If you haven’t already, go get a copy of Toby Streams the Universe at amazon today because it is FREEEE. (You can, of course, read any Kindle book on any device you already own by installing the free Kindle Ap.) Go on, go get a copy! I’ll wait.
Toby has acquired 24 four and five star reviews and a couple dozen letters from readers who enjoyed the book enough to write me and tell me. This makes me tremendously happy. It’s like having one of your babies out there in the world, doing good things….
Yay, Toby! GO GO GO!
In other sad news, yes, as the post-title says, after over a decade of service, I have lost my favorite sunglasses and I am just in a funk about it. They were these super-nice Revo wrap around things with all the special polarized NASA tech Revo’s are supposed to have. Paul said they did not exactly improve my cool factor, but I didn’t care because they really, really worked, letting my eyes relax in this peaceful glare-free world. They didn’t let in light from above or the sides, either, only to bounce it off the interior of the lens and into my eyes to drive me mad the way so many inferior glasses will do. And no one could see my eyes which was fun because it frees a person to look wherever she or he might, hypothetically, want to look.
Those sunglasses have been with me to Miami, to San Fran, to Maui, Vermont, New York, my grandfather’s funeral, the beach. I’ve worn them swimming a million times. They were super spendy, bought back when I was single and child-less and could blow $100 on something as frivolous (but it turns out, really, wonderfully useful) as sunglasses. (They are $200 nowadays. Sob.) It’s rare that an item can so profoundly make some part of life so comfortable. Like having a great pair of hiking boots can make or break a camping trip, you know? I didn’t realize how much I liked them until they went missing.
I’ve looked everywhere. I’ve looked in places no one should ever look. I feel pretty sure they are here somewhere, but they have become one of the items that disappears for years until we move the bed or the fridge and discover a lost trove of items hidden beneath. In all this searching I have FOUND tons of lost things, my old favorite t-shirt, lots of the kid’s clothes, my copy of Beloved that I had been looking for, the old tv remote, Sophie’s missing shoe, Luc’s harmonica, etc. But no sunglasses. I’ve been quite depressed about it. Foolishly so.
“I feel stupid for feeling so bad about this,” I said to the yurt after another round of seraching.
To which Luc answered, “I totally understand. I felt the same way when the Playstation broke.”
I collapsed on the sofa and cried some pretend tears. “Thanks, Luc. That helps.” And then, “Did you cry pretend cries, too?”
Luc looks at me indignantly. “I did not cry pretend cries! Those were real tears.”
He really was sad about his playstation (its been replaced, $50 on Craigslist, can’t beat that. He said I was the best Mommy ever when he got it, and he hugged me. Guy likes his Scooby-doo game.)
He added, “I think you should buy a new pair because then the old pair will instantly show up. And you can return the new pair and get your money back.”
That just might work….!
Then, last night, we were driving through town to go see fire works which put us driving through the maze of the hospital and I realized that exactly one year ago, Luc and I were in that ER with his shattered elbow, preparing him for surgery, trying to squeeze in together on that stupid hospital bed to get some sleep before the surgeon got there, trying desperately not to jostle his arm, trying to deal with the IV, poor little guy—
Jesus, no wonder I was in such a weird mood all day! This quiet freaked out feeling that I couldn’t attach to anything… It was Hospital Trauma Anniversary!
Turns out, Luc was thinking about it, too. When we got ready for bed, he pulled out a t-shirt to put on then threw it on the floor. “Why’d you do that?” I said. “It’s clean, don’t toss it on the floor, man.”
“It’s the shirt I was wearing the night I broke my arm,” he said. “It’s the one I was wearing in the hospital.”
We both looked down at the shirt.
“Let’s burn it,” I said.
“No, Mom,” he said, rolling his eyes. “It’s a nice shirt. I just don’t want to wear it today.”
I totally understand.
(I still might burn it.)
(Have you seen my sunglasses?)
(Go get a copy of Toby!)