Boys, Birthdays, and Love

Boys, boys, boys.

"Connor I want to draw your picture."
"Okay, but I won't sit still."

"Connor come give me a kiss."
"I don't want to come give you a kiss. You may kiss me though." So I did, seventeen times.

When Mark Harris tells you he is "time traveling" into the future to wish you a happy birthday, don't believe him. He was late...

My spectacular tomato plant now has fourteen nubbins, still nothing red and ripening. Maybe the next two weeks of 90 degree weather will give it a boost. I can't tell you how tall that blooming plant is, well, yes I can, it is taller than me, and I think it has a drinking problem. Its thirst is insatiable. Of course it is planted in a grocery sack, my version of a container garden. If I were smarter I would have planted it in a true planter, a ceramic or wooden one that you can buy at any outdoor store, but no, I have to make do with my Dansko reusable grocery bag. It is cute as can be, but just a tad low class.

I am a low class sort of make-do can-do personality type. Use what I have is my belief, and if I don't have it I will take someone's cast offs. I look around my condo and nearly all of it is Reduce, Reuse, Recyle. That is partly belief, partly finances, partly genetics. Mom was an expert at making do with what she had. God I love that.

My friend Mary philosophized on the observation that peoples outer personalities are a reflection of their interior selves. Woe is me if that is true. My exterior is filled with stuff, interesting stuff, lots and lots and lots of interesting stuff. Connor is convinced the horse skull sitting on my book shelf is actually a dinosaur skull. I scored on that one, not every granny has a dinosaur skull.

See, scary stuff if that dinosaur skull is a reflection on my interior personality. Or the smashed burnt trombone, or the twenty year old dried Maple leaves, I love my Maple leaves. Or the coffee table made out of stacked books, the thirty to forty year old hot wheels, jars for moonlight and peace I bought when Christian was three years old. I love my stuff, but don't like to think about what it portends of my interior. I'm thinking I'm pretty low class.

Speaking of low class, I had my birthday dinner at the locally famous Ezell's Fried Chicken. I thanked the boys for joining me in a slumming kind of birthday dinner, and Christian said, hey this is a step up, it isn't Ramen Noodles. I love boys.

Ezell's was the closest thing to Southern slumming as I could get and it was fantastically satisfying. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, hot rolls, and fried okra to die for. Now that Ezell's is selling fried okra I have a go-to okra place when that Southern yearn hits me hard. The okra didn't have a cornmeal breading like Mom used to make, (can anything be like Mom used to make) but it was very light and delicious. Okra that tasted almost like okra from a garden.

My tomato garden is still trying.

I have such a tiny life the the BIG events are my tomato plant and an air conditioner. The air conditioner my three sons bought for me for my birthday. I knew I could love inanimate objects, but I didn't know how much. I run that thing until I am freezing. Freezing bliss. And Seattle is expecting another one to two weeks of 89 degree weather, maybe even up to 94 degrees. I'll think about the electric bill tomorrow.

Did everyone see that moon last night? That Blue Moon? Full Blue Moon isn't until Friday night, but last night was pretty spectacular. I have always been fascinated by the moon. I learned late in life that Neomia was somehow Greek for new moon. How did Mom know?

And shadows: I have been, and continue to be, absolutely fascinated by shadows. There is no meaning, no direction, no manifestation, no projection. It just is. I am fascinated by the fact that shadows don't always tell the truth. Straight sticks can make a circle shadow, circles can make a boxy shadow. Was it Socrates, Plato or Aristotle who used the shadow-in-a-cave as a metaphor for man's understanding of reality? Reality that isn't really the real reality.

Metaphor? Don't know, but I would like to turn that fascination into passion. How does one do that? How does amazing turn into inspirational turn into creativity? Fascinating. And also makes me head hurt.

"It's in the detail, passion is in the detail" according to Richard Saul Wurman. I love TED and the passion and detail it brings into my life whether I agree or not.


On a sad note; Christian's little dog, Tiki, died. Christian swears it waited for him to come home. He said he came home and Tiki jumped in his lap for cuddling (not a cuddling dog) and then lay on the floor and died.

When Christian got Tiki he said, It's not the dog I would have picked, but she needed a home and I needed a companion.

When he was sharing the news he said he figured Tiki lived half of her life.

I love Christian and I love how he loved his dog. She will be missed, any life force is missed when it is gone, but this was Christian's Tiki. I share his grief so deeply. Love your children and you can't help but share their grief.

I guess I was feeling a little down and was searching for comfort meatloaf, yes I made some, and comfort fried chicken, and comfort okra, and comfortable temperatures.

It all happened. The comfort of boys, birthdays, and love.

A Funny Thing Happened

I watched three depressing documentaries:

The Pruett-Igoe Myth
The Salt of the Earth
The Pervert's Guide to Ideology

Don't watch them! They were good, interesting, informative, different, thought provoking, eye-opening, and many other things, but scary and depressing. Social commentaries all; Man's inhumanity to man, social experiments that failed, man's ability to rationalize the truth into something else.

I've just spent weeks with depressing Facebook posts, not enough of Judy singing Happy Birthday Papa and too much I hate Obama, save the confederate flag, save the rainbow flag, who is a hero and who isn't, who is or isn't baking a frigging cake, who can and can't get birth control, is the world warming or not, my rights were violated, murder, mayhem, man's inhumanity to man, social experiments of dubious outcome. Not enough Dalai Lama and shining light in the world.

I want some meatloaf, my meatloaf, my homemade meatloaf.
My comforting meatloaf with green beans and mashed potatoes.

I want more love.

Like Roger saying he is going to help Christian move.
WHAT? Christian's moving?
Mom, didn't you know Christian has a new job?
No!
I'm helping him move his tool chest.
Oh, the things mother's don't know.
Hum, is that more love?

Like Jean saying Jerry is planning a September trip to Seattle.
WHAT?
Hasn't Jerry told you?
No!
Oh, the things sister's don't know.

Bring me some comforting coffee, a comforting movie, a comforting book, a smile or two

Jeff's getting old. Oh, say is ain't so. Jean losing a part of herself. My tomato plant growing taller than me, NO tomatoes, but a beautiful plant. Book club morphing. Claire getting settled in Minnesota. Ian being gone and I've had to do all those hum-drum chores myself. Carry out the trash, carry in the groceries, check the mail. Not bad news, but a little dis-settling. Discombobulating as it were.

And my dust that never, never, never goes away. Although I suppose it would if I dusted it. I can dream about that.

"We are not responsible for our dreams they come from some unfathomable depth and we can do nothing about it." The Pervert's Guide to Ideology.

I think it is funny that love might be where we plant our eyes. Is that denial?
I think it is funny that comforting might be what ever is available. Is that rationalization?
I think it is funny that hopes and dreams come from the same unfathomable place. Is that a social commentary?

It is funny.

I want more of Connor's fascinating questions.
If a million million peices of puzzle were water would it put out a forest fire?
No, Connor it wouldn't.
Where does metal come from?
Melted rocks heated hot,hot, hot.
Melted rocks like lava?

I want Connor to continue to entertain himself with fascinating questions, and continue to entertain me. I want Jeff to continue to be as happy as he can be -- even old. Jean to walk pain free. Jerry and Jane to travel to Seattle with or without announcement. Christian to accept what is best for him. Ian to travel. Nora to get married. Julia to bird watch. Book club to morph. Boys to bike. Fireworks to whiz. Breakfasts and pedicures with friends. Judy to sing.

A funny thing happened on my way through three depressing documentaries. Mankind is the same. The world is the same. The universe is the same. I don't think you have to choose between a wounded soldier and Caitlyn Jenner. Bravery, like beauty, comes in many forms. Is Jean any less brave for undergoing extreme surgery because she isn't a wounded soldier? I think it is where you plant your eyes.

I texted Christian, it seems he received an offer he couldn't refuse. He will explain later.
Is that more love?

A funny thing happened on my way through three depressing documentaries.

I am the same.

What a Time, What a Time

Having company for weeks kept me busy. Claire and I did errands, visited Social Security more than once (did you know at SS you can't have guns, cell phones, photography, or talk to the guard), we went out to eat, a lot, survived the heat, (over two weeks of over eighty degrees), watched her car get loaded and hauled away (it still hasn't arrived in Minnesota). In the meantime my little life tasks were ignored and I had no alone time, no down time, no solitude. I need solitude.

After Claire flew away I curled up with solitude and zoned out; completely. I didn't watch a movie, read a book, go out for breakfast, lunch or dinner, think, didn't see Connor, it was too hot to nap, and I didn't do all those pesky little life maintenance tasks. I stared off into space and let my body re-configure itself back into "Jan." I need solitude.

Now, it is catch up time for all those life tasks I ignored. Nope, not done yet. Hair is shaggy, toenails need clipping, medicine not ordered. I did drag myself to the grocery store, and had a lovely breakfast with most of book club. The living room is back to being a living room. And Claire has found an interim apartment as she settles into Minnesota life.

Sometimes life is complicated. Sometimes people are complicated. Sometimes love is complicated.

Work, friends, family, forgiving, letting go. Who hasn't been conflicted, torn a little bit apart at various times, numerous times? It's complicated. Relationships with a rend in them that wasn't quite mended, not completed severed, but not quite right. Maybe not on solid ground, don't know where you stand. A bit askew. A mean grandmother. A uncompromising dad. A boss who doesn't have your back. A daughter who misbehaves.

Complicated conflicted emotions are a part of living.

"For what it's worth, it is never too late"
 I don't remember where I read that.

"I'm not suffering, I'm struggling." Movie Still Alice.

As I sit downtown and watch all the people go to and fro. I notice all the shades and sizes of people. Walking alone or in groups people do not match. Orange purses, checkered shirts, suit and tie, platform shoes, spiffy, scruffy, and all shades in between. People do not match. 

Personalities do not match. There are always slight variations, major variations. My belief in the after life has a small tilt that you don't quite agree with. My love of a movie doesn't quite fit your criteria for a good movie. My enjoyment of macaroni and cheese doesn't match yours. 

At our book club breakfast Mary had a slightly different take on this observation. Smart Mary. She observed that all of our exteriors are different. I have a horse skull in my living room, Mary has a painting of Bears, Sandy has a garden of roses. Some people have crystal or brass or multiple TVs.

Our exteriors don't match like our interiors don't match. We admire different stuff, hang onto different stuff, collect different stuff, baby different stuff, want different stuff. 

All the shades and sizes of a person. All the shades and sizes of a personality. All the shades and sizes of our environment. What's not to love?

And then I saw an advertisement for a $300.00 tire swing, $300.00 for what? A tire swing? 

Life is complicated. 

~ and ~

Today is Jean's birthday. 

I think I will have a cupcake in her honor.

And maybe some mac n'cheese.

And bless the cooler weather, only 78 today.

And rain is on its way.

Love you Jean.