just home, ya'll

So, tonight...I was poking through some of my old blogger posts. First, I realized that I used to write A LOT. Then I realized that I was a much better writer then than I am now (the "stroke"?) (stress?) (old age?) (lack of focus?)...

Then, I read a post from two years ago and got all crazy teary eyed and realized that I have felt terribly, terribly displaced living alone, in apartments owned by other people. Like at any minute, the other shoe could fall and I would be out on my ear - moving again. I think it has been a cause of a lot of unrest for me. It could be the reason that I have kept scaling down and getting rid of things and constantly scheming of ways to get money so that I wouldn't have to scheme and scale down quite so much. Always trying to think of a way to feel that I am at rest.

When I moved out of my home, "The Sideways House" with all of it's pretty trappings an insane yet nurturing adopted brother...and it's memories...and it's all night music marathons, things changed. I think I lost a foot-hold - and have been fighting to get it back ever since. I just can't explain to anyone how happy I am that I am about to have a "home" again. A home that nobody can take away from me. A home where we can paint things any color we damn well please. A home where music can be played loud and I can dance and fall into things and act like I meant to. A place where I'll feel loved and will feel the eyes from the paintings of strangers following me everywhere that I go. A place where there will be too many cats for comfort and too many dishes to wash. A place where I will feel creative and be surrounded by creativity again. A place to make me feel such a love for home that I felt when I wrote this one back in 2004:

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"Times: they are a changin'.

I'm making preparations to leave the Sideways House - the place that I have come home to for the past 5 years. I'm saying goodbye to the soaring ceiling that was created for music to wrap around and the cozy loft where I have looked down like a queen over court - over laughter and arguments, over snow falling on patio pine backlit like a glorious stage, over an ever-changing color scheme and cast of characters. The funky rug and the hi-fi and even that green deco chair that I swear is cursed. My kitchen the size of a shoebox and my tangerine glow bedroom complete with mood lighting built as a father-daughter project one weekend when I was trying to reclaim my space after a just-snuffed love left smoke in the air. My hammock below starry skies with labrador under. My retro gliding porch furniture with chameleon peeling paint. My crooked vintage album wall of art - that will be gone too. Corridors of memories and windows lit with fewer tomorrows stare back at me as I for the first time consider terms such as "curb appeal" and "resale value" and count the days.

53 days. That's how many.

My mind won't give up claim to the place. I wonder if the new people will paint over all of my happy colors with some color called "Magnolia" or "Buff". I wonder if they will stand on my checkerboard kitchen floor, shake their heads and put that on the top of their list of things to cover up.

Will they get it?

Will they gut it?

There have been times in the past little while that I have felt like doing an all out, glorified impersonation of Scarlett for her Tara. Face it. I'm not ready to leave. I love it here. I thrive here. I smile here. This is my home. My first real home in forever.

There have been other days when I must have envisioned myself living in a Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney movie - I kept waiting on a truck to pull up loaded with friends who'd yell, "Hey kids! Let put on a show! We'll show them! We'll save the Sideways House!!"

But, it's time for reality.

Maybe it is time to leave. Comfort breeds boredom - or that's what that fortune cookie slip on my refrigerator says anyway.

No doubt, I am probably going to be moody and sad for the next few months. No doubt, I will find a new place in the world and in time this one will only be a memory to me. That still doesn't mean that I can't mourn the passing. That I can't ask people to repeat themselves because I was staring off into space or into a well-lit room perfect for much more living in. I realize in theory that this is just a place. A place full of things. I try to repeat that to myself over and over these days. Each day when I pull out of my driveway, I try to imagine that it is my last time. I haven't been able to do it yet without at least a little lump in my throat.

Someone said to me, "It's not a house that makes a home. It's what you do there that makes it a home. The minute you leave, it is no longer your home."

Uh uh...see...they don't get it. Your home really is where your heart is.

My heart is here. Here in this drafty old house put together with left-over pieces from bigger and better houses. Here in the swirl of the surround-sound issuing Sam Cooke like a medical prescription. Here in the glow of that red paper lamp that sits in the front window beside black and white tuxedo cat with an eye on the world. Here on the stairwell where Summer dresses gave way to Winter wool again and again and this time for the last time. Here in that bathtub where I spent a Valentine's day with Jack Daniels and a fist full of melting valentine's candy. Here is where my heart is. Here and there. There against the front door that was slammed to punctuate points and where sweet goodnight kisses took place behind sleepy, electric eyelids. There where the Christmas tree stood and came crashing down shattered glass to wood under the weight of an enthusiastic, yuletide tabby cat. There where my foot marks smudge the wall from languid long-distance phone conversations. There in that skylight window where I watched the waxing moon, lying on my back as time passed like a hearse. There is where my heart is. There and here.

Here is where my heart is."

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I can just feel how much my heart was breaking then. Excuse me for being a little wrapped up, but I have to feel that my heart is equally healing now. I can't wait. I'm going home again. And once again, I am going to sit under the dark night sky and let out a sigh. And begin again.

wooden boys!! (compromise part 2)

Yes, I do realize that there was a time when I'd think about things and write long, rambling musings on this and that. Yes, I do realize that all I do lately is post photos. I think I barely have time to think hard enough these days to write long, long posts. So, that said....back to your regularly scheduled dose of photos (okay...with some of my rambling musings mixed in):

In a previous post, I showed the evil, soul sucking puppets that my boy is selling so that I can actually live inside of the house that we are buying. That said, every compromise has it's second side, and here goes mine. I'm going to getting rid of one of MY prize possessions that yes, creeps the boy out. (I'll take time to get creeped out later when I reflect on the fact that 3 out of 4 of my last posts have been about freaky dolls). So...

Meet Geraldine and Ricky:



Ahh...yes...one of the best albums of all times. "Evangelist E.J. Daniels... (that's this guy:)...




Presents Geraldine and Ricky" (that's these guys:)



So, by now (if you are still with me), and aren't saying, "Which one is made out of wood?", you might be saying to yourself, "There has GOT TO BE some fascinating story behind this Geraldine and this Ricky!!"

You would be right. According the the album jacket, "When Geraldine was converted at the age of 13, she began to pray to God to use her as a person to honor Him. At age 14, God gave her, overnight, the talent of ventriloquism. She began immediately to appear before church groups, and civic clubs. Her talents continued to develop until her fame was known throughout her native state of Louisiana. She entertained even in the governor's mansion!"

(Of course, me being the scientific person that I am, have to wonder how one wakes up to discover that they have been given the talent of ventriloquism...)

But wait...it gets even better!


"Disneyland offered her $375.00 per day - which is over $100,000 per year - to perform for them. Because she could not talk about her LORD, and had to work on Sundays she turned down this offer. She felt that her talent was God-given, and should be used solely to glorify Christ. It takes real dedication for a young lady to turn down fortune and fame to serve her LORD."

$100,000 a year!! Disneyland!! She turned down that haven of heathen-filled thrill rides AND the wad of cash!! But then what did she do?

The text goes on to say that Evangelist Daniels' crusades grew in attendance by 20% to 35% because Geraldine and Ricky joined their team!

(though I still have to wonder it it wasn't something to do with this stone cold foxy organist:)



That's John Bos (I think that the term "boss" as in "Dude, that is TOTALLY BOSS!!" came from this guy. I mean, the way that the lights hits his hair is beyond description, isn't it?) God, he's sweeet.

The write-up ends with "On this record, you will hear one of the world's greatest ventriloquists, and her wooden-headed companion. Accompanying them at the instrument is John Bos, who is recognized as being, perhaps, the greatest of all Hammond organists."

Geraldine has a couple of paragraphs too. My favorite line from her is, "I have had the blessing of meeting and working with so many, wonderful "full-time" Christians."

What in the world does Geri mean by that "full-time (in quotations, mind you) Christians" remark?

I don't know what happened to this faith driven beauty and her "wooden-headed companion", but I can only hope the best for them. Okay, actually...I hope that Geraldine married John Bos, the organist and that they have shared many, many years and many, many cans of Final Net hairspray together. I also hope that Ricky is locked away somewhere so that his long, flutter-by eyelashes don't decay. And I hope that everytime Geraldine and John ride past DisneyLand, she doesn't wonder about what could have been.

Umm..

Definitely, the strangest thing that I have seen at the flea market lately (click on the photo to see her up close):

that thing about the apple not falling far from the tree

My dad cracks me up. He sent me this photo where he is trying to recreate the now famous mug shot of Nick Nolte. I knew that retirement was going to leave him with lots of time on his hands, but THIS takes the cake:


So, here's my dad:



Nick Nolte:



My dad again:




Well, it cracks ME up. And it's made even better by the fact that my dad is wearing a "Weiner Dog Racing" shirt.

puppets!! (compromise part 1")

One good thing about the move is that we are getting rid of things. A compromise of sorts. A merging of two households where tastes are...well...different.

The best compromise that has come out of it so far is that the boy is getting rid of these Indonesian rod puppets. They have always creeped me out. I've got a little edge when it comes to puppets. Not sure why.

He gets rid of the rod puppets and I get rid of....the cold sweats that these things give me as they stare at me with their little wooden eyes and taunt me with their little wooden praying mantis arms as if to say, "We will gnaw your tongue right out of your mouth and your eyes right out of their sockets!! We will!!! We will!! We'll gobble them up like candies!!"