my Life of Art
I finally finished stripping the floor of the rumpus room. That was one gi-normous job, y’all. Near the end, it about sucked the life right out of me. When I was done, I gave myself a pat on the back and cracked a cold one. That was okay, too, as it was after 5 o’clock. Civilized!
There are a few more necessary steps, in order to finish the job, but I think the hardest part is over.
I’m so flippin’ happy! Check!
“Home” is starting to click. It’s slow. Or maybe I’m slow. I’m not sure. And it really doesn’t matter, because either way, it takes a while.
Anyhoo, the pool has saved my life a few times this past hot week. And the floors are finally (mostly) stripped, and ready for the next step. It’s feeling more and more like ours every day. And that’s a good feeling.
I’m happy for us. I’m happy for me. And that is huge, y’all.
Hallelujah.
I’ve had this one earring since the ’80′s. The 1980′s, that is. That’s when “Melissa” used to wear mismatched earrings on thirty something. Remember that? Anyhoo, this little orb reminds me of a recent experience that was just cray-cray. Seriously.
Mister and I were out for a drive. It was just a drive, the sort of thing absolutely no one does, so of course we were doing it. We were flying down a highway in the dark. Traffic was moving at a medium density, which for L.A. is awesome. I was driving, and we were talking. There was a pick-up truck in the lane in front of us, about 4 or 5 car-lengths away. I guess they’d been shopping, because they hit a bump and a cardboard box bounced right out of their truck and onto the freeway. It was a sizable box, about 2 1/2 feet cubed. It jumped around a few times, then popped open. At that point, a globe rolled out and started doing a highway dance. As all this transpired directly in front of us, and as we were moving at a pretty fast clip (around 65 miles per hour), I had to think fast. I dodged the box just fine, but the globe proved a bit more tricky. There were cars on either side of us, and I told Mister to brace. I managed to barely clip the globe and we moved on. We were fine. Not a scratch on the car (as we would later learn). It was a non-event.
But what about the folks in the pick-up? They had clearly intended to take that globe with them on their journey. I imagine them getting home, looking in the back of the truck and realizing their purchase was missing. “What the hell?” The money. The trip. The effort. Bye-bye globe.
As Mister and I were only out for a drive, we turned around pretty soon after “The Whole Wide World” incident, and headed back the other way, toward home. At about the same spot as the globe encounter – on the opposite side of the road – officials were clearing up the debris from an ugly accident. A smashed-up car was turned around backwards and was clearly totaled. Mister wondered what had happened. I said that maybe a globe had jumped the median and someone else hadn’t been able to dodge it. Truth is, we’ll never know.
We managed to survive the world. In fine fettle. The significance wasn’t lost on me.
It would seem the social season is kicking in, and that means a busy schedule. Drinks, a wedding reception, dinner, visitors, meetings – it’s all going down over the next few days. For this homebody of a gal, it’s a lot.
But I can handle it. I can. I mean, it’s a blessing to be invited to so many events. It’s a blessing to be liked, for cry-eye. Basically, it’s a blessing.
And by it I mean Life, the Universe and Everything. Amen.
I have no shame. Or pride, either. I’ve said this many times before, so it ain’t news.
When Mister pointed out the display for “Monsters University,” the follow-up to “Monsters, Inc.,” I didn’t hesitate to make a fool of myself. I generally find that sort of behavior to be quite satisfying. And it tends to serve my enjoyment of life.
Why I’m sharing it here is another thing altogether. Forgive me, please.
At my best, I seek out joy. Positivity. Smiles. I prefer me at my best, and I love feeling joy. Feeling positive. Smiling.
On this day, I found one of those smiles. Hiding in plain sight.
Have an awesome day, yo!
“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.”
Søren Kierkegaard
(1813 – 1855)
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been in love with old cars. So when my friend Fifi asked if I wanted to go for a ride in her 1960 Ford F100, I was halfway out the door before yelling “Yes!”
Old cars are hard to drive. No automatic steering or brakes. They make a lot of noise and rattle incessantly when they’re allowed to run free on the open road. They guzzle gas. They pollute the air. When an engine part is needed, it’s hard to come by and often expensive. And there’s no guarantee the necessary part will be found at all.
But I swear! There’s just something about an old car that gets me revved. Maybe it’s memories of Little Papa’s Pontiac, with fins. I loved that car, even though I only rode in it once or twice. Or maybe it’s the ’57 Chevy where I became, well, a woman. Then again, maybe it’s something completely different, like the comfort that comes from things older than ourselves. That comfort that says, “Life was here before me, and it will go on after.” Maybe.
No matter what the reason, my love-affair with old cars is as heated as it’s ever been. I hope it never fades. I hope I always do a double-take when I see suicide doors. I hope I am always in awe of honest-to-goodness chrome. And I hope I’m lucky enough to always have friends with beautiful, old trucks, just stopping by to see if I want to go for a ride…
Nothing artistic about this morning. For I am about to have my breasts compacted by the force of a mac truck, all in the name of health and science. Go figure.
Maybe Charity’s tattoo can serve as a reminder. Maybe she herself can. It’s a beautiful design, you know. Life.
Gotta love it. Squished tits and all. Wish me luck.
I’m still dealing with my gimpy-foot thing. Actually, I’ve not been dealing with it. Not very well, anyway. I’ve got another week or so of being laid-up, and today I decided to force myself to be still and actually recuperate. I have a few things I plan to do while being still, and I will enjoy myself, dammit!
But that’s not what I want to tell you about today. I want to share something that happened a few days ago, when I was out in the world and not at home with my foot propped up. I was limping out of an estate sale (where I scored a massive, unabridged dictionary) when the lady running the show reached out and touched my hand. She began to pray for me and my injured foot – aloud – and I was quite touched. She didn’t ask, I didn’t ask, and it seemed to be truly spontaneous and genuine. Her prayer was brief, and then it was finished. I thanked her, and she went back to eating her lunch. It was simple. And it only lasted a few seconds.
Crossing paths with that lady of faith was a bright spot in my day. I can’t claim to always have a lot in common with the truly faithful, but I do admire them. And I won’t lie here, that lady’s faith and her prayer affected me positively. In fact, here I am a few days later and I’m still feeling the glow.
Good people. They make the world go round.
A friend and I were e-conversing and he mentioned that he was tight on time, that it seemed he had misplaced any and all spare time he might have had.
His thoughts got me thinking about time. About life. And it occurred to me that life is like a great, big dryer. And time is like socks. Who hasn’t experienced the lost-sock-in-the-dryer syndrome?
Time does seem to get misplaced, doesn’t it? It’s amazing. No matter how well-planned our schedules, time just disappears once in a while. Just like socks in the dryer.
I’m not giving up on time, though. I still believe in planning, and I still plan to set goals. Will I lose some time here and there? Sure. But I happen to love laundry day. I love the fresh smell of clean clothes. If the dryer of life loses a sock of time here and there, well, okay. After all, you’ve got to burn a pancake now and then.
Wait… Wrong metaphor.
