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I’m Going to Write a Blues Song

POSTED ON Feb 04th 2014 BY LESLIE LOFTIS UNDER Fertility, Food, Friendship, Housewifery, Life Admin, PJLifestyle links, Travel, Uncategorized

The kids watched Adventures in Babysitting a few weeks ago. Remember the part where Elisabeth Shue and crew find themselves on stage at a blues bar and may not leave until they sing the blues? She nervously starts reciting their woes and the musicians add a blues rif. Well, here, the song:

The past seven days put that blues rif in my head.

Work got away from me. Sometime two weeks ago, whether before or after the weather I can’t recall, I submitted an article on Jeff Davis. Not Jefferson Davis the Confederate President as my history buff commenters teased, but Jeff Davis, Texas Senator Wendy Davis’s ex-husband. I thought he sounded like a stand up kind of guy. A couple of odd things happened after that. One my husband sent me an email asking if he was my Jeff Davis. With the Jefferson Davis comments on my mind, I answered, “Kinda.” Wrong answer. Weird conversation. And for Yasha and me, that’s saying something. Then, my editor at PJL asked if I’d like to link to Ann Coulter’s weekly columns. I haven’t read her in a while but had linked to her Wendy Davis article in which she had also complimented Jeff Davis. I’ve avoided any regular writing commitments up to now as my time is still too unpredictable, but after confirming that he just wanted a link to her Wednesday column and a little commentary, I agreed. Those posts are relatively quick to do. Wednesday’s topic took me by surprise: immigration. Granted, that the GOP was talking immigration surprised everybody. I required a bit of extra reading to get up to speed, and killed my plans to work on a birth control draft. (More on that in a moment.)

I got frustrated with a busy body. Yes, most people get frustrated with a busy body, but this one was trying to be helpful, which I appreciate. But I get annoyed by safety advice from anyone who mentions they looked up from their phone while driving.

I got embarrassed working at a retreat. The theme was “Be still and know that I am God.” It’s not the kind of weekend one is supposed to bring her tablet to. But I have the KJV and ESV Bibles on my tablet, and I wanted to work on that birth control piece. At one point I had the volume too high when showing a friend A Guy’s Guide to The Pill . So into the parlor of knitters blared, “When you hear the words “birth control” you probably think of the Pill, and when you think of the Pill, you probably think about sex, and when you think about sex, you probably think ‘how can I get me some of that sex?'” My friend thanks me for that moment.

It rained on the retreat, and I took a wrong turn and almost missed the BBQ pit stop. I didn’t miss the BBQ, but I still felt stupid. And lyrics about wrong turns and BBQ–hmmm, maybe if I write a country song, that’s a better country music sort of lyric.

I came home to drama and minor trauma.  I hadn’t heard from home while retreating. I mistakenly assumed that nothing had gone wrong. Now, Tuesday morning, the dog fence is repaired, the children have new rules about playmates, and my mother and I know that we cannot bring my post stroke father over here unless we have a strongman around who can help us move him. (Yasha was supposed to be home this weekend but got called to Bagdad. That should be a blues verse all its own.)

Things had gotten better by Monday afternoon. The kids each had a playmate over so were outside playing or in their rooms doing Legos. Mom (oh, my mom officially moved in on Friday) and I got an impressive amount of life admin done for post school hours. Two of the moms hung out for a bit when picking up their kids. That’s my kind of afternoon. So the blues have blown over, except now I have to cut writing short to run to the grocery for school snacks. I’m the snack mom for this week and last. I bought all the snacks last week, but the children ate this week’s provisions over the weekend. This is only a time problem, but now I’m seeing Honest, True, Just, Pure, Lovely in every grocery aisle. Retail morality has gotten distracting.

 

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