21 April 2001

The blueberry muffins are just out of the oven, and even through the impending cold I refuse to get, they smell wonderful. When I was a little girl, we visited my grandparents about once a month, and we had a morning ritual that never varied. I slept on a mattress on the floor of my grandparents' room until I was in the middle of grade school. I could have slept on a whole bed in a room of my own, but it was a holdover from when Grandma had insisted that my crib would go in her room. And we all loved it. The sound of snoring makes me intensely sleepy, because it's such a warm, safe childhood sound for me. (Grandpa snores like a buzz saw.)

On Saturday mornings, I'd wake up and crawl in bed between Grandma and Grandpa. Grandpa would lie there and pretend to be asleep while I told Grandma all about my little person life. (I figured out later that he was hanging on every word.) Either of them could have navigated my kindergarten with ease. They knew who the bullies were and who was picked on most, who could keep secrets and who was a blabbermouth, and why it was socially advantageous to be friends with Tina Swoboda. (Tina wore Mary Janes every day, and if people were mean to her friends, she would kick the mean people. In the shins, the first time.)

After awhile, I'd get hungry. (I always wake up hungry.) Grandma would put on her velour bathrobe, and we'd head out to make blueberry muffins. Grandma always left a blueberry or two in the bowl for me to eat with the leftover batter. She also left chocolate chips in the chocolate chip cookie dough I got to lick. But that wasn't a Saturday morning thing. I'd eat the batter after we got the muffin cups all loaded up, and then I'd go wake Mom and Daddy so that they'd be up when the muffins were ready. (They never seemed to think it was crucial to be there the second the muffins were cool enough to eat. Often they would sleep for another half hour or more. Baffling.)

So this morning I made blueberry muffins. If you said it was comfort food when I'm nervous, I wouldn't argue with you. But they also taste good. You know, if you haven't e-mailed me in awhile, I wouldn't say now is a bad time. No, I wouldn't say that at all. (I'm beginning to sound like my old Norwegian uncles: "Not bad to see you. Not bad at all.")

I talked to Michelle on Thursday night. She's definitely coming out to visit in June. Wheee! If you have any suggestions for cool places in the Bay Area to take an unrepentant li-fi geek vegetarian friend of mine, let me know. I'm going to be doing research on good places to take her. It's a tough job, but.... I think by June, we'll both need some enforced relaxation time. I'm just looking forward to running around doing silly stuff with Michelle. I want to take her to SF-MOMA (the art museum). I want to take her somewhere we can play on swings. I want to drink gallons and gallons of coffee. This is going to be sooooo cool. And she's staying a little longer than Jenny did, I think. That was lovely, last June, but way too short. I think it always will be, though. I like making new friends. I just don't like having to let the old ones live further away than, say, an hour and a half drive. I think that's reasonable. Everybody I love should just follow me around the country and live where I live. I don't see anything wrong with this idea. Also, there should be good coffee there, and bookstores.

I'm going to get a birthday present for someone who hates birthdays (obviously not David, because I made fun of him awhile back). And then Tim's coming over, and all will be jollity and I will get Zod Wallop and he will get his Trickster book. Yay, book exchange! And yay, blueberry muffins!