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Archive for April, 2007

 
|| April 30, 2007 || 10:17 pm || Comments (5) ||

Ninety degrees can change a life.

“I’m going to try every last doorknob in this place,” I told him.

I did, and we got a protracted creep through rooms typically tucked back from the general public’s eye.

Sometimes adventure requires quarter-turning the knobs on a bunch of locked doors before hitting the paydirt of a single unlocked one.

Namasté.

 
|| April 27, 2007 || 1:00 pm || Comments (0) ||

hey!

Monday off. The eastern seaboard calls. Road trip!

on the go
:: I am one with this bag. ::

Catch you pretty little things later.

 
|| April 26, 2007 || 10:27 pm || Comments (0) ||

Today at work, courtesy of various patients:

I got smacked on the ass.

I got serenaded. Tune was ‘It Was Almost Like A Song‘ and it was rendered pitch-perfect and with lots of heart.

My last patient of the day came in deeee-runk, toting a beverage carrier stuffed with styrofoam cups. Large ones. With straws. They, in turn, were stuffed with margaritas. “TOP SHELF,” he whispered loudly to me and patted my cheek, “from your favorite bartender!” Seems he’d slickstered his way into this minor illegality by putting on his Charming Southern Barrister face. Did I forget to mention he’s one of my attorneys? Yes, ‘one’ of my attorneys. Surely all you folk know by now that I have a sinister cabal of lawyerly silvertongues on retainer from Birmingham to Memphis. It’s almost as if there’s one for my every personality trait, and yessir, they are all good for free drinks and wicked-funny storehs. It never hurts to associate with (more than?) your share of lawyers. Never, ever bed one, though.

Yep. Just another day in the life of your friendly neighborhood healthcare professional.

My best friend is brilliant and spastic and random.

She was smokin’ some good stuff, if she had clouds in her coffee.”

Tell me about your best friend. Also, name the song lyric that off-the-cuff remark was sourced from and mebbe* I’ll send you a present.

UPDATE, Twelve-eighteen pee emm: We just did interpretive dance to ‘Say You, Say Me’. Lionel Richie, you stupendously gifted bastard.

*Where ‘mebbe’='you people know damn well I like to mail wondrous kitsch to Cyberian strangers’

 
|| April 23, 2007 || 10:18 pm || Comments (3) ||

blink

Sometimes I catch the way my wrist looks, fine and fragile, under the thick cuffs of leather or brass I wear. Or I am transfixed by the whispered blue of a vein beneath the paper-thin flesh of my foot’s arch. It is in these moments that I am stunned with wonder, recalling just how human and frail I truly am.

aflame

 
|| April 21, 2007 || 11:34 pm || Comments (3) ||

Promenade

Meet Landon.

Picture 2174
:: the man himself ::

He was Piper’s prom date tonight. They are out gallavanting as we speak, and I’m sure they are having adventures.

I know this to be true because firstly, Landon is stunningly wry and funny. I could hardly get a picture of Piper with her mouth closed this afternoon, as a volley of Teh Funneh kept erupting from his mouth.

Picture 2228
:: subtle ::

Picture 2227
:: red-faced glee ::

Picture 2260
:: mid flow ::

I guess if you’re a boy there’s no other feeling like the one that results from making a pretty girl rain laughter into all the nearby nooks and crannies. I recall being told that a time or two, anyway.

Secondly, he knows how to embrace the moment. “Hey, let’s get up on the trampoline,” my girl said to him. “You want to? Awesome,” is what he said back.

Picture 2196
:: make your own fun ::

At the beginning of the week, Piper got sick. She missed school and lolled limply in bed Tuesday and Thursday, as a matter of fact. She started to look a little better and managed a few bites of food on Thursday night. I kept hoping against hope that she’d not have to miss her prom, because she has been quietly excited about it ever since we got her dress two months ago. I caught her once silently observing it: As it hung there on her closet door, she unzipped the garment bag and touched the light smattering of sequins and beading, following the cascading and haphazard ruching with her fingertips.

She probably would never say so aloud, but it’s the finest thing that has ever been purchased for her. Piper came to us rough-and-tumble, the Denim Queen in beat-up Vans and tee shirts just a tad too tight. She was all bluster and attitude, but we saw the steady stream of sweetness that fought to push up and out of her, defying the hurt defensive posturing that tried to tamp it down, down, down. She has learned from the women in this family –Roxie, Gwendolyn, Scout and me– that you can be a strong, outspoken woman without sacrificing your femininity. Heels don’t mean you can’t stand your ground and good lipsticks don’t prevent you from being heard. It ain’t flattery if you look good in a skirt; it’s truth, even if only a small part of the whole.

We’ve carefully assembled accessories over the last eight weeks; there were sequined peeptoe mules and vintage opera gloves. The jewelry alone took a four-hour combing of the nearest mall. We discussed hair and make-up and mode of transportation. She was going stag until one day I hit up on a lightbulb moment.

“Hey, why don’t you and Landon go together; you guys are such good friends and I think you’d have a ball.” She approached him with the idea and after he was sure she wasn’t bluffing, he went and rented his tux, got a fresh haircut. Piper and Scout wanted him to fauxhawk it for the festivities, but his mother put the smackdown on that idea but quick.

So Thursday night found her coming back around physically. Tess gave her a facial Friday, and I popped for a surprise massage. I’ve been saving and wanted to spoil her a little. She’s such a great kid, really, and has come so far emotionally in such a short amount of time.

Before I left work yesterday, the bossman pushed forty dollars into my hands. “This is for Piper and Landon. Tell them to put it toward their dinner or something.” I tried to refuse it, but he loves both of those kids (having known Landon for quite some time) and was insistent. We are so lucky, my family….people are so good and gracious to us.

Today we hit the ground running. There was a mani-pedi session to be attended. There was the body polish to be administered and flowers to be picked up. There were reservations to be made. There was hair to be artfully arranged and makeup to be carefully applied. She kept saying at every turn, “Momma, I don’t want you to run yourself to death today.” This finally stopped when the youngish hair magician said to her, “It’s prom, duh.” She quit talking about expenses and asking if I wanted her to pitch in a little while back.

“I’m your mom. It’s my job to see that these things are taken care of.”

She started this morning saying, “I’m. so. EXCITED.” and it grew in pitch and intensity (accompanying arm gestures toward the middle of the afternoon) as the day wore on. I marvelled at this –who is this surprising girl?– the first half-dozen times, and then finally figured it out: This child has never had someone just absolutely make over her, has never known what it feels like to experience something that is solely for and about her and/or her benefit. It was a remarkable epiphany, and I felt grateful that I could be part of the team that provided that to her and showered her with pampering.

When she asked me to do her make-up I was touched; we giggled and shared of ourselves while I applied pinks and browns to her cheeks, her lips, her lids. She just looked so damn beautiful and I wanted to shine a light on her, yelling, “SEE? See what is contained in this kid that several somebodies –including herownself– deemed a throwaway? There is this remarkable young woman that wasn’t beyond redemption!!”

Picture 2239
:: regal ::

They made some good pictures together, those two, because there is a comfortability that their kind of friendship affords; that seems to translate past the dissecting eye of the lens and into your chest while you peek into the captured moments .

Picture 2257
:: babes ::

Picture 2253
:: the old grainery lawn ::

Picture 2220
:: way cool juniors ::

Out of all of them, though, my very most favorite is this one:

Picture 2281

It’s my favorite because it catches the magic, bittersweet juxtaposition between where they are and where they are headed. I’m excited to see who my daughter will become. And I look forward to an hour from now, when she will be home filled with stories to share.

 
|| April 19, 2007 || 10:30 pm || Comments (0) ||

Leona
:: farmer’s market ::

I bought apples and new potatoes from her.

I wasn’t prepared to commit seven bucks to a watermelon, though.

She had a dog she called ‘Pet’, a Jack Russell that shivered under the tailgate of the pickup truck.

“Well, that’s easy,” I said when she told me his name.

“Yayuh,” she concurred, “it’s a whole lot easier than ‘Petruchio’.”

People continue to surprise and delight me. I never tire of their stories, even the ones comprised of eight words or less.