to play frisbee/chase with the dog and dig in the dirt with us (we planted a cherry tree and two tomato plants). Eventually they had to go home, as do most little boys.
An important point to this story is that Grayson sometimes has a small issue recognizing children as tiny humans. We’ve been rather afraid of what might happen should one inadvertently get over our 5ft fence.
Now at least we know that should a known five year old advertently scale said fence, he will not only not be eaten, but will be brought in the house to be admired as a prize.
Imagine my surprise when I looked up from the Island of the Sequined Love Nun to see my dog being trailed by a ridiculously cute and ridiculously muddy little boy. Ah, bliss!
His parents…not so happy.
This has also made me think a bit about our neighborhood. I love our neighborhood. Love, love, love it. I love walking to the coffee shop. I love walking to the library. I love that there are people of different colors. I love that the Christians here don’t think liberal is a dirty word and love whoever shows up. I love that I know my neighbors and that we have parades. I love that we have a corner drug store that carries penny candy and is owned by the guy whose name is on the sign. I love that I can take the bus downtown and I love the old Victorians along the main drag. I love that I’m on a first-name basis with the lady at the post office. I love that my dog is welcome at the tavern.
That said, I’ve had some sad, scary revelations this past week. I walked out the door of my house last Friday at 6:30 am (I lead a meeting at 7 on Fridays), and saw that the vacant house next door had its front door wide open and all the lights on. I called the realtor and called the police and went to work. Eight hours later I came home and talked to the guy who lives on the other side of the house. He’s mostly deaf, so he certainly didn’t hear anything. But he had seen the police arrive and told me all the copper piping (including the under the cabinet stuff) had been ripped out. How did I not hear this heinous destruction? Not even the dog got up.
Second story: I found out one of my coworkers was shot during a mugging in broad daylight after coming out of a pizzeria in the next neighborhood north of us. I’ve been down that alley. So what’s up with that?
Oddly, this doesn’t change my feelings much about living here, but it does make me leery of certain streets and grateful for a large barky dog. Sigh. I hate living in a sinful world.
