Sunday, August 23, 2009

something's in the air

I feel like I've been through a very long creative drought. And suddenly, I want to read everything, and I want to cook everything, and I want to make, sew, create, repurpose, organize, clean EVERYTHING!!!

Which probably means I'm dying of some swift and terrible, and undiscovered, disease. Like John Travolta in that one movie. The one where he can predict earthquakes.

So if I don't post for awhile, it either means I died, or I'm learning Portuguese. Overnight.

I'll let you know how it goes . . .

A cake I made based (loosely) on Van Gogh's "Almond Blossoms."

Yeah. He'd be crushed to know he'd been this trivialized . . .

P.S. If I die, y'all will send armloads of sweet peas, right? RIGHT????

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Irony has it out for me

I have a running 'joke' with my sort-of-adopted Non Son, Guy. Every year I tell him when sweet peas (my favorite flowers IN THE WORLD) are blooming. And for the past two years, I have also informed him when bouquets of sweet peas are for sale at the store in which my pharmacy is located.

Guy has yet to bring me any sweet peas. But I keep trying . . .

We discussed it one day last week. I told him that Friday, which was destined to be a bit of a bummer kind of day for me, would be the perfect day to come see me at work and, on his way in, stop by the flower display to pick out some lovely blossoms for me.

"Would you be upset if I told you I have other plans that afternoon? I'm going to the Mariner's game," he explained with sincerity.

So much for my for my baseless hope that one day he'll do one thing--just one thing--to make me happy.

Friday afternoon found me at work (on a day I wasn't scheduled to be there) feeling kind of low. Out of the clear blue sky, one of the women from the floral department came to my window carrying a stunning bouquet of flowers--roses and lilies, all luscious shades of reds and purples. And for one split second, the most inane notion raced straight to my heart, "Did he really? Did he actually make arrangements for flowers to be brought to me even though he couldn't come see me himself?"

I hadn't even had enough time to knock myself off that puffy, pink cloud of a pipe dream before the floral lady said to me, "These flowers are a little too old to sell, but they're still kind of pretty. Do you mind if I leave them here on your counter?"

Not only a cruel twist, but an apt analogy for my station in life.

O, Irony, thou art one stone cold bitch.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

teach your children well

Opening our bank statement the other day, I was stunned. It's an account we don't have much money in. We only use it for paypal. It's at a different bank than we use for our checking, savings, etc.

I was floored to see almost $10k in the balance column.

How long has this been going on? Hubby has been secreting away money? Is he building a plan to leave me? Is he using this account as a means to pay his kept woman's bills? Oh no, he ditn't! He is so NOT getting away with this!

Before you could say, "Step back and think, woman!" I had a list half a dozen items long of things I would buy with that stolen money.

I'd love a new car.

A cruise!

A vacation on an island. With a ripped, young stud rubbing oil into my skin . . .

A shopping spree! In New York City.

I'll show that hubby of mine! There will be no embezzling of our family funds for his extracurricular activities!

Oh, wait a second. The name on this account is Douglas J. P____, not Douglas S. P____. This is my son's bank statement.

Never mind.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


Are we all sick of discussing the wedding yet?

I told one of my friends that I have done many exhausting things--given birth to three children, hosted very large Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, organized/planned/spearheaded many events . . . for heaven's sake, I once threw a prom--but this? This wedding? It was my daughter's project, she planned and executed the lion's share of it and, though I loved it, I can still say it was the hardest, most draining experience of my life!

I was on my cell so much that the battery ran dead--twice. I heard my daughter's phone ring so often that her ring tone is forever imprinted on my brain.

Near the end of the evening the photographer was trying to get one last, huge family photo but Gabe's tux jacket was all bunched up around his shoulders and face. I tried to unbutton the jacket but he did not want it unbuttoned, thankyouverymuchgrammy. The fact that he didn't want me to adjust his clothing did not deter me. A few seconds later I realized that I was wrestling a 4-year-old while his real grandma looked on. I'm sure she was impressed by my natural gift with children . . .

That was the moment that I realized I had officially lost my sh*t.

Returning to the ballroom, the first person I saw was my husband's best friend. I wasted no time enlisting his help.

"Peter," I pleaded, "will you go to the lounge and get me whatever the best man is drinking?" He must have seen the crazy in my eyes because he did not question, he just did as he was bid. Five minutes later I was sipping a tall, strong glass of calm-the-f%&k-down.

And then we danced. And it was wildly fun. And I was somewhat sane again : )

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Daddy's little girl

One of my all-time favorite pictures of my daughter is from 1994. Beautiful was 6 and we were at Knott's Berry Farm. I was walking behind Beautiful and my husband as I snapped the photo. She was holding her daddy's hand. He was looking down at her, talking. She was looking up at him with the sunshine on her precious face.

Yesterday, as Daddy was walking her down the aisle to give her away, I noticed she was holding his hand. She briefly looked up at him and he down at her. The sun was shining on her lovely face. Any guesses as to when I started to cry?

Beautiful married a man who is a lot like her dad. We were surrounded by beloved friends and family. My two adorable grandchildren were in the wedding party. Number One Son delivered a touching toast to his little sister and his new brother-in-law. Youngest entertained the crowd when he busted out dance moves--and a complete lack of inhibition--which were, heretofore, not known to exist.

At the end of a very, very, very, long day, my husband slid into bed beside me, held me very close and whispered, "I love you."

Who could ask for anything more?