My first Juicy Thursday… up at 5:30, dog walked, showered, moisturized with at least 5 steps of creams and potions to keep the wolves of age at bay (a first day for this regimen also), XL coffee in hand, ready for the maiden voyage of my Thursday tutorial. Photos were done on the weekend… ready to go… where’s the camera? First step is to download the photos. The camera; I left it in the kitchen, showed my daughter the step-by-step photos (okay, she was not excited). Two teens are sleeping up above me, but all-hearing husband is thankfully on a trip to visit his Dad. I am trying to be quiet, but as the frantic frustration with my scanty memory begins to take over, I am getting noisy! I think that my skin is cracking under the pressure. The soothing sensation of my five-layered miracle from a bottle is losing its complex molecular structure (imported from France dammit!) and giving way to a knitted brow and grimace.
Down to the batcave (AKA, my sewing room). Creaky stairs may cause the teenagers to stir (note to self: install squeak-free bat-pole for stealthy descent). Turn on the lights to reveal pre-Institute disaster ( I can feel new fissures forming across my forehead). No Camera.
Toss the kitchen counter, table and sideboard; no camera. Okay, maybe teenage daughter borrowed it. Venture into her room to discreetly rifle through her purse in desperation (I am in so much trouble here). No camera, but I am now aglow with a layer of sweat. (Facial treatment most likely running down my neck.) The birds are all in full voice outside the office window in a post-downpour worm glut. (I wonder if Phil is getting rain along the east coast on his road trip to visit his dad?)
What am I missing? Up early, ready to conquer the world, wearing my spiffy new face. Where is the &*%$#@ camera? My younger, less thoughtful (but smoother skinned) self would have reached out to Phil in a panic-ridden phone call of desperation. Shouting over a tribe of four cavorting Sponge Bob watching pip-squeaks, I might have yelled into the phone something like: “where did YOU put the camera?” Having no idea of what I was talking about, he might gently reply “Sorry honey, you are breaking up. Call you later.” (He knew when it was best to duck and cover.)
That was 15 years ago. Sponge Bob no longer joins me for morning coffee and havoc. Husband is less afraid to pick up the phone as the disasters du jour have subsided with time. Crap. Now I am getting all melancholy over my offspring’s receding childhood. At least I used the camera a lot then. There are lots of pictures. What have I done with the camera? Think. Think. Think (now channelling Pooh Bear!)
Husband is going to see his father, his brother and maybe the Kennedy Space Center. While we already have some nice shots of the family, we can never have too may photos of the crawler transporter, the Vehicle Assembly Building or NASA’s rocket garden.
Oh. The camera is most likely whizzing down I-95 towards the sunshine state, safely transporting my step-by-step photos on a little summer holiday. Houston, we have a problem!
The first Juicy Thursday has suffered a failure to launch. Three new wrinkles have taken up residence on my forehead. I can cope. My kids raised me well. Plan B. Juicy Thursdays begin next week… or whenever the camera arrives home. Time to tackle the batcave. I’ll give the five-layered formulation another try tomorrow.