Meet Rizo, our newest family member:
Rizo is good for lots of things. Rizo cooks rice. Rizo steams vegetables. Rizo could boil a mean cup of water if you wanted him to. Rizo looks like he could talk to you in a Jim Henson muppet sort of way. Rizo has four feet for stability, a special cup for measuring rice, and a special spatula for scooping. Sometimes we gather around and look at Rizo and wonder if Rizo will do tricks (nothing yet).
We have yet to use Rizo in any culinary activity, but we plan to very soon.
I can feel myself entering full-on nesting mode. As you well know, friend with whom I spend hours at Target and/or Walmart buying useless household crap, nesting mode is nothing new for me. Now, however, it feels different, because I'm preparing to nest in the very first place that I'll own. I imagine my green chair--the chair where I used to hold my baby brother (while wearing pink foam curlers, we were freakishly cute), the chair that one of my parents had to part with during the divorce, the chair that graced the very first apartment I ever rented, the chair that accompanied my pea across the country, the chair that is slightly the wrong shade of green and slightly the wrong flavor of the 70's--sitting in the middle of my tiny living room. I imagine Rizo on the counter, next to my bright blue blender, next to my silly pink spiky anthropomorphized soap dispenser, next to a bunch of other shit I'm very likely to purchase at Costco (a mere stone's throw away). I imagine pea on an aerobed, dreaming of the next day's cupcake excursion.
I have been warned that as I get older, the universe of things I care about will contract. If I'm not careful, I could develop a myopic obsession with Rizo and his cohorts in the world of *stuff.* At the end of the day, even my sentimental attachment to the green chair is little more than an attempt to concentrate my childhood memories into a material object, and one that I'm fully aware will make me the envy of all vintage loving hipsters. I try to be attuned to this risk associated with nesting, and anxious to remain engaged with the world and the things about it that matter to me. I happen to like my dog and my stuff more than I like most people, and sometimes this worries me.
The world of Pea always feels more expansive to me. Maybe we don't solve world hunger when we're together, but every mundane errand or task feels like a mission and an adventure. Come see me soon and let's put Rizo to work saving the world.
Missing you dearly,