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?
Answer: I don’t care.
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.
I hope it’s epic. I hope it’s kind.
And I pray for Phil.
Love, X
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 see your secrets.
I know your secrets.
I am your secrets.
Love, X
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.
Love, X
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.
With love, X
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.
Love, X
(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 hope your day had some color, too.
Love, X
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.
Love, X
I recently learned a little bit of Nepali to be able to surprise the clerks at a local convenience store. It’s already lead to some interesting interactions. It started with a clerk who was very reluctant to accept a tip of any kind when I bought lottery tickets.
Today, I was reminded of the interconnectedness of… well… everything.
I went to a local thrift store in search of a lamp I could disassemble, paint, and repurpose. Within 10 seconds, I found an interesting lime green children’s lamp, one with an ornate inset lampshade. Looking around, nothing else drew my eye. Getting into the long line to checkout, a woman stood in front of me with an adorable little brown-eyed girl. A minute later, another woman walked up to talk to the woman in front of me. She then stepped behind me. I turned and said, “Please go in front and stand with your friend. There’s no hurry here.” I wasn’t sure how much English she spoke, so I gestured dramatically. She thanked me and did so. The first woman turned and said something I didn’t understand. On a whim, I said “How are you?” in my weird accent in Nepali. Her eyes lit up and she rattled off something really long. I pulled my mask down and smiled, telling her that “How are you” was the only phrase I knew well. The little girl looked up at me and smiled. I said, “Hello” to her and although she did a little dance when I spoke to her, she then turned shyly away.
I wasn’t sure if the universe was trying to tell me that Nepali is in my future or if I needed to expand my narrow range a bit further.
Paying for the lamp, I asked if the clerk could take the ornate shade and resell it. “Yes! Thank you.” She then asked what I was going to do with the lamp base. The man behind me listened and said, “Well, that’s interesting.” So we all spent a few moments chatting. The clerk asked me if I sold the things I made. I laughed. I did appreciate the implied compliment though.
On the way out, the young man who’d been standing in the front calculating the cost of the few items he had temporarily placed on a table was still thinking. I put a $10 bill on the table and lied. “Someone gave this to me accidentally. It’s yours.” He looked confused – just long enough for me to hastily walk away and out the doors before he could respond.
.
…different topics…
.
I channeled my anxiety into overcoming the illusion that I couldn’t do more than 1,111 pushups today. Doing 500 by 6 a.m. signaled that it would be stupid to waste the opportunity. Lying in the bed and on the floor last night, sleepless, I knew I should have jumped up and gone outside to greet the Wanderer. Had I done so, today would have been a normal pushup today.
Now, though? I broke my record again. I’d like to thank the academy, my pushup obsession, as well as lingering anxiety for making it all possible.
.
.
I bought an outside light for my apartment door today. Opting against anything too interesting due to the likelihood of surprises ‘under the hood,’ so to speak, I didn’t want to risk buying a waterfall or prism light. After cleaning and disassembling the children’s lamp I purchased, I loosened the outside light screws. They were just screwed into the vinyl siding without a circuit box. Not exactly a surprise. A couple of days I’d seen a wasp go behind the light base into the vinyl. I used my sprayer to douse the area. Prior to loosening the screws, I pounded on the vinyl 2-3 feet in every direction, just to be safe. I stood on my upside-down Home Depot bucket. Just as I pulled the wires out, several wasps angrily swarmed out. They weren’t saying “Hello.” They were saying, “You’re dead, _______!” How I avoided getting stung is a good question. I swatted as I jumped off the bucket. I hit a couple and knocked them to the wood decking. After a few seconds, the remaining ones flew off. Though I value life, I stomped the daylights out of those I’d somehow stunned by hitting them with my hand.
I sprayed more insecticide into the hole around the wires. While I waited, I gave the lamp parts a second coat.
As I did, the hummingbirds came within two feet of me, watching, and then darting slightly up to the hummingbird feeder to grab lunch. They chatted and cheeped at one another as they did so.
I made homemade pizza; instead of sauce, I used Wickle’s hoagie spread. It’s hotter than a mom’s temper after a missed curfew, but delicious. I put the laundry in the machines down in the dungeon disguised as the laundry area for the apartments.
Sometime in the last few minutes, my prisms have washed the deck with several hundred little rainbow dots. The wall with the terrible light fixture is awash in them.
I’m going to go turn the power off now. I’ll change the horrible inside switch and put the new fixture outside.
I’ll let you know if the wasps even the score. If you hear screaming, it’s me.
Love, X
I saw a man using a standard two-wheel hand dolly move a cumbersome couch across the parking lot as I drove by. Because I’m not on a schedule anymore, I slowed and pulled into the parking lot. As I did so, he placed the dolly carefully so that the couch was vertical, undoubtedly to rest for a moment. He had the look of anyone older than thirty when confronted with ridiculous tasks such as moving furniture. I parked and exited my vehicle.
Forgetting the standard rules of social etiquette, I approached him and said, “Where are we moving this couch to?” He didn’t hesitate. “Onto that beat-up old red truck over there.”
I didn’t even turn to look. I noticed the truck as I pulled in. No doubt it had been a workhorse of a truck for twenty years, even as it slowly degenerated into a pile of parts that barely moved on four wheels. With no further words, he tilted the couch, and I carefully picked up the other end. We walked quickly across the parking lot and, without any coordination, lifted it and set it in the bed of the truck. He tied it quickly.
“Thanks,” he said.
“We’re not done. Don’t you want help unloading it? “
“Well, that’s nice, but you don’t know where I’m going with this couch.”
I laughed. “Let’s go. I’ll ride with you, or I can follow you.”
He didn’t ask me twice, nor did he counter with the usual, “Are you Sure?”
“Get in, ” he said.
When he asked, “How do you know I’m not a serial killer?” I replied with one of my favorite jokes: “The odds of there being TWO serial killers in the same vehicle are extremely low.” He hesitated a second, processed the joke, and then laughed. “That’s clever.” I said, “It’s not my joke.” He laughed again. “Well, it’s mine now.”
I didn’t know if we were going across town or to Nebraska.
“Do you mind if I smoke,” he said as he started the engine. It grumbled and rumbled.
“Go ahead. As long as you don’t mind that I might spontaneously break out in song.” I grinned. So did he.
“We’re not going far. I got a really cheap apartment in Springdale. Not too far from the airport. Do you know the area?”
I hesitated. “Yes, I do. I just moved from there. I got divorced last month. I haven’t been back to Springdale since.” It was an honest admission.
“I’m getting a divorce myself. I found out last Friday. Coming home and finding another man sleeping on the couch kind of was kind of a giveaway.” He shrugged.
“Okay, you win this round! By the way, my name is X.” After a minute or so of me reciting my litany of name-related jokes, he told me his name was Jimmy. Were I that type of person, I’d swear I heard my cousin Jimmy laughing from the grave with his raucous laugh in my head. Both Jimmys would have loved to have a beer or ten together; I could tell.
“Can I ask you a question?” I asked him.
“Yeah.” He nodded.
“Don’t you have more furniture?” It didn’t feel awkward to ask him.
“Yes, but after I threw my wife’s boyfriend off the couch, I told her that is all I’m taking. I’m going to use it as a bed, too. I don’t need all the other stuff. Look where it got me.” As he said it, I had a flash of my own spartan, minimalist life. I laughed.
Before he could ask, I said, “I’m a minimalist, too. All my furniture is in the living room.”
“For real?” he asked, a little incredulously.
“Yes, and two big-screen TVs in there, too. It’s ridiculous. And it’s mine.” I hadn’t said “It’s mine” with any dignity before then. It felt authentic as I said it, a verbalized insight into my head.
He told me his story in brief snippets as we drove. As was passed the line into Springdale, nothing noteworthy happened. It was my first return since the moving truck came to my old house on July 30th.
His new apartment building wasn’t much to look at. When we pulled in, a group of three Latinos was standing near the building, staring under the hood of a Honda. I spoke to them and told them that Jimmy was their new neighbor. Jimmy looked at me in surprise, hearing me speak Spanish. I told Jimmy to introduce himself. He did so, awkwardly.
When he walked to the back of his truck, I told him, “Be friendly. You’ll never be short a man to help you with furniture and a lot of other things if you do. Whatever Spanish you speak, don’t worry about being nervous. They had to learn our BS language.”
Jimmy laughed. “Entiendo,” he said. It was my turn to laugh.
“Don’t get excited. It’s about all I know.”
I nodded. “An effort is enough, though. For a lot of things in life.”
His apartment was on the first floor, and we went inside with the couch without breaking anything.
“Quickest move I ever made, X,” he said. “Do you want a beer? I’ve got some.”
I shook my head ‘no.’ “Do you have any diet tonic water?” It’s what I craved, but the odds of him having such a thing was unlikely.
“No. It’s beer or water. Or I can buy you lunch while I drive you back.”
Jimmy stood in the mostly empty apartment and drank a light beer. When he finished it, he moved to throw it into the trash. He realized he didn’t have a trash can. “I’ve got a list a mile long of things I need like a trash can.” I tilted my head to acknowledge I knew the truth of that statement.
We went outside to the truck. Jimmy waved over at the group of Latinos, all of whom were intently busy doing nothing with the Honda. They waved back.
Making our way back to Fayetteville, I mentioned my favorite places to eat in Springdale and how nice downtown Springdale had become. Jimmy was largely unaware of how many places he could get a beer, good food, and a little music without spending a fortune. “Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind.”
Unlike you might imagine, the conversation flowed easily. It seemed like we’d known each other for a year. When we pulled into the parking lot of his old apartment, Jimmy pointed to his dolly. It sat in the same place he left it.
“Do you need help with anything else?” It seemed appropriate to offer help if he needed it.
“Nah. Just clothes and bathroom stuff. That’s it. I’m starting completely fresh except for the couch. Thanks, though.” Jimmy stuck out his hand, and I shook it.
On a whim, I pulled out my index cards and jotted my phone number on one. “In case you get bored and want to have a beer or fancy Italian coffee sometime. And if not, good look with the new life, okay.”
Jimmy walked over to his dolly to retrieve it as I walked the short distance to my ridiculous small car. As I pulled away, Jimmy waved again.
I wondered what he’d make of his life.
His name was Jimmy, and he needed help. I gave him what I could, and that might be enough.
Love, X
Aa
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 