This. Photo. Is. Awesome.
This is why the ladies loved my dad…
Circa 1978.
I especially love how it appears that there is not a person in the room paying attention to this serious feat of dare-devilry. Except the photographer.
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I went to my dad’s house with the full intention of packing up a small U-Haul to start the process of staging his place for sale.
I thought I could do it.
I couldn’t.
He is so much a part of that space, taking it apart still feels too raw. He is going to come home and be really pissed that I moved stuff around. I still put pillows back where he had them and straighten things as he would want them … even though it is technically my house now. Being a steward of a life lived is a effing heavy job. I am honored to have the task of completing my father’s story and seeing things through to a neat end. Even so, I am incredibly paranoid about doing it right.
I changed his voicemail. That was about the hardest thing I could handle doing. I did not want to record over his voice. I was frozen. But then I remembered that dad has given countless interviews and I can watch him on video if I miss his voice (rather than obsess about him repeating his telephone number).*
I will go back and start again.
I hate appearing needy or weak as it is not a role I relish or find any comfort in. I hate asking for help. I find comfort in competence. I am of sturdy stock and hearty disposition – we don’t lie down and die when things get tough. We attack.
I have just not been feeling very attack-y.
I was recently told that I “project competence” and it makes people forget that I am a mushy wreck of barely-holding-it-together sad girl. It is nice to have so many folks snowed in to thinking I have it all figured out.
I keep telling myself that if I trespass in to crazytown once in a while, it does not mean I plan take up residence there. So, I project my confidence and competence. I kick ass. I laugh and smile.
Then there are times where I sob uncontrollably, behave inappropriately, drink frequently and sensory seek like a frat boy in Vegas.
And to be honest, it is probably a really good balance. Now I have a sudden urge to go to Vegas.
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*[Note: All I could think about was the creeper that stole my voice tape from my answering machine before setting my apartment on fire so he could listen to me say my number over and over and over again for eternity...ewww. Lesson: Don't go to college if you are blonde or even mildly attractive, just get married and fat as soon as possible. It is for your own safety.]
That was not to be taken seriously. Better yet, teach your daughters to be dead-eye shots and train them in hand-to-hand combat. Black belt that waist a few times. Then send them to college with a vow that you will bail them out of jail for any damage they cause to someone who tries to harm them. THAT is how it is done
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Well that was fun. The time has come to say goodbye to Mr. Eddie Lizard and let him go “born free” in the woods. We tortured him, completely unintentionally, but our idiocy is your gain. You now know what not to do.
So today, we are giving Eddie back to the world that gave him to us. It is a nice overcast day. We will find a spot to let him be free… to run in to a neighborhood cat’s mouth, be picked up by a large bird or perhaps just fail to thrive under a bush. Shhh. Don’t tell the kids.
Now you're just a lizard that we used to know...
On crickets: Those things are nasty and I am going to have nightmares about them for years. They are violent little things that tear each other limb from limb. Buy 30? In the morning you will be lucky to have 25. Nasty. Shudder.
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Actual conversation in our house today:
Preacher: So lets talk about a snake or a tortoise!
Me: Eddie is not even being digested by the neighborhood cat and you are already filling his terrarium with something new?
Red: (chiming in) Snake? Turtle? Snake?
Me: Well you know I would prefer a snake, but people have visceral reactions to snakes. You rarely find someone petrified of turtles. Plus, if we get a snake my mother will never set foot in this house again.
Preacher: Snake it is!!
Me: Haha. And I suggest turtle over tortoise since don’t tortoises live something like 500 years and have to be written into estate planning? We need something that will eventually die.
Red: Yay! We are getting a turtle!
See how I got suckered in to that? Lesson here: Never speak to your family.
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Hello ducklings:
I feel great. Glowing even. I have done something in relation to that feelin’ frumpy post from a few days back. I am not particularly good at being mysterious, but in this case, I am all about it. Fluttering eyes.
I did miss my haircut appointment (keeping said appointments helps with the frumpy factor). It shocked me that it was time already – it means it has been six weeks since I returned from Orange County. Time is passing in slow and fast phases for me. I really miss my dad. Today I had a good cry. I am not a person that cries readily or easily, but there is nothing better than a good cry, right? Sure beats the ugly cry phase.
I have a friend visiting that would not mind me ugly crying. It is nice to have people around that you don’t have to worry about being the distilled version of yourself with. My girlfriends and boyfriends have been very sweet and supportive and generous. And the ones that are not being sweet can suck it. Said sweetly.
In the meantime, these things will improve your life:
Adding Monsters to Thrift Store Paintings
There is nothing better than “enhancing” thrift paintings. Until you find out that you enhanced one that has been missing from The Prado for 50 years. Oops. Uh, I put a Loch Ness Monster in that Velazquez. #Soverysorry. Click the photo for more examples.
And you already know how much I love Jenna. She is like a hot me. Err, hot mess. Today I have accomplished peanut butter dog face, cry about my life and throw up from snorting chocolate… We can’t actually do “Joe Hat” here because that would end up in hospitalization, for dog and human.
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My Kindle Fire – aka the “MomPad” – died this last week. It was a sad death where it kept begging for a charge that could not be achieved (very French film noir). I have no idea what caused this tragic demise. I have only had the K-Fire since Christmas. Sad face.
But here is the good news: My brilliant husband bought the extended warranty at Best Buy rather than buying it directly via Amazon! (insert cheers and hoopla and huzzahs)
Shiny new K-Fire.
Whew. Of course I pointed out to the Geek Squad that I would be happy to take the old one back out to the parking lot and run over it a few times. If anyone gets it working again, it has access to all sorts of info. While I don’t mind someone posting as me on FB (because really, that would be funny) or finding out that I owned the 50 Shades series, I do worry about having direct access to my Amazon Prime account. He assured me it would be wiped if anyone got it working again.
Hmmm. I think I will be changing my info anyway.
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I sent Rachel a set of The Black Apple’s art postcards (Oddfellow’s Orphanage) a while back. Slowly a few have been making their way to me. It is oddly satisfying to have a written word relationship with someone who has known me longer than anyone outside of my family. Romantic even.
Photo credit: The Black Apple via Etsy
Today I received Orphan Ava with the following note:
“Always carry a flagon of whiskey in case of snakebite and furthermore always carry a small snake.” – W.C. Fields.
And this present:
Little snake post earrings by the same jewelry artist that made the snake ring that dad gave me.
It is all just too swoony.
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Actual conversation at my kitchen table this morning:
Ann: See this photo? Isn’t this gorgeous?
Jess: Are those evergreen trees?
Ann: (laughing) Yes. Yes those are evergreen trees.
Jess: Shuttup.
This is what it is like to have a plant nerd sitting at your kitchen table. Knowing a photosynthesexual is always interesting, she is a wealth of knowledge of things that bloom and grow. We could not be more different. I kill plants. I have a black thumb. I am like “ooohhhhh….pretty flower!” and she is like “yeah, that is not a flower.”
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Ann also told me about Sock Dreams out of Portland. It is so cool – I want to start wearing garters with socks and really can’t believe I have missed out on this for so long.
I mean, in winter of course. In Oregon it might make sense to use these for three seasons out of the year. With a pair of tough girl boots, big cable knit socks and a sock garter? Sold.
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I received two new books in the mail today (thank you Amazon Prime). I am most excited about Jenny Lawson’s tome as I hope to read excerpts to my spouse and friends to finally prove that I am not (a) that insane or (b) alone in my insanity. I want to read it and then I want to go buy it on iTunes so I can hear HER read it. Oh, and she is going to be in town on Friday which means I get one shot to try to make her my new best friend. That’s not creepy or stalkerish. Much.
I also picked up this NPR recommended book (because if you can put Jenny and NPR in the same shipping box, you really ought to).
This is the upstairs/ downstairs book of the ages. Bedrooms of the past, were crowded semi-public places … and the history of bundling and how common it was. And why flushing toilets took so long to catch on… and how servants had their living arrangements. Did you know that closets were invented by the Tudors? And closets are non-existent in most of the UK now?
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“I could do with a bit more excess. From now on I’m going to be immoderate–and volatile–I shall enjoy loud music and lurid poetry. I shall be rampant.” - Chocolat
I have a former friend that was rather exponentially self assured in all things. Especially assured in adventurous clothing on her not-so-lithe frame. Like, see-through dresses and extra-plunge necklines and could-be-a-belt skirts. In daylight. A common joke among all who knew her was “Damn I wish I had her mirror in the morning, because it clearly tells her something the rest of us are not hearing.” Snarky right? Yes, well it is so easy to be smug when you are certain that you and your mirror are honest with each other.
I was out to dinner with friends the other night and had this brief, brutal, moment of seeing myself from the outside.
I felt frumpy. The opposite of fabulous. I felt like the girl that people would pity flirt with, because someone really should throw her a bone, to be nice. It felt very surreal. I am not just 38 and carting pounds and two kids … I am married to an Episcopal priest … I drive a minivan. Omigod…I am “safe.” WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN?
I am way too young to be this safe. I can’t go to my 20 year reunion this safe. Okay, okay…stop laughing at my almost midlife crisis.
I would give my left nut to have someone other than my Mom or Rachel think I was a bombshell again, a little dangerous in the fun way. Or a little scary. Mildly threatening? I don’t actually have a left nut, contrary to popular opinion… but you get the point. I find can’t take a compliment any more. At least not without thinking: “nice smoke you are blowing but I prefer the company of people who don’t pander to me.”
This is totally shallow and a first world problem and I know it. Vanity. I am not in Miss Havisham territory, but do have my days of feeling like it.
This is not fishing so don’t try to make me feel better about it. Unless you really want that left nut I don’t have. If I was fishing I would have offered up three wishes. Like a big blonde genie.
So plan is in motion. I have taken some steps to fixing the issue at hand. I am, if anything, a woman of action. I am done with being safe. If you don’t like something, change it. Right?
Lock your doors.
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