A Memory from 1975

I recently had a weird dream and among other things, I remembered a conversation I had with my dad when I was nine years old.

Which is amazing in and of itself since I can't remember what I did nine days ago.

I think the conversation was prompted by watching an episode of The Jeffersons.  The show had a pair of minor characters, an interracial couple - the wife was black and the husband white.

My father opined these characters were completely unrealistic because "No smart white man would be with a 'black'".  However, he noted, some white women would be with a black man - "Why do you think women do that?," he asked me, apparently already knowing the correct answer.

I ventured that, Maybe because women are treated differently so they know being treated differently is wrong and black people are treated different?  So they just see people more like people and not different people?

Listen - I was only nine.  Being insightful and articulate were not yet my strong suits.

He replied, "Well that's just stupid."

So which part of his opinion was the cake, and which the icing?

Wisteria

I'm quite lucky because I have a green thumb.  Don't know why, really.  A gift from from my grandma, since my mom can kill an air plant.

Put it in my hands and it will grow thick and satisfied.  Grandma used to say, "Sweet, if -you- stick a broomstick in the ground?, it'd grow.  You got the gift."  Which is saying something because she could grow anything.

 A shot of the wisteria here at Chez Lyn:

Not a very good picture, but a beautiful and happy plant.

I love wisteria because it reminds me of home.  I lived with my grandma for what I consider most of the important years of my life while my parents were elsewhere.  We'd spend time down in Anahuac, at my great-grandparent's home, during the summers.  Anahuac is only about 3 to 5 miles square and back in the day, about 500 in population.  When my grandma married my grandpa and moved to Po-Dunk (pop. 50,000) a lot of her friends snubbed her for "going all town".

Grandma grew up in my great-grandparent's two-room house with no plumbing or running water alongside her 6 brothers and sisters.                                                                                                                        
 The yard included the outhouse, the pig sty, henhouse, tool shed and the smokehouse.

After returning from WWII, my great uncles convinced Mama and Papa to let them install indoor plumbing - although Papa was offended at the idea of 'crapping in my own house.'

I never knew him, all I knew was he was in the Kaiser's Calvary, and deserted to come here with Mama.  He had few skills and worked as a carpenter.  Once for a few years many many babies died, I don't know why;  Papa made little coffins for the 'poor folk', Mama sewed a bit of lining for the coffins.

The outhouse was pulled down but the smokehouse stayed, that was Papa's. Grandma once told me that she remembered at the end of the work week Papa'd bring home his few dollars (sometimes fourteen!) to Mama, but he'd hold back some nickels to buy a couple of cans of beer, which he'd drink in the smokehouse.

By the time I started exploring it (or 'splorin' as I guess I used to say) you could hardly open the door of the smokehouse, it was so decrepit.  The butchering tools and body hooks hung quiet and rusted, glad their days were done.  There was a small window, its panes long gone but the opening thick with purple blooms and lazy gold bees, the poorest man's stained glass.

When my grandma finally decided it was time to pull it down (back in the 80s) she found dozens of decades-old beer cans hidden under the floorboards.

The smokehouse itself was so rotted there really was nothing left of it - the only thing holding it up by then were the fifty-year-old wisterias.

So that's why I like wisteria.

Found on the Interwebs, A Series of Tubes

A new offering from those Krazy Kids who brought you Yo, Is This Racist?, a new site called Yo, Should I Dump This Asshole?  There's at least one gem on each page.  Considering I have not had the sex since the Bush Administration(s), and am terminally single, it's nice to know that at least I'm not dating some asshole I need to dump.

Here's Nicholas Sparks' latest:

 What a hack.

A cool site that works a little like RueLaLa, which offers limited-time sales on designer goods, Fab.com.  An eclectic mix with an emphasis on post-modern design.  Post modern is not my aesthetic, but I appreciate it and it's a nice mental design fix to peruse this site.

Jane Lynch on Maddow's show, you've probably seen it but just in case.

Nikola Tesla, via The Oatmeal (a local Seattle dude).

I might have posted this before, and you may have already seen it, but Kristen Bell's appearance on Ellen was awesome.  For one thing, she has the same "on the verge of tears" thing I have, and, she loves sloths. I don't know Kristen Bell from any other celeb (who is she, actually?), but I like her now:




Finally, here is your Aww What a Sweet Card of The Day:

ANNND, 

Mason jars remind me of my grandma, and cooking gumbo, and sharing with friends.

So next week I'll be starting Bar review, I hope to continue regular posting but hard to say as I don't yet know how much of a pumpkin I will have to turn into for the next two months.

The Bar exam is July 24-25-26, send Good Thoughts.

Three Blind Mice

My softer title to what should be called "Three Dead Rats Under My Hottub".

This gag-inducing adventure is easily the most disgusting thing I've ever done I'm pretty sure in my entire life.

When I was young, I mucked out horse stalls in trade for jumping lessons.  "Mucking out" being the polite term for shovelling horse shit.  My shit-centric activities have also included scrubbing the bird waste in the Seattle Aquarium's shorebird exhibit area, and digging years of pigeon poop off of an old grandstand in Sydney.

I think I have a higher crap tolerance than most.  It's natural, it's just waste.  With a pair of gloves and a thorough clean up after (hands can be washed!) I can deal.

But dead critters!  Under my hottub!  Being all STINKY!

First off - the fuck are they doing in there anyway?  Clearly the idea was, it's toasty under the tub so Yay let's make a nest....but once they get in through the 2" access hole (from which the drainage hose exits) they can't get back out.

Stupid stupid rats!

Now you are all DEAD and shit.

Armed with some long sticks, gloves and a schmear of Vick's VapoRub up my nose, I commenced to remove the bodies.

They did not want leave.  It took some effort.  Effort I had to interrupt on occasion to walk away from because dead animal carcasses are extremely unpleasant.

I had a couple of small plastic bags (the black ones you get from the liquor store - thought that would be appropriate) at hand to block my view as well as hastily toss the remains to... well, anywhere really.

I got two out and had to take apart another section of the tub skirting to get to the third.  He got stuck right at the opening, his creepy rat tail STILL HANGING OUT OF THE DRAIN HOLE.

GAH.  Rats' tails are disturbing enough with that whole no-hair action.  But a DEAD hairless rat tail is truly disgusting.

Anyway.

I had one bag kind of on top of that last one, and another at the ready, in the narrow area between the tub and the fence over the drain hole.

I was trying not to look at what I was doing; trying to visualize pleasant thoughts ("um...flowers!  meadows! bunnies!  - GAH no not BUNNIES!!!")

When - something moved.  Something black and quick....

I leapt back in panic, my heart jumped out of my chest and I realized -

the rat tail had gotten stuck to the extra black bag and in my efforts I had moved the bag myself.

I totally peed my pants.


Good times.

For Your Consideration

The previous post was mainly about my father.

I attempted to talk to him about some issues that have been weighing on me, and before I could get anywhere he shut me down.  "If you tell me I hurt you, I couldn't bear it - don't tell me anything I've done.  That would hurt me too much - why would you do that to me?"

"As usual you're just too sensitive, I don't know why you don't just get over it."

....

"Your mother doesn't care, I don't know why you even ask her - I TELL her what to care about.  You should know that by now."

....

As for the observation about boyfriends:  I think it's true; it's incredibly hard to get to; Buddhism helps.  It went out to M regarding his now-ex, R, a gay couple in San Francisco I've known since my days in Manhattan.

The point of the post was, put your strength to your own rudder.

Keeping Your Hand on the Tiller

I don't know about you, but there are occasions when I could most happily kick a prick in the bits.  Oh if only that was socially acceptable.  But then if it was it probably would not be as satisfying....

I take that back.  It would be as satisfying.

I send a swift kick out to people who are devoid of empathy (not the same as sympathy, look it up).  People who dangle love and affection, but only as it suits them:  Offer limited and qualified with conditions: "Was I the cause of THAT much pain?  I hate that you told me that because THAT hurts ME.  (!!! - Ed.)  Oh, well, geez all I can truly say is - that must suck for you."

Others who are, in fact, chock full o bullshit.  Such bullshit can be:  Casual, professional, hypocritical and most importantly emotional.

God knows I have my faults and weaknesses.  But to my credit I recognize them, try to control them, speak up when they get the better of me - as in, I try not to inflict them on others.  I have scars that will always be tender; and more than my fair share of old baggage on my back.  You know that scene in Titanic when Rose is boarding with literally a truck-load of luggage (Lord that movie was an overblown waste of film)?  Okay not that much baggage.  And what with DROPPING a massive chunk o diamonds into the drink like 60 years after the fact?  Who WROTE that sappy-assed screenplay?

Meanwhile.

My point is this:  All the crappy work crap, and co-worker crappiness you are dealing with today?  That's work, don't allow it stain your life.  The old friend you thought you could always count on, but now can't?  That's just right now; sort it out and take responsibility.  And be good and generous to the new friends.  That's how old friends begin to happen.

And the worst, the lover who broke your heart?  Honey, he just....  He just did.  There are no answers and nothing to be done about it. 

It just is.  Jackass though he may be.

As difficult as it is (and it is difficult), you must MUST keep your hand firm on the tiller, as long as it takes to get you to calmer waters.  The stronger you are, as you choose to be, the more steady the sailing.

And that's hard to do when you are also trying to knee someone in the groin, so just pick the task that will serve you better.

Found on the Interwebs, A Series of Tubes

You may have seen this already, but Republicans, Get In My Vagina! is worth watching again.

Truly, my disdain for low-cut pants could not have been better described.

What really gets my back up about this, is that this is still even an effing ISSUE.  I suggest experimenting on humans.  There's too many of us anyway, and humans can say No.  Actually - primates can say No also, we just choose not to listen.

If you're not buying your kitsch from Seattle's Archie McPhee, well you're just not living.

Who is the biggest badass I'm admiring these days?  It's The Hillz, that's who.  Looking forward to 2016.

And Finally, something about this appeals to me:

Happy Birthday, Kendall

Yesterday was my friend Kendall's birthday.

I really enjoy celebrating birthdays, the day a baby was introduced into the world, screaming and sticky, who grew into a person many love and are grateful for.  My life would be so much more gray had it not been for Kendall.

We've been friends for I guess around ten years?  The best creative director I ever worked for; finds my sensitivity endearing; held my hand when I needed it through three endless years of law school.

Thank you Kendall, thanks for being in my world.

If you have a friend like Kendall, be sure to say thank you.  That person's birthday is always a good day for that.  Or today.  That works too.

Happy Friday everyone!

Happily Ever Afters

This year has brought many of my friends new dimensions to their personal lives.  Three couples have moved in together, one couple to be engaged; and of course the lovely wedding this weekend of my friends Drew and O'Kilt.

Drew was a beautiful bride, the ceremony itself simple and moving, and lots of celebrating afterward including a late night at O'Connell's pub in Alexandria, with Drew still in her wedding gown.

Although all relationships grow, flourish, and sometimes fade, and like everything in this world they have no permanence - it is a joy to see the Happy that all these relationships are giving my friends right now.

Which is not to imply I think all relationships end, or worse, 'fail'.  I remember when the Gores announced their divorce, there was a great amount of teeth-gnashing around "O if they can't make it work who can?", after twenty years of marriage.  That actually sounded pretty successful to me.

Just because something ends, does not mean it failed.  It means it ended.  And we really must be grateful for what we do have - not mourn for what we don't have, or what simply cannot be.

I have had a lot of good times and many fun adventures, but I can tell you there are only three men I so truly loved I believed I could have spent my life with them.  Adored them, admired their talent, wanted so much to be the one to make them happy.  But as anyone reading this knows, I've never been married so you can figure out how that sorted.

Again, I am thrilled for my friends, I am.  Yet it reminds me I have so much love to give, but I can't seem to find anyone who wants it.

 

I did catch the bouquet.  

Why can't the paparazzi just leave me alone?