The rain started at 2:59 a.m. I heard it approach in a crescendo as it moved through the trees toward me. An hour later, I sat on the plant bench watching the lightning illuminate the sky in bursts of violet purple-blue. Thunder rolled languorously as occasional cars passed by. I would have loved to sit there until sunrise at 7:09. My shorts were still damp from walking in the rain. It was 67 degrees when I spontaneously decided to take a barefoot walk around the neighborhood cut-through. It was a beautiful little walk as the rain pelted me and refreshed me. I’ll go inside now as the thunder grows in intensity and the lightning strikes become more pronounced. Not because it makes me nervous, but because I must yield to the day. Reluctantly. .
Summer gallops toward us. My metal front door already reached 156 F this afternoon. Last summer, it reached over 180. It catches the sun directly. It’s great for my solar lanterns and lights but makes me wonder when the wall might ignite in a fiery burst. The previous door was wooden until I moved in. The occupant had made the front door unusable too. That amuses me. What level of hooliganism must one exercise to render a door unusable? My childhood provides fodder for the ‘how.’
I bought Subway to eat. I still had a slew of coupons to use. The problem? I didn’t know they expired on my birthday until I ordered. To counterbalance my self-amusement and chagrin, I tipped the two workers in cash, surprising them. Jessica gave me a bottle of thai chili sauce and I drowned half of my sandwich in it, letting it run down across my hands and face as I stood outside in the warmth of the full sun, the sandwich precariously perched on the railing. Güino of course kept me company out there while I ate. He then tricked me and darted past me to the neighbors, where he proceeded to peer into the low window and meow at the cat occupants of the apartment. As I prodded him back toward my apartment with my foot, he had a lot to say to me in protest.
Earlier, hundreds of birds accumulated in the brush and unmaintained trees behind the apartment simplex. Their chirping roar was loud and beautiful. It gave me the idea to put a 15′ feeder pole outside my bedroom window. Lord knows the screen will never be fixed so moving it aside to fill the feeder won’t be a problem. Of course, I will paint it a garish vivid color, one befitting a person dedicated to swathing everything in polychrome.
An uncle of mine died this week. Amusingly, we called him Poor Bob. He was a plain-spoken, opinionated, and humorous man. He needed all those qualities to be married to my Aunt Marylou. It’s okay that I pick on her. She’s heard it all at least two times in her long lifetime. She’s the origin of my quip, “Every family needs an Aunt Marylou to get things done.” She’s been the de facto matriarch of the family since grandma Nellie died.
I’m sitting at my computer, facing the sun as it penetrates the poorly-closed blinds of the window. Shadows play across the bottom. The cat sitting on the extra-wide sill I installed below them provides a little motion as he moves and arcs his back against them. I left the back window open for him when I left early this morning. He’s had a full day of sun and warmth.
I filled the hummingbird feeder because I’m an optimist.
I’m going to make a cup of bitter coffee and stand on the landing as I drink it. Sunset isn’t until 7:35. If I do it right, that hour will seem languid and filled with countless thoughts. Some hours are much longer than others, just as some embraces are more fiery and soulful.
It’s not that this location is beautiful, but sometimes the light shimmers on surfaces and provides the perfect backdrop for contemplating.
I’ll look at pictures later, searching for those who’ve stepped away. It’s the least I can do, to remember. Even to experience a small moment. Most of our lives are these moments.
A special message for today, written on a 2′ x 3′ container lid.
Yes, the word “mofo” still amuses me.
As I amused myself with this sign, I listened to my downstairs neighbor rage and scream for several minutes. I went out to the landing and stairs and recorded a little bit of it. I hope he is not screaming at his very young daughter again. That kind of behavior at 4 a.m. signals that he is out of control. It wouldn’t be better to listen to it at 2 p.m. but it somehow is much worse at this hour. He’s the one some of us call “Shirtless Guy,” because he goes shirtless when all evidence clearly indicates that he should not, at least from the standpoint of “things people want to see.”
I hear the train whistle in the distance. It will soon approach, roaring past. As loud as it is, it’s one of the things that is endearing about living in this area. As for the volume, it’s no louder than my mom, whose voice cut could through the apocalypse. Trains connect me to my childhood past, parts that are worth remembering. My grandpa used to tell me stories about jumping trains, even as my grandma Nellie would holler at him: “Woolie, stop telling him those stories!” I wish grandpa had lived a few more years to tell me stories I could remember. As for the train tracks, if you touch the rails, you’re connected to 140,000+ miles of them across the United States. I love that idea.
The train horn grows loud.
The day grows near.
The neighbor is silent.
Good morning, mofos. I wish you could experience how it makes me feel to recall sitting on the wooden porch swing next to grandpa.
My “Ask” project both failed and succeeded. The truth of it is that you can’t control another person’s response – only your own. I wrote that it’s never wrong to ask; the bigger sin is to have an ‘ask’ and remain silent.
“Silence is the gravedigger for enthusiasm, love, humor, and happiness.” – X
Ask Ask for what you want or desire. If you don’t, it is a certainty you’ll never get it. Ask of life and ask of people. The answer, though bitter or not what you sought… It’s at least the truth. Everything starts from there
Ask
PS I do mourn the failure. . .
I woke up at 11:30, safe and happy. I couldn’t go back to sleep. I think multiple things kept me awake, one of which was the unusual trip I took to LR to see my sister Carolyn. Her house was built in 1939 and updated before she bought it. It’s a beautiful house, one she’s made comfortable and homey. Like many people, I think she doesn’t see it for what it is. It’s truly something to be proud of, like her life. Although I don’t have a clue how she juggles knowing so many people. She could run for state senate based on the number of friends and acquaintances she keeps up with. Though she will kill me for saying so, she’s fiercely single. But she needs a lot of hugs, preferably from someone really cute and financially capable. Don’t tell her I said so, though. . .
The Target Rule For Women: If you love Target, you can never be truly happy with a man who hates it. . . I got out of bed instead of laying there. My cat Güino did his part, nuzzling me and demanding more treats. So I made him a concoction of juice from cat food paste. He doesn’t eat the actual meaty part. He likes to just lap up the mess I make by compressing extra water into the paste. I’d mock him but I eat some weird things too. We all do. Last week, I made the mistake of making sardine juice. Güino loved it. One afternoon as I sat in the office chair, I turned to watch him hurl a stream of sardine juice across my newly-washed comforter. I could see a look of satisfied amusement on his face as he finished. I’m sure of it. The smell reminded me of a late-night bowling alley after hot-dog and free beer hour. Bed Bath & Beyond does NOT make any candles scented this way. . . The Reg Flag Maintenance Rule For Women: if your man spends more than five minutes on his hair, he’s going to be ridiculously high maintenance about all the things that matter to you or annoy you, too. . .
I still do a few hundred pushups a day, without going crazy like I once did. My cousin was right; doing them made my life more manageable and better. Over the last few months, a couple of people have been energized by my advice to start doing them, too, especially when they realize that they can spend a couple of minutes a few times a day exercising and avoid the hassle of driving or being at the gym – if they choose. When I got my hair cut the last time, a younger barber was fascinated and I sold him on trying them for six weeks. One of the things I explained to him was that he could start with “female” pushups if he needed to. (I also convinced him that he could do ten pushups at a time, multiple times a day. Before long, he’d be doing sets of 25-50, if he wished to, and even between clients.) Male pushups do work more of the lower body, but if upper body fatigue is reached by doing the allegedly easier “female” pushups, they are extremely effective to build upper body strength. It’s a myth that they aren’t great for your physical well-being, much like the mistaken belief that walking isn’t an amazing way to stay in shape. So many people think we have to run, do a lot of cardio, or stress our bodies needlessly to be in shape. “Female” pushups and walking aren’t as flashy as their counterparts but they do result in transformational physical effects if you make them a habit. Any small applied change to behavior becomes a habit. The Law of Increments prevails. . . “To a dog, all food is dog food.” To which I’d add, in the same way, if a person won’t remove their personal filter from what they see in life, circumstances will never change. “All is yellow to a jaundiced eye,” though not my quote, is apt. . . Profile Picture Rule: if the person doesn’t have a visible and updated profile picture, swipe away if you’re looking for a reliable partner to date. It is the minimum level of honesty and telegraphs their ability to be open. Argue all you want; those people have infinite time and access to both phone and their accounts. . . One of the pitfalls of social media is that people don’t use it to expound on the spectrum of their experiences. You see a thirsty photo or one of a big moment and conclude it’s an honest representation of their life. You know from experience it’s probably not. I continue to learn it’s definitely not. It’s both a comfort and a curse, as perverse as that might sound reading it. . .
I went out on the landing around 1 a.m. Güino accompanied me, of course. My solar lanterns had charged well yesterday for the first day of spring but only one still held a dim charge. I heard a strident voice clearly. The person was upset and ranting. I made a cup of strong coffee and knocked on the apartment door. The voice went silent. To my surprise, the door opened. “Here’s a good cup of coffee. Do you need to talk and have someone listen?” The person was astonished and said, “Thanks for the coffee. I’m sorry you could hear me. I didn’t know.” I waited a couple of seconds before saying, “I’m sorry y’all are struggling. It can be better if you want it to.” The person nodded. “Reset it if you can,” I said. “I hope your night goes better.” There’s no moral here. But I do hope they read the inscription on the cup I designed and had made: “Choose your hard.” It’s hard to change but it’s equally hard to continue navigating waters that always capsize your boat. I hope I get the coffee cup back. It’s one of my favorites. . . Yesterday, I was delighted to discover that my internet provider had decided to put the previous tenant’s $500 delinquent bill on MY account. You can imagine the creative phone call(s) and comments I made. It seemed to be a disservice to not respond with humor and sarcasm. The person who lived in my apartment before me not only trashed the apartment but succeeded in ruining her credit. The mistake to my bill was supposedly fixed but I do wonder at the imperfect process that allowed it to happen in the first place. To say something positive along with my negative, I was shocked and delighted to see that I somehow qualified for a $30 monthly credit on my internet bill. I had zero expectations I would be able to. . . During my trip to central Arkansas, I got a ding to my windshield as I exited Conway. When I got in my car yesterday afternoon, the ding had spread to a 4″ crack. I was going to epoxy it today; now I’ll have to hope a window service can drill it out enough to repair without needing a new windshield. I guess that’s what I get for making cracks all the time; it was inevitable that one appear in my window. I get dings all the time driving through central Arkansas. I should probably refrain from driving through so many ditches. That’s where all the interesting stuff is, though. . . The two and a half hours of sleep I managed before midnight will have to suffice for this day. I shouldn’t complain. So many people suffer worse. I’ve been lucky and I can’t forget it. That is the worst kind of entitlement, that of failing to see blessings. . . “If it is important enough to you, you will find a way. If it is not, you will find an excuse.” Not my quote but resoundingly true. . . It’s going to rain hard later today, which is great. I cleaned more of the parking lot and landings yesterday – by hand, no less, wrenching up detritus and trash that the landlords failed to clean from last fall. A couple of weeks ago, I cleaned up 23 bags of leaves and trash. The rain will do its magic and cleanse the remaining residue. If it isn’t chilly, I’m going to stand out in the rain like a lunatic this afternoon and get drenched. My hope is that it will do its metaphorical work on me, too, taking away the residue of self-doubt and discomfort in my life. . . . .
Words of unexpected encouragement from a while back:
“You’re not too much. You’ve just dealt with others who don’t have the capacity for you. Somewhere, that ‘extra’ that you give is exactly what will fill someone with happiness. Really, you’re going to reduce yourself? How’s that for a slap in the face, X?”
I decided to post it because recently, I explained the 10% Rule to someone who was unfamiliar with it.
We focus our attention on perceived defects about ourselves. But what if instead of trying to change those things, we embraced them and actively sought out people who think those alleged defects are enhancements?
Instead of fighting our nature, find someone who looks at us with a little bit of fire and awe? No hair? Big nose? Odd hands? Love handles? Weird feet? So what. The world is an awfully big place filled with a variety of people.
All of us would be so much happier if we could swing for the fences for someone who appreciates us with our defects.
“Defects become invisible where enthusiasm resides.” – X Its counterpart is this: “Faults are thick where love is thin.”
A sense of humor is the number one key for me. Followed by wit and a quick smile. That wit and quick smile telegraph so much about a person to the world. Things are going to happen – but such an outlook glides past the obstacles without getting stuck. Because I’m a comforter, I want comfort when I’m stressed – and I want to freely give the same. It’s impossible to be myself when someone else isn’t reciprocal during the tough times.
The other thing? Enthusiasm for my presence and the ability to express it with their hands and heart.
I know, the lightning of hypocrisy may very well strike me. That’s okay. I’m mortal in the worst way. I fought a losing battle with wanting attention until I realized I didn’t want to fight for it anymore. It was the worst kind of agony trying to put it into practice.
When I was 20, gray hair set in. About that time, I adopted a short, almost military-style haircut. For convenience. My hair is one of the least important things about me. Now that some of my hair is permanently gone, I don’t chase getting it back or hiding the salt and pepper. Far from it. It’s like me new scar running up my abdomen. I own it and as perverse as it sounds, I’m glad in some ways that it happened.
Now that I lost weight, my sternum is odd. It was one of the first things that emerged from beneath my fat. I used to lie in bed and touch it, both surprised and tickled. As the rest of my body caught up, it tickles me that my sternum has that ‘jut’ in it. Below it, I have a weird connection from the surgery that obscures my stomach muscles. I’ll never get rid of it without surgery. But I would never want to. I don’t care if the whole world sees it.
For some, I am too much, too needy, too something.
The 10% rule continues to tell me that I need only one person to find me to not be “too much.” . .
The moon, large and luminous on one horizon, the fireball of the sun cresting on the other. The bridge and the big river below me. Large flocks of v-shaped formations of birds making their way across above me. Because I was playing radio lottery, Wheel In The Sky came on. I absorbed the lyrics in a way that I never had before; the song hasn’t changed, but I have, another mercurial soul looking out on the world. I will be 55 soon. That is an incredible accumulation of thoughts, moments, and love. All the mistakes I’ve made, the stupid thoughtless comments that have escaped my lips, they lay behind me, even as I realize that a cycle of new ones undoubtedly are coalescing to surprise me. Even though the interstate is a lifeless place for many people, it is a conduit connecting weigh stations in life. I am taking advantage of that, measuring and trying to renew my ability to find a way to have a good life and appreciate that everyone else orbiting with me is struggling to do the same. The interstate is indeed a metaphor. We look at it as a necessary means to an end, and often forget that large swaths of our lives are sometimes squandered because we don’t appreciate that most of our life can be missed as we try to get to the next big moment. The biggest moments are inside of us. Ones of appreciation and hopeful wonder. And yes, sometimes discomfort and unfulfilled desire.
I used my night vision lens to snap this picture at around 6:00 a.m. Scull Creek roars and overflows on both sides of me. The bright moon of course is diffused by the filter but I took a mental snapshot too. I’ll look back in a year and probably feel like 10 years have elapsed. A beautiful moment, full of thoughts and delights for the eye. .
Jessica gave me a page of Subway coupons. I stopped by this afternoon after work. The place was packed. On a whim, I realized that I could surprise all the other customers by sharing my coupons. All of them were pleased and even the workers were curious how creative I could be sharing them. Six other customers took advantage. A few combined their orders to not only save even more money but to take extra food home. We were all laughing. A couple of the customers said they infrequently get the coupons mailed but never think to use them. An older gentleman who was there said he was going to bring his entire sheet next time and do the same thing for anyone in the restaurant when he visited. Subway for everyone. Thanks, Jessica.
PS Oops forgot to include a picture of her that she will grimace about…
I woke up at 2 a.m., an instant awakening, one flush with a weird sense of foreboding. Güino lay next to me. I checked the apartment, then my phone. Nothing was amiss. The feeling that something sinister had transpired wouldn’t dissipate.
Instead of preoccupation, I chose to put on my shoes and walk. The early morning was a blessing as I moved. The night was quiet. Even traffic, usually dormant at that hour, was more so and devoid of travelers. The roads were mine to traverse.
My mind was calm, but memories and thoughts flowed effortlessly as I walked. Nothing noteworthy happened as the minutes passed. Just me and my thoughts.
It felt like meditation.
It felt like peace.
Arriving back at the apartment and making myself a cup of coffee, I sat at the computer and Güino jumped to my lap for morning appreciation and cuddles.
Whatever unseen force that awakened me still echoed as an almost tangible sensation in my head. Even if I couldn’t perceive anything out of place, I knew that somewhere, someone was experiencing life differently. It’s the way of the world, a constant battle of chaos, energy, and circumstance.
It felt like peace.
It was meditation.
I knew I had to start my routine, the one that cements me into the world of normalcy. And so it begins, this day, two hours already racing past, never to be recaptured.
As I was chalking up a sidewalk, a woman approached. I could tell she had something to say. She didn’t have a Karen name badge on but it was definitely her spirit animal.
“It’s a crime to use chalk on sidewalks,” she informed me. The tone of her voice was that of an indignant school marm from the 1800s.
I’m not proud that my sense of humor and the snark that overcame me. But I am giggling.
“The only real crime here is that you think those shoes go with those pants. As for the chalk, I will let children everywhere know that they are felons if they get out the sidewalk chalk.”
She snorted in disgust.
I wrote underneath my message and drawing: “Karen disapproves of this message.”
I will bet $100 she comes back in a few minutes and erases some or all of my beautiful artwork with her foot. Or perhaps her forked tongue.
Honestly, I’m glad she was snarky and mean. I get really tired of people being happy and tickled by me doing this.
Look what Marilyn and Larry sent me! I guess I know my new role and responsibility for today. I’m wondering if I should WEAR the cape and mask today? Tuesdays need a superhero. I’ll go find some miscreants as soon as I leave the apartment.
Thanks, Marilyn, I got a great laugh – and felt appreciated for this surprise gift.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 