The world is more interconnected than I’d imagine, even though I think about this often.
I received a text today: “X, the brooches are 1/2 off. You ought to come and add to your collection.”
Not having a-n-y idea who the text was from, I resisted the urge to reply. Before making it home, I imagined that it could only be one of two places, so I pulled into the flea market parking lot and went inside.
I limited myself to four, although they were affordable.
When I went to pay for them, I didn’t mention the text.
“Hello, X,” the cashier said.
The cashier remembered me, noting I didn’t have a brooch on my shirt today. (I’d forgotten it, along with several other things, even though I had the items next to the door.) I still had on my work badge. It is difficult to overlook the single large “X” on it.
“You can’t beat half off of something you’d buy for full price,” she added.
I told her that I was about to embark on making my own and deciding whether to get soldering tools or use felt and glue. With enough creativity, just about anything can be converted to a brooch or clip.
“But I will still stop by and see what catches my eye. It’s mainly color, of all kinds.”
When I got home, I laughed, realizing that one of today’s projects was painting some long floor tiles cobalt metallic blue. They, of course, aren’t going on the floor. What kind of foolishness would that be? 🙂
Part of my laugh was that it didn’t occur to me to ask who sent the text, or if I had encountered multiple coincidences by picking that particular flea market.
The mystery remains.
And I love that this is true.
P.S. Grammatically speaking, both ‘broach’ and ‘brooch’ are correct for these pieces of jewelry.
The sun hits my door, wall, and apartment with a ferocity that’s easy to underestimate.
I stand on the balcony, forgetting that the sun is browning my arms, face, and neck.
I don’t need TV. Life unfolds and coalesces in the parking lot, in the street, and at the train tracks. Runners, walkers, and cyclists wait their turn. Razorback Transit quickens its schedule.
A woman drove up in a minivan, smoking furiously. Her dog sat in the passenger seat, wagging its tail. The woman nervously waved “Hello” to me as the dog jumped through the passenger window and onto the parking lot asphalt. They waked up the stairs. She pulled up a window and bent to pick up the dog. She pushed it through the window that had no screen. I couldn’t discern what she was saying, so my imagination went in three different directions.
She turned, walked down the stairs, and backed up to leave. How I knew she’d turn into traffic without adequate caution, I’m not sure. The blare of a horn didn’t deter her from turning right, even though her turn signal indicated an opposite intention.
I’ve seen so many near-accidents.
The hummingbirds hover within a foot of my face, observing me as I watch them.
At 7:30, the sun sets on the horizon, a deep orange-red.
I hear the neighbors animatedly discussing the details of their mundane day.
The shelving boards I painted today baked enough in the sun to take inside, so I carried them inside and put them in one of my two unused bedrooms.
When I return, the hummingbirds dive and dance around me as the curtain of insects create a wall of sound.
I stand motionless. The one who seems interested in me most days lands on the balcony within an inch of my hand. After ten seconds, it darts up to the feeder and probes each floret of the feeder.
It darts off. By eight, the sun has bid adieu.
My solar lanterns all shine, even the one I installed on the opposite stairway today.
I’m not answering the call of the Wanderer tonight, Fayetteville. My legs ache a bit from last night’s enthusiasm and loneliness.
I’m going to turn off the lights and have a moment of gratitude.
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.
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.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 