Bucolic Fever

The day after my birthday (which only sucked for part of the day; good friends rescued the rest), I woke up early. Earlier than intended. I woke up with an asthma attack, and I can't recall the last time that happened. I suppose it was one way to revisit my youth. I suspect the wine I ordered was not the wine that I drank. Or there was much more butter in the sauce on my cod than I tasted. Either way, I had to suck on my inhaler twice, then shake my way through a shower and packing before heading up the 405 to the 5 to the 580 to the 101 to Novato to see my friend, Joy, her amazing hubster, Dude, and their incredible son, Laddy.

The last time I made this journey, I had a little car trouble. This time, I knew it would be a smooth sail. And, outside of the asthma attack, it was. The only other hiccup was that Joy's chemo was postponed due to low T-cells, which wasn't unexpected. So, instead of her recovering from that over Easter weekend, we got to hang out and O.D. on Bravo marathons, Easter chocolate, and marvel at the energy packed into a three-year-old. He and I got to go to the park and blow bubbles into the breeze. Do you remember how much fun that is? I had forgotten until that weekend.

With her energy still low, I took over the chores and errands, which are actually enjoyable here. I had the distinct pleasure of taking Laddy to and from preschool. That necessitated having a booster seat installed in my car. Someone should alert Guinness to that. On Monday morning, out to my car we went and found an ugly clicking where the sound of the ignition engagement should've been. Being the stubborn broad I am, I kept trying, turning the key over and over, certain that "just once more" would get it to go. But, no. The battery finally expired. I turned to the young gent sitting in the back and broke the news. "That's okay. Let's just walk," Laddy said. And so we did. Which turned out to be rather scandalous, because every pre-K kid on the playground asked why he was walking to school. "BECAUSE SANDRA'S BATTERIES ARE BROKEN!" he explained at volume eleven. Awesome.

Did you know that AAA will sell and install a battery for you...and for less than the local mechanic? Neither did I. Love them. I told the two men (one who came to jump me and the other who delivered my new juice box) that they should be wearing capes.

The other reason I came up was that Joy was having pain from a previous procedure, which was going to be addressed on Wednesday. Dude took her in and I manned the home front. There, I did laundry. Four loads of it. I actually enjoy doing laundry (and dishes) when one's own, in-house machinery is involved. I was having quite a good time with it, I must say. At one point, probably during yet another episode of "real" housewives from somewhere, I got a little frightened when I realized that not once have I been bored. Not once did I itch to go home. Not once did my skin crawl at the sight of a minivan (which neither Joy nor Dude owns...we comprise a squadron of Jettas). I had found myself in a suburban town that does not nauseate me. Seriously. someone should alert Guinness on that.

I'm sure some of it has to do with the company I keep. And the fact that this town is not manufactured or "planned". Houses are not encrusted with beige stucco. This suburb has a touch of the bucolic to it. It's quietness does not creep me out, but calms me. I know that I am still somewhat "normal" because we have gone into establishments that housed screaming children and I did want to throttle them, so I'm not too far gone. But, the strangest thing is that I feel like I've always been here, and I have no desire to go back home. A place that I love. Again, that could be due to the company I keep here. But, as I head off to unload the dishwasher, having fully embraced my domestic diva, I think I'm going to have a hard time adjusting back to my life. A lot of that will have to do with missing my own washer, dryer and dishwasher. But, even more of it will be having my friends at such a distance. It would be nice to have them right next door. And, while I'm not sure I'm ready to be a "real" housewife of any sort, at least I know I won't have an allergic reaction to it. (And if I do, I'm armed with Claritin and an inhaler.)