Has been found. Was in plain view in front of my office phone. Needs battery recharge.

End of line.

1) For those who know my cell phone number, don’t bother calling it for the foreseeable future. I’ve misplaced it and can’t find the fucking thing. I hope to recover it by the end of the weekend.

2) I received a friendship book back in the mail today via my father. When I saw it addressed to “Measi Kent” on the envelope, I was intrigued… as I haven’t swapped under that name since high school.

Sure enough, it was an FB that I made for myself when I was 16. It took FOURTEEN YEARS to get home. Impressive, eh? Granted– it hit 20 countries (none being the USA) along that route.

Freaky.

Yesterday morning, I replied to some comments in my last entry regarding flowers. A couple of votes for bright red flowers were expressed– and I commented how they’d be strongly considered for along the sunny side of the house and along the driveway. Possibly some bright red day lillies, tulips, etc. Color is good. Bright colors are very good.

But for the front of the house, where there’s a big space, I need a shrubbery. Something nice. Not too expensive. I’ll attempt the two layer effect with the path going down the middle…

[/Python invocation]

Anyway… since moving to New England, I’ve fallen in love with a particular… shrubbery… which grows amazingly well around here and just looks spectacular – blue hydrangeas. They grow into huge bushes here with huge pom-poms of flowers that are six inches across. Depending on the acidity of the soil, they turn different colors, too. The less acidic, the flowers turn pink. Or even white. The more common variety that’s been grown around New England turn white.

But down on Cape Cod and in Rhode Island, where the soil is sandier, blue ones come out easier. Usually in a shade of lilac, like these:

While I doubt mine would get that many blooms, even a few blooms with those big poms would be striking against the white house.

So getting back to the beginning of my entry… the irony comes up yesterday morning shortly after I reply to my comments. I go grab a cup of coffee in the kitchen, come back to my desk, and see a large paper bag tied with raffia on my chair. From Winston Flowers, which is one of the very posh florists in the area. I open the bag, sift through the tissue paper, and broke into a big smile.

Linda bought me a potted hydrangea. Similar to this, but a single stem. With a big bright blue (true blue– not purple) pom that’s actually bigger than the pot.

She bought it for Secretaries Day (which was yesterday), but also as a congrats on the new house. Really– how could she have known?

Last night I talked to my mom, and mentioned how I hope I can keep this one alive to get it planted outside. Mom thought it was a great idea, and mentioned that she would bring up a potted one — also blue — that she has currently in her Florida room. And then when I get into the house, I can plant both of them. While Linda gave me the one sitting next to me on my desk, I’ll plant it for my grandma.

We’re not in the house, and already I have things that will give me little “thinking of you” moments ready to go.

Is it mid-June yet?

It took forty-five minutes this morning. And I personally only signed one sheet of paper. Erich signed the stack. The flurry of paper moving around the table was amazing.

And then all of a sudden, we were done. We shook hands around the table, and stood there stunned. We bought a house.

That was a bit less than twelve hours ago. It hasn’t sunk in yet. It probably won’t until we’re standing in the doorway, cat carrier in hand.

We spent some time exploring parts of Providence, but by around 2 p.m. both of us were ready to just crash out, exhausted from the emotional jitters. Before leaving Rhode Island, though, we drove by the house… and as we did, I noted to Erich that he’s the owner of that house now.

Scary, isn’t it?

We’re exhausted. We’re scared as hell. But we’re happy. And we can’t wait to get in there.

*does an excited happy dance*

Observation #1:

Regardless of how short-lived it is going to be, seeing a checking account balance with a five digit number is amazing. But I’m already in mourning, because I sense it will never happen again in my lifetime.

Observation #2:

In twenty-four hours, Erich and I will be signing a ton of papers that will bring us into that unknown – and as of only six weeks ago unobtainable – realm known as Home Owners.

Pinch me.

I’ve had an odd yearning lately to sit in a warm, sun-lit room in bare feet and cotton pj’s, letting my fingers roll over white and black ivory keys, meandering through rhythms and pieces I still have burned in memory from childhood… or trying something new.

I miss music. I miss playing music. It’s been seven years since I’ve picked up my clarinet. Even longer in regards to a viola. Piano? I tinkered around a bit during the Christmas From Hell two years back, but otherwise haven’t played since college. While I can still read treble and bass clefs just fine, I honestly don’t know if I’d remember how to read an alto clef.

It’s funny– a few weeks ago, I made some passing reference to getting a piano for the Florida room. Not that we can afford one right now, unless I find one at an estate consignment (which is possible, but will require me to scout for it– getting rid of an old upright piano is a chore). And Erich comments how he didn’t even know I played the piano.

That made me pause for a moment– because it seems so strange to me that the man I share my life with didn’t know that. Even if I haven’t been playing for years, music has been such a strong point of my life since I was in grade school. I guess I just assume (incorrectly, obviously) that everyone I’m close friends with has known this. Friends from grade school blend into high school into college into Boston life post-college into now. Particularly when so many people now are blended from my stages of friendships. The Boston University grads will joke about something, and Erich will get confused– and it takes everyone a few minutes to realize that he didn’t know any of us then, so he has no idea what we’re talking about.

Maybe it’s springtime that’s making me yearn for some “key fumbling.” Part of it is remembering my days of practicing on the piano in my dad’s basement, trying desperately hard not to press too firmly on the keys. I never wanted to let anyone hear my mistakes– especially my brother, who teased constantly. The idea of someone hearing my mistakes terrified me for some reason. Perfectionism to a fault, perhaps?

In any case, I miss it. I want to be able to putter on a Sunday morning with a cup of coffee and the mock-ivory, bouncing the opening riff of Piano Man or rolling through a minuet by Mozart. I hope to get a piano some day. I feel like it will happen someday– perhaps I’m simply seeing memories that aren’t yet set.

It was actually hot outside yesterday– mid to upper 80′s (depending on where you were), and none too comfy in the non-A/C’ed Jeep on the way home. Still, I enjoyed it. Spring exploded by yesterday evening– all of those trees that were just on the verge of popping leaves now have. Which was good, because driving to work yesterday as the thermometer in my Jeep read “75″ but seeing almost completely bare trees was a bit weird. It was weirder around lunch when it was 85 degrees as I hurried back down the Pike from the mall.

It should never be 85 degrees with bare trees. It makes the region look like it was in a forest fire.

Still, it was a nice little hint of summer. Around 10 p.m. last night a cold front literally blew in, dropping the temperature outside down around fifteen degrees in the course of about twenty minutes. It was chilly outside this morning, but everything’s relative– four days ago, mid 50′s would have felt quite nice. After yesterday, it’s frigid.

*sigh*

My allergies are reminding me of yesterday, too. All morning I’ve been sniffly and dealing with some weather-induced hives. My antihistamines aren’t kicking in quite right. I’m hoping that with some regular meds intake, it’ll balance out.

Since it was so warm yesterday, the interest in working past around 4 p.m. waned quickly, and I began surfing the web to look at wedding dresses for the hell of it. I fell in love with a dress I saw and wanted to think about it for a few minutes. So I took a walk to the pop machine. And as I was walking back, I had this nagging urge that I’d seen the dress before, and that something was wrong.

Shit.

I finally realized why, and wanted to confirm my suspicions with a certain other blogger (*cough* WestCoastMel *cough*) who shares my webspace, who’s getting married a month before me.

Really now, what’s the chance of it? With all of the choices of wedding dresses out there? Okay, even technically in the plus-size wedding dress department (which I guarantee to all of the skinny girls is MUCH more limited than yours).

So no… can’t use that one. In my opinion, that falls along the same code of conduct rules as “don’t date the ex of your best friend.”

More looking will comence. I have some ideas. Nothing has called out to me as THE ONE, though. Which is probably a good thing. I can keep looking. Right now I’m thinking along the lines of (to any women for whom this makes sense)… an a-line dress (modified or traditional a-line). Sweetheart cut neckline (I have the boobs to pull it off). Some sort of sleeve– because I do have heavy upper arms. I don’t need a long train, but wouldn’t object to one for the ceremony and pictures, provided that it can be either detached or bundled somehow in the dress.

And I’m leaning ivory over white.

Oh– and for family tradition, I do want to do a mantilla veil. My mother was married in one. I’m hoping, actually, that hers is still around and intact– because it would also fit the “something borrowed” idea. Plus really, it’s the only thing I could borrow from my mom, who weighed a whopping 95 pounds when she was married. (no, really– and it’s disturbing that I’m not too shy of three times my mom’s weight at that point).

Thus ends my wedding dress thoughts of the day.