What's this?!

A spare moment? Wondering what has become of us lately? Ah, well, I'll tell you anyway...

First, and most disturbingly, I have become a morning person. Hay should be made while the rest of the family sleeps, none of this while the sun shines nonsense. Waking up automatically at 5:30 AM is a terribly annoying habit. One I must break.

The buyer for our orange house has cold feet and is trying to break the contract, forfeiting his deposit, and causing our house of cards to come tumbling down. The closing is scheduled for Friday. We can only wait and see and hope that this knot in our gut loosens.

The job is, well, it's a job. I don't have an assistant, I am a co-assistant, one with less seniority, which is fine because my partner is great to work with. And very patient. Everybody who hears that I am now working for Broker Buddy, hesitantly reveals that he has an awesome temper, and asks if I was aware of that fact (except for Hummer Chick who snidely wondered if the cheese was greener in my new office.) I had been warned about his legendary Type A, obsessive, perfectionist streak. It was he that cautioned me about his awful tendency to vent. He assured me that he gets over it quickly and bears no grudges. His brother, another agent in the office, asked why I wasn't issued a hard hat when I took the position, and my co-assistant admitted to being reduced to tears on several occasions. But he does have the proverbial heart of gold. How will this passive/aggressive personality react when eventually screamed at? Will it be a spectacularly psychotic instant flip-out, or a grin-and-bear-it-until-the-next-time-he-asks-me-to-make-a-copy-then-unleash-on-him attack, or maybe a spineless jellyfish sobbing heap on the floor response, or the laugh out loud walk-out? I'm taking bets.

Gracie loves school. And a funny thing has happened: she can suddenly spell. Was it the pressure to impress her darling teacher? Perhaps. I'm okay with it. Really.

Sarabelle began Cotillion last night. We are a little suspicious of the hostess's qualifications. Her background is dance instructor, so that's second nature. It's the manners part she may have trouble with. Peeking in the front door to determine whether or not we were too early, she yanked the door out of our hands and then slammed it in our faces to "keep the air in." Sarabelle and I giggled. "Remember, honey," I told her, "this is the middle class's desperate attempt to be perceived upper middle." (Thank you, Mr. Fussell.) "I know, Mom. I'm just here to wear white gloves and learn the Cha-cha." Atta-girl.

Pondering this: If the French Quarter and the Garden District -- the parts of Nawlins nearest and dearest to the hearts of Americans, or at least the most recognized and visited -- and the CDB escaped major damage, on which parts exactly are we spending all this reconstruction money? On low-income housing? Won't those places still be below sea level? I hope those aren't my tax dollars at work. Too busy to notice, but did Bush's approval rating increase after his kiss-and-make-up rebuilding promises?

So much to say, and so little time. Trying to catch up on my correspondence, so if I owe you a note, it's coming. It may take a while, though.