sandboxes

Letter #2: The First Tentative Step (Ruined in Elegance by An Ineffective Stumble)

Dear Moira,

I well remember the years of the sandbox. Oh, those happy, idyllic childhood memories of the days when wet sand could yield lumpy mounds fit to rival Mount Everest, and questionably soggy pies fit for stuffing into a younger victim’s mouth when no one was looking (consider this a fit of wry nostalgia for a wicked deed never done, rather than a belated confession of a dark and troubled past).

Fortunately, one can look forward to virtual surfaces, where you do not have to worry about an unexpected rain shower ruining a masterpiece, or sand getting into a tender eye.

All this, merely to say that my shovel is at the ready, my sunscreen is applied, and I will try my best to not coerce you into eating gourmet meals held together by hose water and more than a little dirt.

Today is one of those most ominous days when it is hard to find something to be pleased about – Thursdays. I have a horrible streak with being able to find anything pleasant, or even motivating, on these days. My school project is still minimized. My book lies prone beside me, a few pages idly flipped through before it was unceremoniously left on its spine.

Well, I suppose there is some good in today. The spine hasn’t broken.

Touch: The comforting, albeit now lukewarm, surface of my tea cup. I made myself a brew of immune support tea (surprisingly decent tasting, in spite of the rather dubious name), and proceeded to ignore it as I hummed and hawed my way through a measly part of my homework. I doubt it’s salvageable now. But the tea cup remains pretty. I’ll have to take a picture for you one of these days.

Sight: I haven’t been able to indulge in any visual media, really, since the freedom of Christmas break – ah, break. How I miss you. However, I am gearing myself up to spoil some part of my weekend on some hoarded-away anime, preferably something with spirits and classic Japanese intrigue, since right now everything in my life seems to refer back to a certain work-in-progress. I also am debating the pros and cons of trying a series such as The Hour, The Bletchley Circle and Call the Midwife. Tumblr has betrayed me before.

Taste: A quick ramen stir-fry blend that Mom whipped up for a very late lunch. (Studies do not pity the hungry.) I can never have enough ramen. One of the critique partners has laughingly warned me that I will, sooner or later. I doubt it.

Smell: The lukewarm tea. It is judging me by its mere presence, silently counting the minutes that have passed since the last sip. Don’t look at me like that.

Hearing: A personal blend of video game soundtracks. I have yet to find anything else that fits my mood today.

Reading: A hodgepodge of this and that, as always. I have an ARC sitting on the floor that sounds unpalatable (three girls are finally contacted by their rich father, and decide to take revenge), Howl’s Moving Castle (which expired on its digital library loan and will have to be renewed post haste), Wintersmith by the dear Mr. Pratchett (same), and whichever of the copious library books I ought to finish so I can write up an appropriate review.

Love,

Kaye

P.S. I hardly think our friendship is going to snap under the weight of unwatched Disney animation, if it didn’t after your *gasp* Chuck Norris joke back in the day.

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Letter # 1 : An Inauspicious and Slightly Pretentious Beginning

Dear Kaye,

In the times before we grew to adulthood we had the sandbox.  Though my childhood is often a bit foggy to my memory, I can vividly recall the feel, smell, look, and sometimes taste of the sandbox.  Mine was a circular affair, and puke green after years of basking in the sunlight.  Five bumps protruded around its circumference in turtlesque anatomy, and I frequently had as much fun riding Hot Wheels cars down the hexagonal bumps of its cover as I did building sand-pies.  The sand inside was my landscape, free of “keep off the grass” signs and alarms that yelled “be careful!”.  The older I got the less socially acceptable it was to make mud-pies, but as providence would have it, you and I came of age in the dawn of the internet where the danger was more in the fact that your sandcastles might last for forever than be kicked down by a bully or washed out by rain.

In case I’ve stifled your brain with circumlocution, this blog is our sandbox.  I have some buckets and one shovel, so we’ll have to share, but I think we can build some pretty awesome sandcastles.  Care to join me?

Because I feel that this whole thing started off on perhaps on what might be a slightly gaudy foot, I thought we’d trade word pictures of what is making our day enjoyable (or otherwise). And because I am chronically addicted to lists…

Touch:  A nice warm blanket that was a Christmas gift from the Lad.  I have the heater on full blast, but VA has done something to my constitution and I am constantly freezing.

SightParks and Recreation.  The more I watch, the more I fall in love with this show.  It is one of the few TV shows that has me itching to buy it.  That literally never happens.  I can count on one hand the number of DVDs I own.

Taste:  A stir fry I made earlier.  Though yes, there is massive amounts of sriracha sauce in it, so it is doubtful my tastebuds are currently in working order right now.

Smell:  Lady Gaga’s Fame.  I trust that we know each other long enough for you not to tease me for that….oh who am I kidding.  ….Okay, just found out that apparently it is a unisex perfume.  HOW WAS I TO KNOW.

Hearing: Young The Giant’s Anagram on their new CD Mind over Matter.  It is beautiful.
Reading: The end of Pratchett’s Witches Abroad.  Which you need to read post-haste.  Reasons will be forthcoming.

Love,
Moira

P. S. You still have yet to watch Frozen.  I still have yet to watch Spirited Away.  I don’t know if our friendship can take the strain.