It’s Time to Change My Sheets! (Blog #912)

Leave a comment

Phew. It’s been a busy twenty-four hours. Last night I attended a swing dance at an airport hanger/museum in Northwest Arkansas. The best part? A bunch of my dance friends were there, including several who drove down from Springfield. Talk about a party. I had as much fun visiting and dancing last night as I have since I don’t remember when. This is the weekend I always hosted my annual swing dance convention, Southern Fried Swing, so maybe that’s it. Like part of me associates this time of year with, well, a good time. And although I miss Southern Fried Swing, I don’t know, last night might have been better. Only because I didn’t have to foot the bill. Or stay late to clean the floor.

When the party was over, I just left.

Today has been go, go, go. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This morning I thought, I’ll just spend a few hours painting a client’s deck, and that’ll be it. And whereas I did spend a few hours painting, I also spent a few more. You know, I got on a roll. I thought, If I finish this today, I won’t have to come back tomorrow. Well, form follows thought, so that’s exactly what happened. I finished.

Let’s hear it for the boy.

Here’s a picture of the deck half painted with one coat of paint.

Here’s a picture of the deck fully painted with two coats of paint. The light spots are where the paint is still wet. It continues to dry as we speak.

Y’all, waiting for paint to dry is the worst. Waiting for anything is the worst. What I mean is that I really like projects to be “finished,” and although I got a ton of work done today, this project won’t be officially completed until two days from now. This is when the paint will be dry enough for me to put the furniture I took off the deck back on. Again, this means waiting. This means being patient. Currently my laundry is washing, and it’s the same deal. Because I can’t wiggle my nose and instantly make my clothes clean and dry, I simply have to wait the best as I can.

My method of waiting, usually, is to do things while I wait. To be productive. You know, like an American. Tonight while my laundry has been washing I’ve been doing little things around the house–scrubbing a couple stains in the carpet, throwing away expired toiletries, cleaning out my shower drain (it was full of my hair–and a toenail). I’d intended to blog while doing laundry, but the odd job thing started. I kept thinking, While I’m at it, I might as well.

I might as well clean my tennis shoes. I might as well bleach my teeth. I might as well change the sheets on my bed.

It has been a couple months.

I have a journalist friend who jokes that the purpose of time is to keep everything from happening at once. Think about it. If we could wiggle our noses and make everything happen lickity split, it’d be cool, but in exercising the magic to speed things up, we’d also be losing the magic of experiencing the thing–of painting this board then that board, of folding the laundry, of doing the odd jobs. When I think back on my twenty years of dancing, I wouldn’t–even if I could–wiggle my nose and make my nineteen-year-old-newbie-dancer self know everything I know now. Why? Because I’d miss out on the experience of twenty years of learning, twenty years of traveling, twenty years of dancing with my friends. It’s that worn-out thing that everyone says–it’s the journey, not the destination.

Last night I had some fabulous dances. For some of them, I pulled out moves I learned five, ten, and twenty years ago. Seen from this perspective, my dances last night were decades in the making. And although I didn’t know these dances were going to happen, in one sense I’ve been waiting to have them all my life. Didn’t you wait your entire life to do whatever you did today–even if was just eat today’s breakfast, wash today’s laundry? Think about it. Whatever you’re doing right here, right now, has been a long time in the making. And you’ve been oh-so patient. Or not. Either way, rather than making it ho-hum moment, enjoy it. Like, Finally! It’s time to change my sheets.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

If another's perspective, another's story about you is kinder than the one you're telling yourself, surely that's a story worth listening to.

"

When You Can’t Get A(Head) (Blog #478)

Leave a comment

Today’s in-a-hurry, down-and-dirty bullet points/thoughts–

1. So tired, so thankful

Last night I stayed up until four in the morning helping my friends pack. I’m happy to have the work. Then I went to Walmart to prepare for my upcoming family road trip and went to bed at five-thirty. Today I am–functional. I just got a haircut and need to get ready to meet friends for dinner. I should shower. They might appreciate that.

2. I’ve got to be crazy

The road trip tomorrow will be to Albuquerque, where my sister lives. It will be me, my dad, my mom, my aunt, and our dog (Ella), and we will all be crammed into my car, Tom Collins. If nothing else, the trip will give me plenty to write about. Stay tuned.

3. You never know

Here’s something I found while helping my friends pack. It’s a poem from a 1960s (?) elementary-school autograph book by some kid named Joe that says, “Roses are red, Violets are blue, The shorter the miniskirt, The better the view.” (Geez. Straight people.)

You never know where your words will end up.

4. Can’t get a(head)? Here are two.

For six years when I had the dance studio, I hosted a dance event called Southern Fried Swing. Even now, no one gets the name right. They call it Kentucky Fried Swing, Deep Fried Swing, Chicken Pot Pie (my favorite). Anyway, the head of my decorating committee, whom I’m helping pack, was and is always super-creative, and we came across these painted mannequin heads that were leftover from our 2010 event. (I think it was 2010). Check them out. I’m still amazed. People are so talented.

5. Holy Mother of God (Batman)

I’m writing a lot about my friends who are moving. I mean, I have been spending twelve-hours days at their house quite a bit lately. Anyway, I’m not usually moved by religious iconography, but they have a picture of the madonna and child that stops me in my tracks every time I see it. I said something about it, and the next day my friend gave me a smaller version of the painting, one she found in an old school book. So yesterday I bought a frame for it and hung it in the small space between my closet doors. The painting is by Raphael (the painter, not the Ninja Turtle), and I’m not sure why I love it. I guess I think Mary looks like a nice lady–accepting. Plus, the painting makes me think of the Beatle’s song “Let It Be,” although the song was about Paul McCartney’s actual mother and not the Blessed Virgin.

But still.

When I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be. And in my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me, speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

6. Have a Coke and smile

Yesterday I taught a dance lesson at the local Coca-Cola Bottling Company. Talk about a cool gig. I used to be obsessed with Coca-Cola, decorated my room with Coke wallpaper, and yesterday’s lesson was held in their museum. (Sometime’s life is pretty bitchin’.) Anyway, afterwards I got to find the Coke calendar from the year I was born. Check it out.

7. Hey, loser

Everything is all right and okay.

After yesterday’s cool experience at the Coca-Cola plant, I got an email about a writing fellowship I applied for. There were 700 applicants, and I wasn’t one of the winners. Neither was a friend of mine, so when I called her to commiserate, she said, “Hey, loser,” and I said, “Hey, loser.” I don’t know–I’m a little disappointed, but not really. Normally I’d think, I can’t get ahead, but today I’ve been thinking, This feels right. Perhaps this is a sign of progress, a sign of my being able to let it be. More and more, I’m not sure I know what’s best for me. I have these dreams I’d like to see happen, but WHO AM I to say if they should come about or HOW they should come about if they do? Who am I to push the universe around? That thinking is stressful, the idea that something should be happening that isn’t. No–I’d much rather image the universe as the madonna and me as its beloved child wrapped safely in her arms, where everything all right and okay, exactly as it should be.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Any mundane thing–an elevator ride!–can be turned into something joyous.

"

The Mystery of It All (Blog #181)

Leave a comment

When I first started blogging almost six months ago, the average blog took anywhere from four to six hours to complete. I’d sit at the laptop staring at a blank page and just wait for an idea to show up, sort of like I do now with boyfriends. It was exhausting. Thankfully, the process has gotten a lot easier. Now the average blog takes two hours–about an hour and a half to write, maybe thirty minutes to edit. Honestly, it’s still tough, trying to take an average day and turn it into something funny or profound. Sometimes I’d simply like to eat a damn cheeseburger without having to turn it into a mystical experience. Recently I turned down the opportunity to spend the night with a delightful man so I could come home and blog. Tonight I had dinner with perhaps the most honest friend I have, and he said, “Couldn’t you just take off one night in order to get laid?”

I mean, it’s not like I haven’t thought about it.

Still, I’ve come to love the experience. More often than not, I really have no idea what I’m going to sit down and say. More accurately, I have no idea what’s going to be said through me. But I’ve found that if I just start typing, something shows up. That’s why so many blogs start with, “It’s one in the morning, I’m tired, and I can’t stop smelling my armpits.” I’ve found if I just start with the facts–the honest truth–then it’s like a roller coaster ride. Suddenly I’m off and running, and the twists and turns are just as much a surprise to me as to anyone else. Yes, it still scares the shit out of me. I constantly think, What am I going to say next? Despite this fact, I’m learning to trust the process, the mystery of it all.

There’s something about the end of September. For six years, I hosted Southern Fried Swing (a Lindy Hop convention) at this time of year, so all the memories are popping up on Facebook. I can just feel it in the air. It seems like I should be decorating the venue, picking up instructors from the airport, meeting with the band, eating cinnamon rolls from Calico County, and–of course–dancing. It’s the way I used to feel every summer, that I should be at summer camp, teaching kids to canoe and singing “Picking Up Paw Paws.” Now it feels like something is missing, something that I really loved and was good at.

Today, instead of working on Southern Fried Swing (or, as one friend calls it, Chicken Pot Pie), I drove to Fort Smith to pick up a bunch of “cancer hats” for my mom. Since she’s bald, she’s been wearing a sailor’s hat at home to keep her warm. Honestly, it’s not cute–she looks like Gilligan. Anyway, my sister talked to a family friend who’s had cancer, and she and her mom (also a cancer survivor) rounded up some more fashionable options for my mom. As the gay child in the family, I’m not sure why I didn’t think of this first.

After picking up the hats, I went to Walmart to get gas for Tom Collins (my car) and decided I needed to replace my wiper blades. I mean, the ones I’ve had have been “okay,” but not great. Well, anything feels like an expense these days, but I’m going on a road trip in a couple weeks, so I figured it would be a good investment. So I bit the bullet and got two for the front and one for the back. Y’all, either I’m getting smarter or wiper blades are designed better than they used to be. Usually it takes me half an hour, a manual, and a gallon of holy water to change wiper blades, but I changed all three of those suckers in less than five minutes this afternoon.

It really is the little things.

Tonight on the way to dinner, I tested out the blades, and–wow–they were worth every penny. I can see clearly now. When I got home, Mom checked out the hats I picked up this afternoon. She tried a couple of her favorites on, then Dad came in the room and tried a couple on. Ever the selfie opportunist, I threw one on too and took a picture of us. It just lasted a moment, but–at least for me–the whole cancer problem seemed lighter. Maybe I just felt closer to my family.

Also, maybe I should start wearing pink more.

Naturally, I have a lot of plans for my life, things I’d like to see happen. The truth is that life, like writing, is a mystery. You start out having no idea how it’s going to go, or maybe you think “this” will happen, but things simply unfold as the do. Maybe you spend six years doing the same thing every fall, and then one year it’s over, nothing left but memories and old photos. Sometimes I think it’s easy to get stuck in the past, to wish for what was. But whenever I do that, it feels like looking through a windshield that won’t quite come clean, as if looking backwards prevents me from seeing clearly what’s right in front of me. Maybe what’s in front of me is a mom with cancer, or maybe it’s an ordinary day. Either way, life does seem to be getting easier, and I’m coming to see every day and even myself as a black page, full of possibility.

Quotes from CoCo (Marcus)

"

Your life is a mystery. But you can relax. It’s not your job to solve it.

"