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Posts Tagged ‘my life is supremely borked right now but I’m cool with that’

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Our house is all sorts of fractal and crazy. I remember doing the very first walk-through, back when it looked like an honest-to-God garbage dump: Maxim and I would turn a corner to be confronted with yet another surprise which came in the form of rooms being fashioned in the unlikeliest of places. Picture the Frankenstein monster as a house; now picture said Frankenstein monster as being charming and welcoming and fashionably-eclectic rather than crazy-eclectic. Not scary, just different, and different in a way that actually works.

But there are little details that are just slightly off, as well, reminding you that you are indeedly standing in the middle of the House Crafted Of Many Ideas.

For instance: There were windows not only to the outside, but between rooms as well. The master bedroom (which could be modestly described as ‘fucking massive, dude’), for instance, was connected to no less than four other rooms by windows. We yanked out the one between our and Mathias’ room, because it was seated in one of only two walls that was not brick. A very generous walk-in closet was crafted lovingly there, but there still existed windows between our room and the main bath (I know, creepy, right?) and what now serve as our music and art studios.

The windows between our room and the studios have fixed, four-foot-long window boxes, you people. Window boxes! On the inside of the house! So I got this Elaborate Idea –since we don’t want to destroy the existing brick, which really is gorgeous– of eventually converting those particular windows into screened light panels and using the boxes directly in front of them as active gardens.

But time rocked on and those damned boxes were driving me crazy, sitting there all empty and forlorn. Other projects cried out for funds. So I went to our local home decor wholesaler and used my handy-dandy business license (Yes! I have one of those!) to purchase some faux greenery. I wanted to create something unique and funky there, the precursor to the unique funkiness that would eventually be permanent, live and thriving under my custom-cool lighting apperati.

I got these things, I dunno, that looked like some sort of flat-leaved succulent; they were colored a dusky green, shot through with an undertone of deep red. Eight of them per box, that’s what was required. I weaved a vine around each box, tucking it in here and there and I was satisfied with the result. It was certainly better than those starkly bare rectangles accusing me and doing their level best to cast some dour energy into the room.

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Now look, I’ve no green thumb. I admit that outright. For whatever reason God had handy at the time, the part of the genetic birthright concerned with the helping of fauna-type things thrive that Gwendolyn should have passed down was lost on me; I think that’s totally unfair since I got her myopic, slightly astigmatic eyes, but WHATEVER.

(The woman can simply utter the word ‘green’, I swear, and lush plumes of foliage roll out ahead of her like Nature’s Red Carpet or sommat.)

But seriously now, seriously, I never thought it was within my power to kill fake plants. Realistic-looking, space-age-materials-crafted, decidedly NON-living plants.

As God (and Maxim and Tess) is my witness, I looked up one day to notice that the plants, to a stalk, were a hideous browny-red color and looking decidedly Not Alive. There was not a trace of green to be found on them. They looked horrifically, truly dead. They accused me with all the power of each and every plant that I’d killed –despite my very best efforts to the contrary– over the course of my lifetime.

“Holy shit,” I said to Tess, upon bringing her to the house to survey this most recent bout of ludicrousness, “holy shee-yut, who else do you know that has ever murdered a plant that’s not even alive to start with, HUH?”

Of course I was appalled, but I’d say that one is worthy of inclusion on the list of my roughest transgressions: KILLS ALL PLANT LIFE (even the poser variety!) AND IS POWERLESS TO STOP HERSELF.

So I made a mental note to self: “Return space-age-materials faux plants. Seek refund. Spend in as-yet-undetermined manner.” Eventually I got around to doing it. Of course I had no receipt. Who in the world ever expects to return a fucking fakety-fake ole plant? For ham and hell, why would I keep such a receipt? Whyyyyy?

I threw myself on the mercy of the store manager, calling her first to warn her that some loon had fucking killed some fucking pretend-alive-looking fucking plants, fuckfuck! I mean, seriously, if I’d seen someone coming with two garbage bags stuffed full of cracked-out looking fake greens without some prior explanation, I might be taken aback in a way that translated to, “You goofy freakjob, I can’t give a refund what is tantamount to a reward for slaughtering all the innocent greenery you wagged out of this store eight months ago!”

She was very gracious, telling me to bring my sans-receipt purchase directly to her for inspection. “I’m sure we can work something out,” she said brightly. I want to sing her praises, but I don’t want to compromise her identity to someone who may or may not yell at her for providing the Elusive Customer Service we all search so desperately for these days.

Two clerks saw the plants first. They were agog, and I wish I had possessed the presence of mind to snap a photo of said agogness while it was occurring. They called Gracious Mgr Laydeh, who scratched her head in befuddlement before setting about Making Things Happen. I had overlooked the removal of a bar code from a couple of stems, oh hallelujah. This provided necessary proof of the fauxplantlife’s value, which turned out to be in the neighborhood of two bills. This was to be issued as store credit (no. receipt.), and I wandered aisles a little forlorn, not finding anything that hit me between the eyes and demanded to be wagged home post-haste.

UNTIL I FOUND THE PATIO CHAIRS OF AWESOME, that is. On sale, they were! Beautiful, so beautiful were these pieces of comfort crafted from metal. Metal chairs that are comfortable? I found them, oh I founnnnd them! So I snapped a picture and, as with all substantial purchases, decided to not be impulsive. I showed the reference picture I’d taken to Maxim and then I slept on it.

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Well you just know I went back the next afternoon, Superior children all in tow, to buy me some chairs and maybe smile the top of my head off a little.

You see, I’ve been waiting patiently to find and assemble all the elements to make the patio area outside of my bedroom door just exactly right. These chairs represented the first such purchase and this new beginning excited me, no matter how kinda goofy and trivial it might be. I have this picture of my alldone outside lounging-slash-socializing space; it incorporates stillness and sweetness and sandal-clad feet and drinking straight from the wine bottle while there are important things like humming and laughter taking shape. And maybe card games.

So please, gentle and darling Muffinass, forgive me my sappy dorkitude over finding four chairs that got me all revved because they felt like they were what I sought before I’d even had a clear picture of what that was framed up in my head meat.

We got them purchased, we got them loaded, we headed for the house; we arrived to find that there was no way the new patio chairs were going to the patio area. They went under the carport instead. More practical matters loomed. We also couldn’t really get to the patio at that juncture.

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A tree humped my house!
:: a tree humped my house! ::

....unfortunately, there was penetration.
:: ….unfortunately, there was penetration. ::

It was the brightest of all possible spring days, mild and wonderful, nary a breath of breeze. I guess the gigunda old tree just got tired and went for a laydown, pulling itself up by the roots to cover most of the side yard and a goodly portion of the house.

We coasted up the driveway, beholding the spectacle, and I –peering over the huge round frames of my favorite sunglasses– was bemused (believe it or not) and heard shortly thereafter to say, “Well, at least it didn’t cave the sumbitch in.”

Scout, the first one in and up the stairs, came back hastily. Appearing calm enough, she said, “Um. Hey. There appears to be a pretty large limb all up in the roof’s grille. It’s poked through the atrium ceiling.”

It rained that night, and despite an emergency treectomy (involving six burly fellas, a coupla skinny ones and also a whole danged crane!) and professionally-applied tarpaulin (…there are whole companies devoted to such! I never knew!), the damage doubled in roughly a couple of hours. Sigh. Such is life.

I just wish we’d have had some type of insidery foreknowledge of this exactly one year ago; it was then that we sprung our carefully-gathered savings on a brand new roof for the joint.

In conclusion,

“There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable.

“There is another theory which states that this has already happened.”

// Douglas Adams

 
|| September 1, 2000 || 12:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

All week I have had some great ponderings to post on this here blog. I have.

All week I have been insanely busy and preoccupied with life in realtime and have not had the energy or spare moments to boot up and scribble on the webwall. Or maybe I have been avoiding it; out of nowhere I am experiencing a sort of spiritual exhaustion and all of my energies and time the past few days have been channelled (sp? fuck) toward getting as much done as possible in the 24 hours that I have been allotted per day. ~I am gassed up on only about 3.5 hours’ worth of snooze each night as of late.~

In the past few weeks I have watched and listened impotently as the following people weathered losses:

+Christie (mentioned in past post) buried her father after a recent sudden job loss and bore all the emotional and financial weight accompanying it
+Louise (nice, boisterous older lady from next door…pseudo gramma to our family) had a handsome late-40’s son who died a mere 2 weeks before his only grandchild was born
+My mom-in-law (ROCK ON, beautiful free spirit) saw two very good friends die in a car accident
+Donald and Vicki (two nicer, more genuine people could not be hand-picked from gazillions) buried their dad and may have to do the same with their brother.

*sigh* *SIGH* Perhaps this was a preparation for me; a ripening of my emotions so that they were ready to ooze thickly, cloying and sweet.So anyway, my mom calls me 2 days ago and tells me that one of my favorite aunts has cancer and her doctor in his infinite wisdom and sophisticated medicalese told her, “It looks really, really bad.” There you have it. Right there.

Now, I know (and I am hoping that you do as well) that docs normally do not leave room in the equation for the human spirit and its’ boundless power, so I usually say “BAH” and eschew the doomsday/naysayer’s point of view in cases like this. This is different. My aunt has had a series of things happen in the past 2 years that have seriously compromised her immunity and she may well die. ‘Die’ is such a succinct word, huh?

When mom told me, I was fairly non-reactive but now it has started to settle. I slipped today into reclusive cyberescape mode and was twiddling around when I clicked through to a site that I normally enjoy immensely. The author apparently has a friend afflicted with the dreaded BIG C and is doing her part to help. As I read along, outta nowhere the tears started to roll and here I am, typing and bawling and backspacing and fixing typos that my tear-induced blurry vision has prompted. Fuck.

All of this putrid softy behaviour is only culminating now; it started last night about 9 p.m. and I felt a need to phone my mom to talk. What’d we converse about?? You see, it boils down to this: I feel that this is a beginning. My parents each have several siblings (mom has 7 and dad has 6). While I feel that I am still way too young to be losing any of them, odds are that it will undoubtedly start happening soon. I, in my profound wisdom, deem this as ‘fucked up’.

As I explained it to my mother, without caring one iota how fucking selfish that it may have sounded, when my family starts dying off, I fear that I will start dying off as well. I was raised in a close-knit familial environment and I am grounded in that, no matter how the miles may separate me from them. A big part of me is defined within and by my family and when they start pushing daisies an important part of me will be gone. I expressed this huge, HUGE thing to my mother and she said, “Oh, my beautiful baby, you don’t have to worry…something else always moves in and takes that place.”

I don’t fucking want it to. I don’t. And don’t tell me I am being unreasonable, damn you. I have never feared death, ever, but now I am coming to the rather fierce revelation that I DO fear its’ aftermath. I have questions that only certain people can answer. Who do I turn to for wisdom and knowledge when they are gone? Not even 2 months ago I made the six-hour drive to visit my aunt and spend a few days with her. She has always been a creative person and we sat on the back patio for hours during that trip, sparking ideas off of each other and firing new ones based on the last one. She spoiled my children and we laughed together at their antics and she marveled at how much like my mother that I had become. We had grown-up conversation; something that I never would have imagined when I was 9 and running through her sprinklers in the yard or pleading for her to buy my favorite popsicles at the grocery. It’s now something that I look forward to with my own nieces and nephews…..

So I get off the phone and call my father. In preparation for that call, I tuck my sorrow and shakiness away neatly, so that he doesn’t think that my calling him is to pirate him emotionally. We just haven’t talked in so long and I want nothing to sully it. Something does anyway. He is himself.

As well-off as I would like to be (hell, merely financially stable would be GREAT), I realize that money doesn’t buy everything. Here is an open question to him that he will never see: When are you gonna wise up, old man? Is it gonna be before or after I am as unavailable to you??? You see, I have wants, but I truly want for nothing. I wish you understood just what you were/are passing up.

And by the way, I have standards of my OWN and in a pure sense they are FAR SUPERIOR to YOURS.

 
|| August 15, 2000 || 9:05 am || Comments (0) ||

Are you mired down in everyday-ness, or do you let your mind wander? Do you wonder about things way out or wise? Just asking…

 
|| July 29, 2000 || 3:54 pm || Comments (0) ||

Hey, just where the hell is everyone? Just where the hell am I?? LOL…somebody post something quasi-entertaining, okay? I am too tired and too busy to this week.

 
|| July 16, 2000 || 10:51 pm || Comments (0) ||

Circumspect.

I had a brush with the past today. I should have some insanely (in more ways than one) wise/wonderful/witty thing to say. As a matter of course, the prevailing quip is this: “What the fuck??” I know. I am astounded, too.

“we haven’t seen the sun for weeks/we’re too far from our home”