I haven’t made a similar box in a LONG time; they take a lot of time, depending on the desired level of lunacy and intricacy. I’ve made them with hidden compartments, lever locks, plain, and in all manner of geometric shapes.
This one isn’t quite finished. It’s about 90%.
This one has a partial wooden dowel structure hidden inside a large cardboard box. The ‘lid’ is a decorative piece I stripped, painted, and attached hinges to. Each side is covered in various pictures: people, places, goofy photoshops, and keepsake memories. All of that is covered by a mile of pristine clear tape.
If you’re wondering how much time I spent getting to this point, you should just think of Stonehenge. After a few minutes of doing this sort of thing, I disappear a little bit into the effort. I don’t concentrate on the final result, in part because I often don’t know what it might be.
Yes, I jittered all the images on the box. It’s a thing that must be seen in person.
It’s not something most people would want.
It is interesting as hell to see, though, like a carnival ride on fire. 🙂
I decided to install the fairy/pixie door outside.
I think this should serve as a fair answer to the question, “What should I expect on the INSIDE of this apartment.” 🙂
You’ll note that Larkma’s name is on the door, as requested. As for the ladder, duh… Everyone knows that a pixie wants the option to land on the door jamb or climb to it. They are very temperamental.
Demographically speaking, how many adults have a pixie door to their house or apartment in Fayetteville?
You were there when I first started in 2005. A pretty, smiling face, a Southern lady who cleverly concealed her understanding of all our ribald and questionable words and actions. You understood where I came from, being from the same region and culture yourself. You sent me pictures of Brinkley, as you passed through. You were there when my wife died unexpectedly. You sat in the room across from me when we were certain we had lost the job lottery during a staff reduction. Despite my own shock, I was shocked and stunned on your behalf. These kinds of moments forge a connection. (Note: I miss Leroy, who didn’t survive the cut, much to our mutual surprise.)
I have no doubt that I exasperated you on a lot of levels.
Though I can’t remember any of them, I am certain I ate at your diner in Johnson many times while you tirelessly worked the tables, kitchen, and your poor husband Phil.
I love teasing you about your attention to detail and exasperating way of making sure I understand you. It was, for this reason, I nicknamed you the Chihuahua; tireless, small in stature, but impossible to ignore.
We all get caught up in the bureaucracy of living and work. In so doing, we glibly overlook how fascinating the people around us can be.
You are the rare combination of a hard worker and a compassionate listener.
You’ve dedicated thousands of hours that no one else in your position would.
Both of these qualities will dim our lives when you retire. Having worked in this environment for so many years, I can confess that we still share and tell stories of all the people we had the honor of knowing in common. It’s an infinite game of leapfrog, as people come and go and overlap. Your overlap is gargantuan and memorable.
I’ll steal the cliché and modify it: “You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s almost gone.”
I don’t know what you’re going to do with the 30+ remaining years of your life.
Because it’s my life to tell, I could tell some stories that would make you wonder if I’d lost my mind. Though I’ve shared so much of what most wouldn’t, especially on my blog, I’ve tempered my urge to be open against the strains of privacy with which so many people shield themselves.
Most of them have the same common thread: we all have a similar composition no matter how people present themselves.
Careers, family aspirations, doubt. All of it succumbs to the same basic need for appreciation and understanding.
Standing in a kitchen, holding someone.
Waiting in a parking lot, even as the rain quickens and drenches.
The gut-wrenching hurt of loneliness, anger, or misunderstanding.
Looking at the doctor across the desk, holding one’s breath, judging the content of one’s life in the interval between test and certainty.
The litany of thoughts, desires, and jokes people tell in private but fear the knowledge that others might see and hear – and judge.
I’ve peeked behind so many curtains in this last year!
All of them are from the same fabric.
We superficially seem to be vastly different; I know better.
I am sitting here at my desk, trying to find the words to write another truth. This one is a stone in my throat.
This story unfolded minutes ago.
As life does, a story walked up, disguised as a man and woman. They went to the dumpster in the front. Both had backpacks. The woman fearlessly climbed up and inside. The man stood to the side.
My heart opened unexpectedly. I got my full coin jar next to the door and exited the apartment.
I swallowed my uncertainty and approached the man. There’s no doubt he expected an admonishment from me.
Who am I to judge?
“This is for you,” I told him. I handed him the heavy glass jar.
“The jar has sentimental value. The coins have real value. I want y’all to have it.”
He was dumbstruck. The realization that I walked over to surprise him with a gift instead of cursing him washed over him.
He looked at his girlfriend or wife and said, “Did you see what he just gave us? I can’t believe I’m tearing up.”
I reached out and shook his hand.
“Don’t you want the jar back? If it has value to you?”
“No, I’ve had it for 20+ years. I’m in a new life now.”
We shared comments back and forth. He said he’d give the jar to his dad, who loves such things.
“I hope karma repays you, X.” It was odd he used the word ‘karma’ to me. It permeates so much of my life.
The last thing I said to him, when I turned and walked away: “I’ve got a good life and more than enough.”
The woman did an expert job at rummaging inside the dumpster, a place most wouldn’t dare enter.
As I finished this, I got a text thanking me for going out of my way to tip a delivery driver. Twice.
I think I have it better than I realize.
Step outside into the overcast day. I’m sending out a wave of gratitude. Even in this place, there are moments of clarity.
That’s Tammy on the right, holding her husband’s hand at a Cargill company picnic. I took the picture. It seems as if Chris is looking back at Tammy as she is now. She’s always been funny, smart, and fun. I can only imagine the confidence she feels looking at the span of her life.
A friend of mine waited until she was around 50 years old to change her life. Though health issues motivated her, the ‘how’ of her success falls to the wayside when compared against her ongoing success.
Part of Tammy’s ongoing triumph lies with her husband, Chris. He’s the only person I ever lost a weight loss bet to. Unlike most, he’s managed to stay in great shape since. Tammy having an enthusiastic person in her corner is undoubtedly a fantastic advantage.
Seeing Tammy’s ability to achieve her goal lit an additional fire in me when I had my own epiphany. Though my mental light switch flipped in October last year, I had the unusual idea that I KNEW I would be thin. Knowing Tammy did it with so many health obstacles convinced me that it would be a waste of life and ability if I didn’t see it through. I told her that I was feeding off her success; it became an optimistic and self-fulfilling prophecy.
But if you don’t have someone in your corner, or if you suffer self-doubt? You’re still going to be able to find a way to get healthy if your focus is tuned to your goal. My cousin Lynette gave me the phrase, “Choose Your Hard.” One way or another, life is going to be obstacles, difficulties, and stress. Whether you sail through it while at least trying or struggle with the consequences of not doing so, it will be hard. Attempting to make positive changes will at least give you a purpose; psychology and science prove that having such a purpose makes you happier. It’s a self-fulfilling cycle.
If you try and fail? So what! Life is just as much about failure as success. Try again. You will not succeed until you do. It’s stupidly simple. You don’t need complicated diet plans, gym memberships, or supplements. If you use them to find your success, though? Good for you! Do what works and work that program until what you do becomes a habit. Suppose you can implement small, incremental changes in your attitude and behavior. In that case, you’ll begin to find joy in meeting your goals.
Start from wherever you are. It’s the only place you can.
Tammy faced 2019 head-on. In December 2018, she suffered a sprained ankle. When she went for medical care, she found herself to be at 335 lb. The injury caused blood clots to travel to her lungs. While hospitalized, she had a moment of clarity, very similar to mine, in which she confronted the real possibility that she might die, leaving a beautiful family behind. As life does, it added a kidney stone surgery to her list of obstacles. She started Weight Watchers in April. After six months of care, she had gastric bypass, during which she found out she also had a hernia. She clocked 4 hospitalizations and 3 surgeries in 2019.
Now? She’s still down 160 lbs. To say that her transformation was remarkable is an exaggerated understatement.
Tammy knows that losing weight might be easy. It requires only a short-term adjustment and a frenzy of starvation and exercise. Losing it and maintaining that weight belies a massive shift in behavior, consumption, and environment. Most positive changes do. It’s a lot of invisible work and constant right choices in a world stuffed with delicious food. Tammy puts in the work because who she is now is who she wanted to be all along.
At this point, Tammy gave me the phrase, “Nothing tastes as good as this feels.” While the food might bring temporary delight, it cannot compare to standing on top of a monumental success like Tammy experienced. Success itself feeds her self-image in a way that food can’t. It’s also part of my secret ability to have done 1,500 pushups in a day. That obsession and confidence come from within. You don’t think you can do it until you start succeeding.
No matter what stage you find yourself in, all change starts with a thought. It might be a little seedling in your brain. You might feel powerless to get there. Most of you have the capacity to steal Tammy’s thunder and experiment until you find a way to stop failing. She would want you to. All of us who’ve managed to sidestep our lifelong habits are evangelical about the enthusiasm such changes bring. It didn’t just reduce Tammy’s waistline or make her more beautiful. It made her more HER, a woman brimming with energy and self-confidence.
My goal was to give it my all for a year. That’s October for me.
Tammy’s stayed on course since 2019.
I hope you read this and feel the optimism that my words probably can’t convey.
Whatever your goal or purpose is, take Tammy’s example and try.
I spent another afternoon painting everything. Well, not everything. The neighbor’s dog escaped. My quest to fill my life with color is proceeding like the General Lee across an unexpected levee. If that reference is too old for you, try this one: …like an NFL linebacker making his way to the pizza… or a housewife driving into a Target parking lot.
The Covid debate raged around me everywhere. I wish everyone could visit a full ICU-Covid unit and see how incredibly difficult this virus has made everyone’s lives. It’s easy for me to forget that not everyone shares my vantage point. For many people, it’s like imagining a war fought overseas; distant, disconnected. The truth is I find myself doing my part while simultaneously glancing away. Each day that passes, I hope that no one I know or love will need emergency care. The waits are incredible, and the misery is real for everyone, patients and family members. I have my opinion about BB&BBQ, Arkansas football games, and other social gatherings. But no one cares about my earned opinion. Instead of throwing my two cents in, I hope everyone can avoid Covid if possible. And if not, that it does not cut you or your family too profoundly as it lays its fickle finger across your life.
So that you know, I still go out in public. I wear a mask and try to avoid licking my fingers at random times. For me, my most significant exposure to Covid has been inside my allegedly safe bubble at work. Repeatedly. Even if I do everything right, I must work. It doesn’t stress me. It’s not because I fail to understand the risks. It’s because I’m at the mercy of everyone around me. The truth? I always have been. We all are. The sooner we realize it and act like our actions affect everyone around us will be a good day. While we’re at it, let’s make fundamental changes to our social policy and healthcare system so that no one will worry about medical care.
Until then, I’m going to get back to painting.
But I’ll be thinking about y’all and hoping we’ll all be safe. We won’t be. But I’m hoping.
Walgreens ought not to tempt me with amazing deals on prints.
I needed an excuse to go the next mile with another project.
These 50+ pictures will certainly help.
Thanks, Walgreens, for giving me pictures that weren’t mine, too. I’m sure that my face reflected confusion and then amusement. Whoever the lady is in the images in my envelope, you have an AMAZING sense of fashion. I’m not being snarky.
When I got the email, I locked the door and made what I presumptively thought would be a quick trip to pick the pictures up. I left my painting project on the railing. It rained hard again. Luckily, it didn’t do too much damage. I finished the coats of paint and waited for the lid portion of the ornate box to dry.
Standing on the balcony, watching the deep sunset, the hummingbirds buzzed around me. The biggest one became even more daring. Last night, it landed an inch from my right hand. Tonight, it landed briefly on my forearm. I held my breath and smiled. When it flew away, for the briefest second, I flew away with it.
I came back inside and turned the ceiling lights out, watching the array of LEDs above the cabinets do their magic. The video doesn’t include the LED app lights that respond to music. They are the light equivalent of mushrooms. My living bedroom is a series of colorful projects and pictures.
I keep forgetting that I can spread out into the large kitchen area and even into the two unused bedrooms. No one is going to admonish me for the sprawl, the hundreds of pieces of colorful paper, the paintings, the whimsical artwork, or even the unhung canvases.
I’m going to go out back out on the balcony and listen to the symphony of insects, traffic, and the voice in my head.
I hope it’s always this way, no matter what the future holds.
(The video is of a fairy light set I made by inverting a blue glass hummingbird feeder and installing solar lights into it.)
My intention to do fewer projects lasted…about as long as you’d imagine.
I went to buy powerful magnets, which led me to investigate every single aisle in the store. During my visit, I helped three people find things. I spent about five minutes answering a woman’s questions about a wood project she was undertaking. In so doing, I saved her a LOT of money. She then asked me several more questions about other things she was considering. Before she walked away, she also asked me about my butterfly brooch.
She added, “You know, I’m going to go the aisle with the pins and brooches and buy a couple. It’s an easy way to add color and draw the eye.”
I laughed. “Yes. I think the way you smile probably does that, too.” As soon as I said it, it crossed my mind that it sounded like I was flirting. Before I could utter a word, she stopped me. “It’s okay. Thanks for that.”
At Lowe’s, I bought more electrical items; this apartment begs for a total renovation. Along with those, I purchased more practical things, too. Possibly in a nod to more inevitable painting projects, I also bought more paint, which led me to justify buying a couple of surprise things at the next store. The clerked seemed surprised that I would take all the hardware off and paint a box I’d purchased. “Can you do that?” she asked. “Ha! Yes. And in at least two colors.”
Because I had paint all over me within 30 minutes of arriving home, I opted for Dominos. In case you were wondering, I order cheeseless thin-crust pizzas with vegetables. My stove looks like a sauce/spice madman was let loose. Using four sauces and four spices (so that each piece tastes distinctive) to eat such a pizza makes my taste buds go wild. Taking another look, make that six different sauces-and maybe a smidgen of paint, too.
I rigged two hangers on the balcony to paint without continuing to paint my hands and arms accidentally. And face. If I show up for work tomorrow with paint still across my neck and forehead, mind your business. It’s interesting when I’m doing these things because the neighbors get curious and find ways to look up or over to see whatever thing or contraption I’m working on for the day. It’s tempting to drag out ridiculous things just to convince onlookers that I’ve lost my mind.
When I stopped at the convenience store to get a soda and lottery tickets, the skies had opened up for a surprise rain. It was a beautiful sight, despite the mugginess. The clerk who speaks Nepali didn’t object to a tip this time, though she did insist on adding something to my purchase to reduce her tip. Little did she know she was dealing with a wily expert on such subterfuge. I added two dollar bills to the counter, saluted, laughed, and walked away. She smiled. “Karma,” I said to her in a weird accent.
I’d write more, but paint is calling my name and in all caps.
I remember before phones were ubiquitous, and cameras were a burden some of us willingly carried to capture moments.
“I love pictures but hate photography” is one of my quotes.
I used to take guerilla photos constantly, knowing at least one would be salvageable.
This first one is from May 2007, in Omaha, Nebraska. We shared a delicious Italian supper at an Italian restaurant. Though I didn’t realize it, I have a picture of the entrance! It was Lo Sole Mio Ristorante Italiano. I’d forgotten I took a quick snapshot, also grabbing a picture of my brother-in-law Joe in doing so.
Kim, in the lead, is looking down and smiling. My brother-in-law Steve is next to her. Behind him, my deceased wife, Deanne. She died four months later, unexpectedly, ten years my junior —her brother Steve, six years later. For all I know, everyone in this picture, even the innocent bystanders walking behind them, are dead. On a long enough timeline, this will be true for every single image you own.
I love this picture. Steve and Deanne gave me the one-finger salute independently and simultaneously. I laughed and laughed when I saw it. I apologized to the bystanders, telling them that some of us were from Arkansas.
Joe and Deanne had a bitter exchange of words afterward. I don’t remember why. I hope Joe doesn’t either because no matter what words they shared, they loved each other. I have a picture that captures the irritation.
I have better pictures of Deanne from that day. But the one of her getting into Steve’s gargantuan truck captures her perfectly in an unguarded moment.
Now that I’m living in my own The After, I think about Deanne more. She was ten years younger than me. Loudly and aggressively vivacious.
Were she here, she would absolutely holler at me to stop wasting time on ‘what ifs’ and wishes. She’s been gone fourteen years.
She would quote “The Green Mile” and tell me, “Get busy living or get busy dying.”
Don’t stop taking pictures, even if people give you the finger.
One day, you might be sitting and reminiscing. And that picture might give you a breath of life.
When the sun begins to sit on the horizon, we are all memories.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 