Ex Vee

Really, we've known each other for XIX. We were so young.


We had our lives in front of us, and we chose to tread the path side by side.


I'm glad we're traveling together.

And when we're old, we can watch the sunset together, too.


I love you, Consort.

Dear Consort, #3

Dear Consort,

It sure was fun chatting with you over email and haloscan the other day. Sounds like you are having quite the adventure in Nicaragua!

But, dude, it’s time to come home.

See, yesterday morning, the router started acting up. You remember how it’s been fritzing out on us the past 6 weeks or so, mainly in the evenings (so that it wasn’t getting in the way of correspondence and Internet connection during work hours), and it would flush itself in a few minutes (so that we could technically still get connection during the evening, we’d just have to wait a bit longer between pages). Yesterday, it happened in the morning, so I called the tech director and left a message.

That afternoon, he hadn’t called back, and it was getting worse. Trixie was disconnected twice while she was playing WoW, and I wasn’t able to finish the work I wanted to get sent out.

So, I called back, and got the voicemail again. And I did what I knew I would. Yep, I threw diplomacy out the window and said something like, “I don’t know why we even go through you people, we should just get the DSL direct through Qwest because at least they have phone banks and ANSWER CUSTOMER TROUBLE CALLS!”

Whoo-boy.

He called back this morning, and after saying “This is Txxx Syyy,” he was silent on the line. No apology coming from this guy. That’s fine, I wasn’t going to apologize, either! He gave me his cellphone number and told me to call the next time it happened. I replied that I didn’t think it was a very good idea, because it often happens in the evening. “You can call me in the evening,” he said. Ho-kay.

Two hours later, I got disconnected (it’s still this morning). I call him, and it sounds like he’s at home watching kids. He tells me someone else will call me right back.

They did.

You know who it was?

Chatty guy, your friend.

Oh my lorrrrrrrrd. It took about 20 minutes to finalize that he’d bring over a replacement router later in the afternoon. I told him I’d be gone from 3 to 4. He then called at 2:45 just to “touch base” and remind me that he knew I’d be out from 3 to 4 and that he’d call before he came later.

Well, it’s 8:45 and he hasn’t called. Which is fine. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if the router transfer didn’t happen until Monday...

...When you’ll be home, and be Mr. Diplomat,* like you always are.

Love,
Imperatrix, your Thank-god-you-aren't-running-for-office-because-me-and-my-big-mouth-would-ruin-any-chance-you-had-of-being-elected spouse

*This is also why I haven’t called the neighborhood police liason to discuss certain “happenings” next door, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep the reins on my rudestraight talk, and that would just end up making things worse. You’ll be having to call her, too, when you get back. Alright?

Dear Consort, #2

Let’s call this essay: Frustration.

Ooo, but first, let me tell you what Impera made Wednesday night for my Mother’s Day supper. We had spinach dumplings smothered in pesto sauce. And for dessert: chocolate mousse! (Even I have never gotten up the nerve to make chocolate mousse.) It was all delicious, and very very filling. I took pictures, but because I borrowed a camera from a friend but forgot to pick up the cords, I can’t download them or post them. Just imagine it, if you can.

Okay, back to the theme. (Remember, it’s Frustration.)

First, you aren’t around.

Second, you know how I mentioned the girls and I are going camping this weekend? Well, I thought it would be a good idea to put up the tent Thursday afternoon and let it air out a bit, make sure it’s swept out and ready to go … you know, that kind of prep stuff. Now, you recall that we own the little 2-man (technically, it’s a 4-man, but they must be gnomes or dwarves to fit four of them and all their gear in there) tent that we bought before we traveled through Europe 18 years ago. But since we’ve been here at Mr. Duck U, we’ve been using one of the larger tents owned by your Program, purchased by the guy who started up the Program, and who liked to spend petty cash on things like Eddie Bauer tents and Jeeps. Because you and your students go camping at most twice a year, we’ve been keeping one tent useful here with us. Remember that? And, maybe you remember that you and your students went camping at some point this spring, and that you took the tent we use with you, despite the fact that only about half as many students as sign up for a trip actually show up to camp at any Program outing—despite that, you thought you might need it? Yeah? You know, the tent that was put back in the equipment room, I’m guessing, because it isn’t in the garage or in the basement? Yup, THAT tent. The one that therefore the three of us can’t use this weekend? *Sigh.* We decided we’d make the little tent work. Because we’re hopelessly optimistic that way.

After we all lay in the tent and gave it the thumbs up, I went inside to start supper. The asparagus and frittata dinner I said I’d make Thursday night. I promised. I took out the asparagus and reached for the egg carton. It felt pretty darn light. I opened it up, and instead of the six eggs I expected to find (the six eggs I counted and found to be more than plenty when I planned to make this dinner), I saw three eggs. Hmmm… Of course!—the spinach dumplings required eggs. Well, here is frustration #3! I scrounged around in the fridge, and found that half of the pseudo flatbreads (they call themselves “pita” but they are unlike any pita I ever saw) were still good, and the haloumi cheese my mother brought two weeks ago was also fine (since we hadn’t opened the package). There was one ripe tomato on the windowsill, and I had bought a handful of mushrooms to put in the frittata. So, I roasted the asparagus in olive oil, garlic, and sea salt; I sliced and fried up the haloumi; I sliced and sauteed the mushrooms in butter; I sliced up the tomato; and I warmed up the flatbreads. And we ate.

And then! A double-whammy frustration. I drove the girls to fencing, and as we approach, I noticed lots and lots and LOTS of cars parked along the side streets. “Oh, right!” say the girls. “This neighborhood’s Farmer’s Market starts tonight.” This means that I can’t park where I normally do, seeing as it’s the main strip down which the stalls are set up. So I dropped the girls off at the back door of the community center, and spent longer than I wanted to finding a place to park. Then I decide that I’d walk the market, see if I can find something quirky for my Secret Pal.

Consort, let me tell you something: the suburban farmer’s market may be lots bigger than our neighborhood’s market, but it is all (1) prepared food to eat on site and (2) potted plants. There was maybe one produce stand, but that’s it. Sheesh! What kind of a farmer’s market IS this? Not a well-rounded one, that’s for sure.

So, I hope you had fun staying with families at the fair trade organic coffee plantation. Was your Spanish adequate? We check on your itinerary every day, you know.

Talk to you soon,

Imperatrix

Dear Consort, #1

Dear Consort,

This is the first in a series of notes I'll be writing you while you are in Nicaragua. I figure your e-mailbox will be overflowing with all sorts of crap that you don't filter out (despite my constant nagging), so if I try to keep you updated via email, you'll never see it. Maybe you'll think about checking the blog, who knows? (I know *I* would if I were in Central America and only had 15 minutes or so at a cyber cafe to check up on the important things in life.)

Trixie misses you already. She hasn't said anything outright, but lately she'll be sitting there and all of a sudden sigh and say, "Zephyr misses Dad so much. Poor Basenji!" (I don't agree with her, mostly because the dog is invariably curled up and asleep during these interludes. [Well, when she hears her name she wakes up, puts on her "pitiful face", and slowly lifts her front paw, on the off-chance one of us might remember that what we really wanted to do was pat her tummy.])

Impera -- ah, Impera. She'll miss you heaps by the end of the two weeks. Yesterday morning, after taking her time doing her morning routine, I asked her if she had emptied her part of the dishwasher. "I don't think I'll have time," she replied (it was 7:13, so she technically had 2 more minutes). I told her yes she did have time, because it was 7:13 and so she had two more minutes, so get crackin'! See? One week of this and she'll be missing you.

I have not been feeding the girls well. Sunday we potlucked, so they ate fine. Monday was the Fiddle Jam Session (which went great by the way; she had a blast, and gosh does old-time music sound good when a group of eleven musicians play together. But boy, I had no idea so many of her teacher's students were adults!) and fencing class, so I cooked a frozen lasagna, with no supervegetable. Yesterday, I had plans to make roasted asparagus and a frittata, but Impera asked if we could go to the bookstore to buy the other two books in the same series as Tithe, and, being a softie when it comes to book addiction, I said yes. Seeing as we only had a short while before she had to get to school for the orchestra concert, on the way home from the bookstore we stopped at Jimmy Johns and ordered sub sandwiches to go.

Tonight, Impera's cooking my Mother's Day meal. She asked for basil, heavy cream, and chocolate chips. Knowing her, I don't have to worry about all three being combined in one dish! Tomorrow, I promise I'll make that frittata. (Friday we'll probably head out camping, so in the first 7 days you were gone, we'll have eaten healthy twice, eaten grilled food once, eaten crappy twice, and eaten camping food twice. Not a good track record.)

The orchestra concert went very well. The chamber orchestra piece was good, too. But the music director forgot to put one person's name on the program list of chamber orchestra members. Think of all the seventh graders we know who play classical instruments. Think of the *worst* person he could have left off the list...

...think you know who it was?

...Yep, he left off Queen. Poor kid. Aaargh!*

Well, I better sign off. It's almost time for Impera's fiddle lesson.

We love you lots, and hope you're having a good time!

Yours forever,

Imperatrix

PS: Because of the camping trip, don't bother trying to call at all on Saturday (not that we talked about you doing that, anyway.) (Plus, that satellite phone sux.)

*To the general readership: Queen is a socially immature kid who doesn't really fit in anywhere. She tries too hard, you know? Being left off the chamber list will just underscore for her how invisible she must feel most of the time. I wish I could hug her, but her mom doesn't like me and she's stopped coming to the book chats. *Sigh*