Wednesday, February 27, 2013
There are bigger problems in the world than the color of my face, but damn if it's a bothersome thing -- wondering what shade of flame is on display. And when the heat is on, I can't but help but want to run for some low-lighting. Oh well. What doesn't kill you, makes you red. I guess I can live with that.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
This new Tumblr -- This & That -- makes my eyes so happy. Ampersands and playing with food. What's not to love.
This site is yet another piece in my layer cake of love and admiration for fellow Austinite Emily Blincoe. I'm addicted to her Instagram images, but I guarantee that all other social roads lead to greatness.
CHECK IT OUT:
Flickr -- http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilyblincoe/
Website -- http://www.thesewoods.com/
Other Tumblr -- http://emilyblincoe.tumblr.com/
Twitter -- https://twitter.com/thuglifeforevs
Friday, February 15, 2013
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Being a part-time hoarder isn't all bad. I like to think that everything I save is part passion, part a piece of my heart, but to be truthful sometimes it's more like -- "Ohhh, shiny. I'll have that.... FOREVER". Rationale, or mixed motives aside, I never feel conflicted about keeping something that is 1) small, and 2) from family.
This is one of my favorite treasures. It's a teeny calendar that my Grandfather used to countdown the days until he could marry my Grandmother. Saving things apparently is genetic, because she tucked this away in an envelope from the jewelry store she worked at, and wrote this note roughly 30 years after they were married:
"This is an old calendar of Fly's. He checked off the the days until we could get married. He was paying off debts of his family. The pattern has never changed."I find something about both the act of using this calendar, and then archiving it, quite sweet (and also charmingly odd -- Funeral Home calendar?). I honestly don't know what their marriage was like -- I don't think most grandkids really can -- but I like to think this signifies at least a trace of romance. Somewhere someone is now saying to me -- "oh you silly girl'.
Have a silly day. Do something silly. Say something silly. Be with someone and be silly together. Or enjoy some silly private time.
Sunday, February 3, 2013
Friday, February 1, 2013
Here's a middle finger scenario.
I struggle to convey loss and hurt and in turn inadvertently make it about myself. Are there instructions for this? It sucks -- the world has one less awesome person. It needs to be known. You need to be told what you are maybe not aware of. Grief greets me at death and this is what comes next.
To say I feel lucky is a bit misleading. To use the word glad in any sense makes me seem insensitive. I am not happy. I am sad. A chunk of my childhood now feels dipped in bronze for posterity. The trajectory of a grown-up friendship has been dashed. Beyond me and my self-centeredness, someone that lived is gone.
But the suffering is over and this is where I find relief. I did get to share experiences that are mine and only mine, and for that I am grateful -- almost possessive. And I got to spend time in his hideaway, where photos and art and lush greenery and music lived. They blanketed me with revelations and insight. Imagining his full life comforted me, as did briefly being a part of it in that way.
I am the baby that sometimes put herself on an island. I can and do get lost in wishes and regret, but have to circle back to what experiences I did accrue. I can only imagine how hard this must be for the rest of my family and his closest friends. I find solace and joy in their stories and hope those memories uplift them more than they cause pain.
Love you Charles. To echo your parting words to me, I WILL see you again. And you'll tell me a story matched with a sneer. And we'll laugh.
Time. I feel like it's generally working against me. I end up taking it personally, as if it's a thing with a will, with emotions and agendas. Begging, borrowing, and negotiating don't seem to work. The train is coming, and it doesn't stop. Now I'm airing my grievances.
P.S. Don't click for more if bad language makes you cringe. And for those that couldn't avoid it, sorry, I drop bombs sometimes. It's my "feelings" word.