Category Archives: Gift

DIY, Humor, Lemon Moment, Personal, Project

Sawing Away The Morning

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“Vengeance is mine,” sayeth the dude wielding the saw! My arm is still sore from yesterday’s antics – so I channeled that into a declaration of sawing this morning.

I started by the street near Gregg, cutting away limbs that my neighbors and visitors need to fear as they park. X:1, Limbs:0. One dumb thing I did was to saw and saw at a hard vine. After about twenty seconds, I realized that it was an ancient WIRE hanging with the limbs and vines. Any credit I get is lessened by that and also serves as further proof that I am not the brightest bulb.

I awoke to a high school friend posting on my timeline. She was visiting from Minnesota and took the time to drive by and see my decorative craziness. My only regret is that I don’t have every square inch of everything covered with color and nonsense. When I looked it up online, I realized that Minnesotans are legally obligated to NOT be frivolous. They aren’t even allowed to put both mustard and ketchup on a hamburger on the off chance they might like it. Just kidding. I think.

When I was by the street cutting limbs over my neighbor’s vehicles, the ones that precariously hang and annoy them, my neighbor Tobey walked by with his pitbull. I chased that dog until he couldn’t frolic. As the excursion train neared, I asked Tobey if he’d stand by the curb and Gump wave with me. Shockingly, he declined, indicating he didn’t like the trains and the noise that accompany them. I have NO choice except to purchase a 12V air horn from Amazon now, one I can remotely trigger. I think I’ll place it artfully in the trees out there, the ones I climb sometimes. He will lose his mind wondering why the frequency of the trains has multiplied exponentially. Honestly, I’ve thought about it before. Now, it seems like a MUST. I will claim it is for security as a way to warn would-be miscreants and malefactors if I spot them. If they ever finish the house they are building next door, I calculate the horn would be less than five feet from some of their windows. That makes me laugh: “buyer’s remorse” in action.

I worked in the back this morning too, clearing out a huge section of fence and limbs. A truck can drive around now, whether it’s an electric service vehicle or ice cream truck is up to the universe. So far, the landlords have not removed any of the tons of limbs and fences I’ve piled back there. A bonfire seems to be more and more likely, especially if one of the neighbors who smoke tosses a butt in there one summer evening.  I cleared out some more of the contents of what I refer to as the Drug Shed. That thing is definitely coming down at some point. I banged on it before going inside. Copperheads love the back corner of that thing. I’m not needlessly scared of snakes. (I work with middle managers every day.) I’d prefer to avoid snakebites, though, both at work and back in the Drug Shed. There are black snakes back there too, ones that probably miss the jungle-like atmosphere that existed prior to me turning my attention to clearing it.

When I needed a break, I sat at the bottom of the stairs and let another neighbor’s dog maul me with happiness. I was filthy already, so it didn’t seem to be an issue. The dog had no objections. My cat Güino, however, registered his disapproval loudly when I went inside and picked him up. His fur stood straighter than a sinner’s back in church. I was going to just burn my stinky clothes but then remembered that I have to pay for clothing or become a nudist. I tried that before and the screaming made it hard for me to relax in public.

My pictures are literal thirst (instead of thirst trap) pictures because it was already hotter than a rugby player’s nether regions. I don’t want anyone to think I’m posting to be provocative. Unless a cannibal sees them and thinks I’d be great grilled. If you don’t know what a thirst trap picture is, just imagine that one social media friend you have who shows more cleavage than a brassiere convention.

I made another table using discarded parts. Again, I controlled myself and didn’t paint any of it. I had to lie down for an hour to control my urge to do so. I ate a box of crayons and the feeling passed. Literally.

PS That’s tree corpse residue aka sawdust all over in a couple of the pictures, not dandruff. Legend has it that one must have hair to have dandruff. That’s a good thing because I’ve not used anything except bar soap to wash my head since I was 20ish. Yes, I purloin all my soap from bars. Lord knows that the typical bar patron doesn’t use soap, so it’s not missed.

PPS A joke a keep forgetting to post: you know your neighborhood is iffy if the ice cream doesn’t drive by and annoy you. To which I’d add: the cost of armor-plating ice cream trucks is cost-prohibitive. Also, this place is getting surrounded by new development on this side of Gregg. Displacement is inevitable. If you drive by and see a crater, you will know why.

PPPS The average password keeps people from accessing your accounts. In my experience, I’ve learned that it also keeps most of the actual account holders out of them, too. 

PPPPS I heard something yesterday that I’ve heard before but it struck me as insightful this time: insurance is a reverse lottery because it pays only when you’ve already been unlucky. Bonus idea: If you have a foot fetish, sandals are lingerie.

A friend asked me to post the two unwritten rules for life.

Here they are:

1.

2.

You’re welcome!

Love, X

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Gift, Humor, Lemon Moment, Mental Health, New Word, Personal

Little Stars And Sunday Morning

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The black cat was back this morning, though I didn’t realize it until I saw TWO black cats down the landing – one of them being my cat Güino. Luckily, the old scruffy and long-haired black cat was friendly. It sat and meowed at Güino, somehow knowing that he was the equivalent to the Gump of cats. The scruffy black cat had on an ornate collar and looked well-fed. I don’t know why it recently started coming up to the landing to lay and watch the activity below. It’s no bird hunter. If Danny DeVito were a cat, this would be him. I walked down and had a conversation with both cats before picking up Güino and cradling him. The black cat was being social; my cat was fussing and pissy because he wasn’t ready to leave his new would-be friend.

The morning was hot, even at 3 a.m. But the breeze was brisk and lovely.

Yesterday, I went to the new discount store in the old Toys Я Us building. The prices change depending on the day. It was fun sorting through the messy bins. Most of the things are of course overpriced. There’s a section where you can buy a $50 mystery box, too. The store will do well at first, given that it’s new. For me, anything of interest I found tended to make me want to find it on Amazon (where most of the stock originates) and buy it there. The best find was a red frilly unitard-looking article of clothing! Can you imagine me wearing that? Yes, you can. I apologize in advance for the mental image.

Someone left me an ornate surprise/offering on my doorstep last night. He or she scattered a handful of decorative stars around the door, too, an added flourish that made me laugh. Yes, that’s one of those eyeballs that floats in the liquid inside a clear orb. There’s also a cat silhouette pin and two crosses on beads. It almost looks as if the person gifting me the little plate of surprises left an offering to my fairy/sprite Larkma, who presumably still uses the fairy door in the picture. It’s almost certainly a female who left me the surprise; my logic isn’t necessarily solid though because something like this is exactly what I might do and according to my birth certificate, I’m allegedly male. My inability to listen when it’s in my best interest is all the proof I really need, though.

A friend posted a picture and tribute of someone she loved who passed away a few years ago. I went into the rabbit hole of using my research skills to find her footprints in life. She lived one month short of 100 years. Though I never knew her, I imagined the tapestry of her life through the years. Millions of stories. Can you imagine how many she had in one hundred years?

In the last few days, even though my powerful laptop isn’t supported for Windows 11, I did the workaround and installed it anyway. (It’s ridiculous that an I-7 processor and 16GB of RAM might not be enough.) I keep my important stuff backed up locally and in the cloud, so the worst-case scenario was going to be a pain in the ass reverting if it didn’t work. I’m not afraid to try anything, a lesson I learned from a friend named Jason years ago. I’m still aghast at how many people don’t scan and keep their precious photos safe, whether they are on their phones or in albums that human eyes never adore. My main computer is named “backupeverything” as a constant reminder that if you’re not vigilant, you will lose everything at some point. It’s inevitable, like snagging your pocket or sleeve on a drawer when you shut it.

Ann Landers said this: “If you want your children to listen, try talking softly to someone else.”

I’d add a corollary I wrote: “If you want people to talk about you, do anything interesting or different – or be happy.”

Love, X
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Exercise, Lemon Moment, Mental Health, Personal

Walk

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I’m out walking and exploring a foreign neighborhood. It started from an unplanned walk, one I would never experience inside my little world of the apartment. I’m certainly not killing time. Time can’t be killed, only experienced or passively ignored. It’s racing past. No matter how much you think you know about how fleeting life is, there is an undeniable recognition of it when you get older. Your spirit wants a bite of all of it, but the creature comforts in our residences and the magnetic pull of routine keep us in place.

I was able to pet a friendly duck, one who waddled up to me unexpectedly in a place I would not have expected to see it. I stopped and exchanged pleasantries with an older man in a wheelchair, his faithful little dog and companion begging me for attention. I of course kneeled down and hugged and petted him. The older man laughed in delight. I saw rabbits and birds galore. At one place in a small meadow, the proper word for which is glen, the multitude of birds chirping and singing drowned out the traffic.

When I started, I was surrounded by commerce and restaurants and diners outside drinking and talking loudly. The same occurred upon my return. They too are enjoying the world outside of their homes. It’s nice to see that covid didn’t eradicate our social nature. People are supposed to be surrounded by people. So much of the toxicity in our own heads is the result of our not practicing this truth.

I hope each of you had a lemon moment this afternoon.

Whether you did or not, I am reminded why it’s not wise to take a really long walk wearing flip-flop sandals. I would do it again though.

Love, X

Fayetteville, Lemon Moment, Opinion, Personal

Ugly Men

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As I entered the inconvenience store, I noted that the line was long. I couldn’t help but notice that the two older gentlemen in front of me were mocking the cashier. He supported orange hair, along with eyebrows and mustache to match. He also had a purple heart died in the back. The level of scorn spewing from the two guys made me cringe. When it was my turn to pay, I enthusiastically complimented him on his hair and apologized on behalf of all the assholes like the two gentlemen who preceded me. Their ugliness on display far exceeds any perceived ridiculousness on the part of the happy cashier.

X
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Fayetteville, Lemon Moment, Personal

Spin Away

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Can you tell the difference between the ordinary and the epic?

I was walking a little after 1 a.m. this morning, the surprising warmth of Tuesday morning propelling me. I walked the loop and made my way to College Avenue. The busy road was desolate and lit, no cars, no people. Just me looking at its urban beauty. Though you won’t understand it unless you’ve experienced the weird joy of seeing the world at such an hour, I felt like I walked on air.

When I walked back, I made the slow curve by Miller Street. As I neared a small Nissan, I realized that someone was laying on the hood. I was already upon him, less than two feet away. “Hey, good morning,” he said, his voice deep. “Yes, same to you.” I wanted to ask him why he was laying on the hood, under the shadows of the trees overhead and handing above the street and car. Maybe he was enjoying the solitude. Maybe he was banished from the house. Maybes – a lot of them accumulating in my mind.

At the corner, there were a dozen memorial day-themed little spinners scattered by the sidewalk. I picked one up and brought it home. I disassembled it and painted its two circles in different vibrant colors. As I painted, I watched a neighbor load her vehicles as part of her move to a different apartment. She has her own issues, her teenage boy the cause of the move. I wanted to tell her that moving wasn’t going to fix the problem. People take their problems with them, even to shiny new places.

Later today, after the hectic post-holiday workday is finished, I will assemble the spinner and put it on the balcony. Though it will have been only twelve hours, it will seem as if I found it five minutes before. The unseen wind will power it until the plastic wears out and breaks.

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Fayetteville, Language, Lemon Moment, Personal

Sabah Kind Of Morning

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I talked to an Arabic clerk at an inconvenience store very early this morning. He works at one that has a history of trouble. Of course, that’s true of many such stores when the sun has set. When I entered, he was busy mopping the floor. Don’t worry, it wasn’t blood he was cleaning. I assume. There wasn’t a chalk outline on the floor at least. (Although if I owned the place I’d put one there as a prank.)

He asked me if I was possibly Arabic. Surprisingly, we looked a lot alike.

We started discussing languages and he became very animated. He lit up because he could see how fascinating I found the conversation.

I don’t know many Arabic words but he was tickled that I already knew about some of the guttural sounds required to speak it fluently. I confessed that despite speaking Spanish, I still had trouble pronouncing the rolling “rr” letter in Spanish. He trilled it like a songbird! He took a moment to have me say “Good morning” in Arabic: “sabah alkhayr.” I like that they say “morning good,” which is odd for English speakers but normal for many other languages. I already knew that one, but my pronunciation sounded like a drunken sailor. Yes, I speak drunken sailor, all thanks to my dad Bobby Dean.

I don’t list it on my résumé though. For some reason, it doesn’t impress anyone; I find that odd, given that most managers seem to be alien and well-practiced at indistinct communication.

As I left, just for fun, I shouted “Au revoir!”

“Auf Widersehen,” he replied. We both laughed.

In another life, I know that I would speak ten languages. I wouldn’t speak any of them well and that’s okay. Enthusiasm is enough. Remember that if you’re on the journey to learn a new one. We all have beginner’s minds, even if we are 55.

Love, X
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Art, Lemon Moment, Personal, Politics

Color Crazy

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I answered the door without looking outside or using my blink camera. At least I had pants on this time I opened the door for a stranger. An enthusiastic young man was canvassing for votes for his particular brand of politician. I told him I could only vote for liberals or crazy people, and given that they’re usually inhabiting the same body, that I appreciated his enthusiasm.

Even though we were at different ends of the political spectrum, he told me that the outside of my apartment was one of the most interesting and vibrant he’s seen in a long time. I told him that I appreciated that. And that Redactyl did not think it had enough color. The canvasser raised an eyebrow, wondering who that might be. I pointed to my decorated dinosaur on the railing. Without missing a step, the young man said he could not tolerate taciturn dinosaurs. We both laughed.

He asked me if the fence was my doing. I asked him what made him think that might be the case. He laughed and said that his canvassing partner took a picture of it when they drove in. He added that he did not expect anything like that in the apartments.

Isn’t that the surprise of life, I replied.

Indeed it is, he said, and told me that he wished he had an hour to ask me a bunch of questions. Come back sometime and we’ll have a cup of buttermilk and talk about it then, I quipped.

I did not ask the darn dinosaur what his opinion of that scenario might be.

When I drove away and looked up at my apartment, I laughed again, seeing it with new eyes. That places like mine and fences that surround it aren’t all adorned in such a wild and unexpected manner is the crux of the problem. Why choose banality or normalcy when most of us secretly know that we’re all crazy.

Love, X
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Art, DIY, Family, Jimmy, Lemon Moment, Personal

Sublime Saturday

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I didn’t take any pictures when I went to see Noah and his family at the graduation lunch get-together. As I was leaving, his mom asked if I took a picture with Noah. I was having so much fun joking and interacting that it didn’t even occur to me. She snapped a few of us hamming it up. Alissa (my cousin Jimmy’s widow) ensured that a couple of them got to me. Noah is such a handsome and smart young man. I’m not sure he can be related to the Terrys. In a weird coincidence, I bought him a “pastor’s wife” card instead of a graduation card and did my thing of making an ornate and hand-made picture-covered series of envelopes. He told me that he’s considering becoming a pastor. It amazes me that he has a plan at that age. His dad Jimmy and I winged it like lunatics when we were his age. Alissa’s girls were so grown up and superlatively quick-witted, too. I don’t know why people seem to be so concerned about the world being in their hands. Their confidence at that age gives me optimism. I felt like I’d never been apart from them and that’s a feeling that can’t be bought or measured.

The power was out at Fiesta Square for a while. Luckily, the food was prepared inside catering-style, so we were able to eat in the dark, using only the light coming in from the wall-to-ceiling windows. It rained like the dickens while we were there, too. At one point, Noah said he didn’t like the rain. I quipped, “It’s odd for someone named Noah to dislike the rain.” I also asked him to quote the first creation from Genesis: “Let there be light,” to see if the lights would magically come on in an amazing coincidence. The power was restored shortly before we left. In my opinion, the power being out was both fortuitous and beautiful.

Yesterday, it finally happened. Even though I don’t use an antibiotic ointment. I prefer to use the “Be A Man” method, which is to just wash the deep cut and go on about my business. The Bacitracin is in a very small tube. I dropped it and put it back up in my lower cabinet. I knew I should have moved it. I also ran out of full-size toothpaste and used a small tube of Colgate. After showering, I brushed my teeth. Or started to. Just as the brush hit my teeth, I knew something was wrong. PS Bacitracin leaves an odd film on one’s teeth when you brush with it.

My incorporated business, Pretxel Fish, got its first piece of mail a couple of days ago. I’m still unsure how I’ll use it. Can you imagine my life if I had a plan?

I’m out painting small hexagon tiles, even at 4 a.m. The smell of spray paint probably has become the new ‘smell of spring’ for the neighbors. I was introduced to the Habitat store in south Fayetteville, where an odd cornucopia of sizes and styles can be had for cheap. Lord knows I need more tiles! The fence is utterly transformed. It even surprises me to walk out on the landing and look out to the fence. It’s 75-100 feet of pure color and craziness now. It’s hard to imagine it before, unmaintained, faded, and without color. The neighbors woke up yesterday to see that the colors had doubled overnight. I wish each of them had lives that were transformed in the same way. Just because we live in an old apartment simplex doesn’t mean that we can’t douse ourselves in color. And drown in it if we need to.

Earlier in the week, I found the large metal X at Potter’s House. For $9. Something like that would cost $100 new. I wish I’d had it when I completed my built-in table in the kitchen. I didn’t ask permission to install it. I got the metal-covered wood tabletop, in perfect condition, from the dumpster in the hospital. I polished and stripped the single support pole. Though it doesn’t look like it, that table will support several hundred pounds. Not that my lunch is ever that heavy. I love finding ways to use things that are discarded. That the metal top accidentally goes with the surroundings was a bonus. I’d rather have a blue or red top but the landlords might get testy discovering those colors were a permanent part of the apartment. On the other hand, they don’t seem to mind my miscreant neighbors.

Everyone have a great Sunday. Whatever that might look like. Don’t do the thing obligatory things. Do the things that give you a little bit of tranquility, even if that thing is hoeing the garden and sweating, or being on the couch with your feet being rubbed by someone with enthusiasm.

The number of wrong-number texts has increased lately. Which I love. It gives me the chance to try out new ways to answer them and keep them engaged.

Love, X
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Art, Cancer, Death, DIY, Family, Jimmy, Lemon Moment, Nostalgia, Personal

What A Life!

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What a beautiful morning. Despite the rain and lightning moving in, I went outside and started hanging more painted tiles on my fence project. This week, I painted 20+ more tiles and a couple of dozen wood samples to attach to my out-of-control art project out there. It was sublime feeling the wind howl through the vertical slats of the fence boards and the light rainfall across my face and neck. I woke up with a reservoir of energy and enthusiasm. Nature repaid me with its light caresses as I stood there in the dark, loaded with washers, screws, and tiles leaning against the old boards. I know I looked foolish, standing there with no shirt on, smiling. The temperature dropped 10-15 while I was out there feeling the storm front coalesce above me.

I missed a couple of phone calls last night. I called my sister back around 4 a.m. She, of course, didn’t answer. I hope she’s fixing her hair. I know that such an endeavor will take her literal hours. Lord help all the people who don’t have their do-not-disturb turned on. Everyone lives a different life and schedule. I wake up with the same enthusiasm at 2 a.m. that I have at 4 p.m.

I thought about my cousin Jimmy’s son Noah. Jimmy died nine years ago, which seems like a lifetime ago. Noah is graduating as valedictorian of his high school class. I can’t help but imagine how proud Jimmy would be – and that Noah is going to college. Jimmy would want his son to be happy much more than he’d worry about finishing college. As someone who died in his early forties, Jimmy would be right to do so. So many plans, so many assumptions about the seemingly endless days ahead to love, laugh, and do the things that are within our grasp. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen Noah. He’s grown unimaginably and has the youthful looks of someone who reminds me of a young Matthew McConaughey. I hope he keeps that handsomeness. Otherwise, he’ll grow into a jowly-cheeked Englishman like his grandfather, my Uncle Buck.

In the graduation picture, Noah is the one on the right. (ha!) The woman on the left is Alissa, my cousin Jimmy’s widow. They were married about a month before he died. I could write endlessly about the complexities of that, and of lives forcibly derailed by an unexpected circumstance. It’s a lesson I know too well. I’ll limit myself to saying that if you want something, grab that sh!t while you can. Tomorrow is never promised and plans for the future are all predicated on the false belief that there is always time and that youth is our protector. The other picture is from 2004 when Noah was a beautiful little baby. Jimmy and I had such fun watching Noah’s mind react to shenanigans. He smiled a LOT.

I included a picture of Noah’s mom from the first time I met her at my trailer in Johnson, in the part of my life I refer to as ‘the before.’ It didn’t work out with her and Jimmy. They had chemistry. Jimmy had many demons that would have made it almost impossible for her to make him happy. It’s no disrespect to Jimmy’s memory to share that truth. The Terry side of the family unfortunately is prone to shattering opportunities by succumbing to vices. Jimmy, like the rest of us, could sabotage the best things.

As the rain started, I looked up to the apartments. One of my neighbors had covered the railings with sheets. I went and pulled them down and took them to the dungeon/laundry room and stuffed them in the dryer and turned it on. When the neighbors exit and see that their sheets are missing, I’m going to say, “The Fayetteville police just issued another warning to advise everyone that the Infamous Sheet Bandit is up to hooliganism again. I saw him take the sheets.” I might as well use my act of consideration as justification for a little verbal pranking. I’ll let them think their sheets are missing for a couple of minutes before letting them know what I did. After the wife goes back inside to tell her family about the Infamous Sheet Bandit. It’s Fayetteville and such a miscreant may be indeed running loose on these streets.

I took a picture of my right hand a couple of days ago. Ribald interpretations aside (I’m left-handed, by the way), putting almost a thousand screws into boards in the last couple of weeks using only hand tools has given me an artists’ scar, one of tough callouses in the palm of my hand.

I rescued a really old tiny rocking chair from the hospital dumpster a couple of weeks ago. I don’t have the skills to make it beautiful. But I do have the enthusiasm to fix it and paint it and give it new life for a child I know. I so badly want to paint it a beautiful rich color. We have enough unadorned and practical things in life.

Though it’s not done, I also added another picture of my dead tree project. I put one living branch on it, as well as three bright songbirds. Since I’m a fan of sentimental metaphors, I like to think it symbolizes that even dead trees provide beauty, comfort, and the possibility of adaptation to whatever comes next.

Love, X

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Art, DIY, Lemon Moment, Personal, Project

Dead Tree Project Nest

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I added a dozen more limbs to my dead tree project.

I thought about making a fake bird nest to perch inside it. I didn’t want to buy an artificial one.

Today, I made a quick getaway at work to walk down to the creek. I’m lucky to be so close to such a place of serenity.

On the Appleby bridge above Scull creek, I found a perfectly-preserved nest in the road. That it hadn’t been damaged by traffic was a surprise. I took it inside with me and brought it home.

As I painted tiles this afternoon, I painted the nest a vivid blue, which is rapidly becoming my favorite decorative color. I gave silent thanks to the birds that spent countless hours carefully constructing it. Their loss will become a part of my art project. It fits perfectly with the theme of bringing something dead back to life.

It’s odd that yesterday afternoon I was thinking about what to make a bird’s nest from. And voila, magic, one appeared in a place that it had no reason to be. (“Voila” is actually two words in French, meaning to ‘look there.’ I’m glad I did.)

I am still amazed that things just appear in my life when I’m not looking. There’s hope for me yet.

Don’t be confused by the door in the background. That’s how my pixie/fairy gets into the apartment. It’s not a full-size door.

Love, X