(The video is of a fairy light set I made by inverting a blue glass hummingbird feeder and installing solar lights into it.)
My intention to do fewer projects lasted…about as long as you’d imagine.
I went to buy powerful magnets, which led me to investigate every single aisle in the store. During my visit, I helped three people find things. I spent about five minutes answering a woman’s questions about a wood project she was undertaking. In so doing, I saved her a LOT of money. She then asked me several more questions about other things she was considering. Before she walked away, she also asked me about my butterfly brooch.
She added, “You know, I’m going to go the aisle with the pins and brooches and buy a couple. It’s an easy way to add color and draw the eye.”
I laughed. “Yes. I think the way you smile probably does that, too.” As soon as I said it, it crossed my mind that it sounded like I was flirting. Before I could utter a word, she stopped me. “It’s okay. Thanks for that.”
At Lowe’s, I bought more electrical items; this apartment begs for a total renovation. Along with those, I purchased more practical things, too. Possibly in a nod to more inevitable painting projects, I also bought more paint, which led me to justify buying a couple of surprise things at the next store. The clerked seemed surprised that I would take all the hardware off and paint a box I’d purchased. “Can you do that?” she asked. “Ha! Yes. And in at least two colors.”
Because I had paint all over me within 30 minutes of arriving home, I opted for Dominos. In case you were wondering, I order cheeseless thin-crust pizzas with vegetables. My stove looks like a sauce/spice madman was let loose. Using four sauces and four spices (so that each piece tastes distinctive) to eat such a pizza makes my taste buds go wild. Taking another look, make that six different sauces-and maybe a smidgen of paint, too.
I rigged two hangers on the balcony to paint without continuing to paint my hands and arms accidentally. And face. If I show up for work tomorrow with paint still across my neck and forehead, mind your business. It’s interesting when I’m doing these things because the neighbors get curious and find ways to look up or over to see whatever thing or contraption I’m working on for the day. It’s tempting to drag out ridiculous things just to convince onlookers that I’ve lost my mind.
When I stopped at the convenience store to get a soda and lottery tickets, the skies had opened up for a surprise rain. It was a beautiful sight, despite the mugginess. The clerk who speaks Nepali didn’t object to a tip this time, though she did insist on adding something to my purchase to reduce her tip. Little did she know she was dealing with a wily expert on such subterfuge. I added two dollar bills to the counter, saluted, laughed, and walked away. She smiled. “Karma,” I said to her in a weird accent.
I’d write more, but paint is calling my name and in all caps.
I remember before phones were ubiquitous, and cameras were a burden some of us willingly carried to capture moments.
“I love pictures but hate photography” is one of my quotes.
I used to take guerilla photos constantly, knowing at least one would be salvageable.
This first one is from May 2007, in Omaha, Nebraska. We shared a delicious Italian supper at an Italian restaurant. Though I didn’t realize it, I have a picture of the entrance! It was Lo Sole Mio Ristorante Italiano. I’d forgotten I took a quick snapshot, also grabbing a picture of my brother-in-law Joe in doing so.
Kim, in the lead, is looking down and smiling. My brother-in-law Steve is next to her. Behind him, my deceased wife, Deanne. She died four months later, unexpectedly, ten years my junior —her brother Steve, six years later. For all I know, everyone in this picture, even the innocent bystanders walking behind them, are dead. On a long enough timeline, this will be true for every single image you own.
I love this picture. Steve and Deanne gave me the one-finger salute independently and simultaneously. I laughed and laughed when I saw it. I apologized to the bystanders, telling them that some of us were from Arkansas.
Joe and Deanne had a bitter exchange of words afterward. I don’t remember why. I hope Joe doesn’t either because no matter what words they shared, they loved each other. I have a picture that captures the irritation.
I have better pictures of Deanne from that day. But the one of her getting into Steve’s gargantuan truck captures her perfectly in an unguarded moment.
Now that I’m living in my own The After, I think about Deanne more. She was ten years younger than me. Loudly and aggressively vivacious.
Were she here, she would absolutely holler at me to stop wasting time on ‘what ifs’ and wishes. She’s been gone fourteen years.
She would quote “The Green Mile” and tell me, “Get busy living or get busy dying.”
Don’t stop taking pictures, even if people give you the finger.
One day, you might be sitting and reminiscing. And that picture might give you a breath of life.
When the sun begins to sit on the horizon, we are all memories.
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.
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.
Being on my own, ‘groceries’ is a foreign concept, especially since I eat a dog diet. A dog diet is one characterized by adherence to a routine, not necessarily dog food. I’ll avoid the easy jokes about the cafeteria at work or making the staggeringly bad choice of eating at Hardee’s. In other news, Hardee’s closed its Fayetteville location. I feel safer already.
My friend and neighbor wanted me to pick her up a whole chicken. After some initial confusion, I realized she didn’t want a live bird necessarily. I wondered, “Do they even SELL whole chickens anymore? And if so, at Harp’s?” I’d hadn’t contemplated a different life wherein I’d be buying a whole chicken. Not all interesting things are what you’d expect.
The Harp’s on Garland has been suffering a renovation since 1919, or so it seems. Just for kicks and giggles, I opted to go there. My expectations were low, much like they were in a Bush presidency, so I was pleasantly surprised by how much it had improved. Even so, it doesn’t compare well to the Gutensohn location in Springdale. None of them do, except for perhaps the Lowell branch.
Wandering the aisles like I was on a drunken excursion, I went to the alcohol section. Two younger men were looking in the beer section. As men do at that age, they were calculating the best alcohol content options versus price. “That’s piss, dude. No way I’m drinking that,” one of them said. “Well, you’re paying the difference.” I’ve heard that same conversation a hundred times in my life. Because I’m committed to the dual goals of being immersed in unplanned stories and being helpful, I cleared my throat and said, “If money weren’t an option, what would you buy?” The man in the bright sports jersey said, “Ah, no question, it would be Budweiser.” His friend shook his head. “NO, it would be ___.” I didn’t recognize the brand name of the beer. I’m not brand loyal. I like both low-quality and high-quality beer.
“Okay, here’s the deal. Here’s $10 to pay for the difference.” Both looked at me suspiciously. “All I ask is that you promise to tell this story, that an old crazy guy gave you $10 at Harp’s so you could buy the beer you want.”
They exchanged looks. “For real?” I laughed. “Yes, no catch. We’ve all been young once.” I handed the young man wearing the colorful sports jersey a $10 bill.
“Thanks, I’m not too proud to take it.”
As I walked away, both of them animatedly began the inevitable debate of how best to spend the extra money on the beer of their choosing. Later, if they began imbibing the beverage of their choice, I hoped they’d make the story of my offer truly crazy. Alcohol inspires creativity. I do wonder how long they stood at the case arguing. Too many options often make the simplest decision unbearable.
I use horrible toilet paper. I don’t like Charmin or anything that feels like a paper washcloth. I am still using my first roll from since I moved to this apartment. Granted, I’m at work all morning. And I do take high-quality fiber supplements for multiple reasons. And vitamins. If you’re not taking good fiber, you’re missing out on several health benefits. If I’m ever the Surgeon General, I’ll mandate that we add fiber to beer and wine. I preferred cheap toilet paper before, too, in my other life. Just like I love horribly thin and small bath towels. And I shave using bar soap. And haven’t bought shampoo for myself in YEARS. Yes, I still use deodorant.
“If you find someone who takes the time to compliment you, take the time to let them do it.” – X
The buzz yesterday was that Mercy is raising all employee’s pay to at least $15 an hour. This isn’t a political observation. I was glad to see that some media outlets repeated a statistic that shocks a lot of people with great jobs: 47% of all jobs in Arkansas pay LESS than $15 an hour. Most people aren’t aware of this. And yes, this is the highest for the country. Though many people understandably disagree with me, I am a true socialist regarding pay: I believe that everyone doing the same job as me should earn the same rate of pay. I don’t feel irritated if those making less than me get a raise while I don’t. Of course, I’d welcome more money. During my tenure at my job, I declined a raise twice so that it could be distributed to newer employees. In one of those years, my employer also reduced pay to avoid a bigger layoff; this caused me to lose 8% of my pay. That’ll teach me, won’t it? 🙂
The/Fun Expert Rule: “Never invite a technical writer along for a moment of whimsy.”
I’d like to say I cut my hand in a surprising way yesterday while doing Karate. The truth is that I was crafting, making a solar light display using an unused blue glass hummingbird feeder. I managed to get blood in places that even Dexter wouldn’t be able to find. It wasn’t deep enough for stitches, though, especially since I’d already overreacted and amputated my hand. Just kidding. It was pure luck I didn’t cut a lot deeper. Negligence: 1. X: 0.
“Every “yes” is an envelope for “no.” And vice versa. Choices inherently exclude other options.”
Just because it’s fun to experiment, I managed to wake up and be at work in 8 minutes one morning. With the notable exception of one morning this week, I quite often jump from bed and into my day. Now that I have a despicable Echo a few feet away, I ask it, “Play me quotes by Demetri Martin.” Or Steve Martin, for that matter. Because I don’t have a pet, I try to say a few words to Mr. Snuffleupagus. (Whose first name is apparently Aloysius, something I didn’t know until this week.)
“If you’re saying yes to the wrong things, no becomes difficult, even for the easy choices. And vice versa.”
I’m trying to get people to call this apartment simplex “The Long.” It stands for L.On.G. or The L Building on Gregg. Anything would be preferable to the unimaginative and pejorative names by which it is known now.
After worrying about spending too much on a new phone, I bought a Moto G Power. For the price, it’s astonishing. Y’all have to remember that I’m accustomed to using hand-me-downs. I use AT&T pre-paid with unlimited to save about $40 a month. It’s a good thing I just bought a set of really nice cables for my old phone, as none of them fit my new one.
Also, my work finally decided to stop making me pay twice as much for my health benefits now that I’m divorced. I didn’t mind giving money to a nice multi-million dollar insurance company for no reason, though. I’m going to invest that extra money in a chinchilla venture. I’m just kidding. Everyone knows the money is in banana peels now.
“You’re under no obligation to make sense to anybody.” Someone sent that to me in response to my crazy Q & A post. “I like you better when you’re out there on the limb, extemporaneously whispering whatever is in your head. Unfiltered. You keep threatening to go to the next level, the place where people might get nervous. Go there. And stay there.”
Hummingbirds are visiting again. Someone gave me a hummingbird feeder and I hung it in the inside corner of my upper floor. I didn’t know that despite the chaos at this apartment before my arrival that hummingbirds once visited. I welcome them back. I just wish they’d learn the words. (Sorry for referencing an old, tired joke there.)
In conclusion, I’m saving a fortune on toilet paper.
And if you read my post, you’re probably going to spend at least a few seconds pondering the implications of that.
Most mornings, I listen to Somewhere Over The Rainbow, the original. It invokes a dumb optimism in me sometimes. Did you know that the song originally has an introductory verse that is rarely sung? If such things interest you, you should search for it and compare the mood and tone of the missing verse with the rest of the song. It’s a little bit whimsical and magical, and implies that if we have the willingness, there are roads everywhere if we choose to take them.For no reason in particular, today is dragonfly brooch day. I’d like everyone to refer to me as Codename Dragonfly today.
For karma, I tip each time I buy lottery tickets. It’s given me so many interesting moments with random clerks at convenience stores. If I have a winning ticket, I try to donate a bit more. The lottery is a fool’s game, one which tricks us into miscalculating the realistic odds of winning. That’s part of the reason I like it. In my heart, there’s not a day that passes that I don’t consider how many against-the-odds things I’ve experienced. It not only amplifies my gratefulness for still being here, but it also reminds me that almost everything that turns out to be magical sounds ridiculous to the reasonable mind. Harry Potter? Not publishable. Haruki Murakami? He had a moment like I did, except in his, he realized he was going to be a writer. Demetri Martin? On his way to being one of the best legal minds in the world and just decided that comedy was his passion.
I sometimes find myself contemplating writing a book based solely on the stories that clerks share with me after I tip them and share my karma theory with them. Most of them realize that I will follow through on my promise to give them a million dollars if I hit the jackpot.
A couple of places in Springdale had clerks who knew me and knew I was going to tip them. I miss the surprised looks on their faces when they saw me walking in. I’m certain they are wondering what happened to the tip-for-karma guy.
Springdale feels like another country to me now. I miss it, especially after having walked 1,000 miles on its streets in the last year. I know Jim at the produce stand is wondering what happened to me. As is Güino, my tuxedo cat.
Lately, I’ve mentioned a couple of times that there’s a clerk here near my apartment in Fayetteville who resisted accepting tips. Now, she smiles, knowing I’m going to leave the money on the counter, whether she accepts it or not.
The last time I went in, I said, “tee-me lie kas-to chaw.” I don’t speak Nepali. But I spoke enough, that day.
As I left her the tip, she smiled.
I’m not sure there’s a value in knowing that I made a human connection.
We all miss the place we call home in our hearts.
A few words of memorization for me. And a gong in her head hearing the words.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 