Happy Stumbling

Whenever my husband is tearing the house apart looking for something, I always tell him it will turn up when he's looking for something else.

My going-away card, designed by Randall.

This was the case for me this week when I was searching for a copy of a letter from my grandmother to my mom. I didn't find it, but I did find a ton of old stuff from my pre-mom era. A going-away card from my last day at Kay Jewelers in Alexandria. Postcards and letters from Julie & Brook's trip around the world. A transcript of my grades from high school. Writing samples and school papers and projects. Various minor awards, including the one from an Advertising Age contest and an honorable mention from The National League of American Pen Women (that's a whole other story).

And much, much, more.

This rainy day will be perfect for plunging myself into the past, trying to associate faces with the names on cards signed by everyone in the office. Glimpses of life 30 years ago from people my age, their futures all ahead of them then. I wonder where life took them, if they are happy with their lot, if they ever look back and see me.

Postcard from Greece

One more share before I toodle off to re-explore my past. I was in Parmatown Mall, and there was a bespectacled gentleman with a huge computer and punch cards. For a small fee, he said he would analyze my handwriting. Skeptical but intrigued, I agreed to give it a try. I signed my name on a card that was fed through the behemoth, which spit out a sheet of computer paper. Here's what it said:

YOU HAVE A VIVID IMAGINATION AND SHOULD PURSUE A WRITING CAREER. WITH YOUR HIGHLY RECEPTIVE LOGICAL MIND, YOU ARE RARELY FOOLED BY OTHERS. YOU HAVE A KIND, GENTLE HEART AND ARE EXTREMELY KID TO ANIMALS. IN LOVE RELATIONSHIPS YOU CAN BE VERY EMOTIONAL AND HIGHLY PASSIONATE. YOU NEVER HOLD A GRUDGE AND ARE THE FIRST TO ADMIT YOUR MISTAKES.

Honestly, I don't think Siri could have done any better!

But I still haven't found the letter I was looking for in the first place. I guess I will have to think of something else to search for.

Now, where did I leave my coffee cup...

P.S. Here is what Julie wrote on the back of the postcard (above): We wanted to send this "Greek God" to you in person but unfortunately, he is too buy posing for pictures.

Unicorns and Rainbows

I love Facebook. It keeps me in touch with relatives and friends and the Japanese photographer I love to the bottom of my soul.

Then, I hate Facebook. It sucks me in with stories designed to raise the hackles. Stories that have not been vetted to confirm they really did happen.

Artist's rendering (or why I'm not an artist)

In today's example, there is a woman in Baltimore who says she got a hate note from a neighbor because she put multi-colored mason jars in her yard. The neighbor accused her of being "relentlessly gay" and invoked GOD as frowning on her little yardly display.

Now, if this is a true story, the neighbor is a flaming a-hole, and the woman has cause for indignation. What she did next, however, makes me go, "hmmm."

She set up a "Go Fund Me" page to rainbow-ify her yard. So far, she has collected in excess of $37,000.

Some are lauding her for her ingenuity. Others are questioning the veracity of her claim. (The quirky capitalization on the note that matched her original Go Fund Me page, since edited, was called out.)

I decided to hold off contributing to her cause. How much rainbow-ing will $37,000 buy you? I supposed she could acquire a mini van and paint it like the Partridge Family bus and park it in her driveway. Frankly, her indignation might carry more weight if she donated her money to an organization like Forty to None, which helps gay and transgender youth who are homeless.

The lessons for all of us may be: 1. Don't assume what you read on the internet is true. It may be, but, unlike newspapers in the olden days, there's no certainty a story has been fact-checked before it goes viral. (Snopes.com is a good source, but they haven't weighed in on this story yet.) 2. Of course, you can donate your hard-earned cash to whomever you wish, but it's a good idea to check their bonafides to make sure the cash you're forking over is going where it's supposed to go. One source is http://www.consumer.ftc.gov/articles/0074-giving-charity.

Okay, okay, I'm climbing off the pulpit now.

It's almost time to go hang out at my own favorite non-profit. With the cool cats. To embrace the inner purr. And, of course, scoop the poop with the gang.

Movin' on Up

On the way to breakfast with my son yesterday morning, he said, "I keep hearing this song in my head. Maybe it's a dream I had or something, I don't know. The words 'movin' on up' are in it, and there's a chorus of African American gospel singers doing the vocals."

Seems like it was just last month...

Then he hummed a few bars. It was, of course, the theme song from the 1970s TV show, The Jeffersons. (We watch a lot of ME TV.)

I began to sing along, assured him it was a real tune, explained its origins -- and noted it was a good musical selection for moving day.

My son and his buddies rented a house on the east side of town near their college campus. His two closest friends helped him schlep his worldly goods to his new digs. Like most student living spaces, his will be outfitted with what we like to call "shabby chic," although "chic" is doubtless a stretch. In addition to his "heirloom" bedroom suite (a twin bed and mismatched desk and dresser plus a night stand acquired at a rummage sale), he is bringing along some outdoor wicker furniture and a table purchased from a friend (who got it from the now-newly-remodeled restaurant where he works).

I've been replacing my vacuum and other minor appliances and contributing my old ones to the cause. (Okay, I hear the chuckles, yes I actually think he may, at some point, vacuum. It's my fantasy, just let it be.)

The hardest part of all this was not the actual move, but the fact it's taking my son one step further from his childhood. On the one hand, I'm happy for him, starting out on his latest adventure -- and, I'm certain, learning experience. On the other hand, there's a part of me that misses things like story time and hot chocolate and being smarter than he is.

I know I'm not going through anything most parents of children his age are going through. And yes, I know I sound like an old fogey. (See? I just used the phrase "old fogey!")

I'm glad that he's movin' on up. And I really hope that he gets a (big) piece of the pie!

Between the Lines

I was sitting in the dentist's waiting room, waiting for my son, listening to some dreadful satellite radio station and admiring the gewgaws on the walls, when my eyes landed on an area set up for the youngest patients. And there they were -- a stack of coloring books and the 64-count box of Crayola crayons.

It was all I could do not to run across the room, seize a coloring book, and inhale the intoxicating scent of my childhood. I wanted to take the burnt sienna and the blue-violet (or was it violet-blue?) and color up a storm.

As a child, it seems I had the same few coloring books. For some reason, I never finished an entire book. There were always clean pages crying out for splashes of color.

Sorry to say, I was not a neatnik. I did not confine myself to conventional colors, and, in spite of my sister's admonitions, I was never able to stay in the lines. I was too impatient to get the colors on the page. To see how Mrs. Beasley would look in a pink dress (instead of blue). Or to see Buffy in green hair. Or Mr. French with hair.

Then, on the internet, I stumbled across a coloring book for adults. (No, it didn't have naughty pics in it, get your head out of the gutter.) These coloring books had elaborate patterns using floral and geometric themes. Admittedly, I was intrigued. I am even toying with the idea of going out and buying a coloring book. Not of the adult variety, however. I have a notion that coloring all of those teeny-tiny spaces would counteract the therapeutic benefit.

I'm hoping that: 1. They still make coloring books for kids. 2. That I can find said books. 3. That they have things in them that I want to color. (Yes, shut up, it matters.)

The next question will be whether to use the tin of broken crayons I have here, or to indulge myself in a brand new deluxe box of 64 Crayola Crayons.

And the final question...does it still have the built-in crayon sharpener?

To the Max

My brother and his wife were stunned when, at age 46, they were told they were going to be parents for the second time. 

Their first-born, at 13, was also stunned to hear the news she was going to become a sister.

Fortunately, it was Max who made his appearance, so everyone was cool. (Even though my brother grimaced when he took Max for his first haircut and the barber called him "grandpa.")

Here we are, 18 years later, and Max is graduating from high school. Through the wonder that is Facebook, I've been able to follow him on his adventures through scouting, music and high school. Through photos and stories, it's been possible to know Max better, even though he lives in a different city and I only see him once a year or so. It is surprising that so much can be told through a social media device that mostly features pictures of cats and dogs and squirrels and people doing ridiculous things.

Thanks for allowing me to "friend" you, Maxwell. I'm proud to be called your aunt. And I look forward to following you through college and beyond to the someday when you are also called "meteorologist."

As long as you're on Facebook, I'll be there with you, come rain or shine!

Off Topic

I get my inspiration from many sources. Books, music, newspapers, happenings in my life and national something-or-other day.

The light bulb is not on today.

Today, I'm thinking about the events of the past week and crossing off the topics one by one. Too serious. Too work-related. Too awful.

So I decided to go to Facebook and see if I could become inspired there. I guess there are folks who could be sparked by a video of a happy dog getting a bath. This just didn't work for me. (Although I do want to go back and read the article about why cats feel the need to accompany you to the bathroom.)

I was glad about the marriage equality vote passing in Ireland. The final episode of Mad Men was entertaining and bittersweet. Enjoyed some pics from my favorite photographer from Japan, Takahiro Yamamoto. Made a mental note to go back and re-read John Steinbeck's Winter of Our Discontent, listen to Girl from Ipanema and watch some old George Carlin routines. 

Still, there were no stand-out topics I wanted to broach today. So, rather than forcing things, I'm giving my loyal readers a day off. I hope you enjoy your three days away from the office/school/daily grind and do something that makes you feel great.

As for me, it's my turn to scoop the poop and hang with my buddies at the cat shelter. So therapeutic. And a special announcement for all of you who also live and breathe the printed word: Half Price Books is having a 20% off sale.

So you know where Mr. and I will be!
 

Judy, Judy, Judy

There are people who drift into your life, have a major impact, then drift out again.

One such person in my life left this world May 11th. I hadn't seen Judy in many years. But when I read the death notice in the newspaper, I began to revisit those years when she was so important to me.

Judy lived across the street from my childhood home. In my teens, I babysat her daughter while Judy attended night classes at the local university and when she dated. She was a divorced mom at a time when it was more acceptable to stay in an unhappy marriage. I always admired that she took the right road, not the easy one.

After I graduated from high school, Judy got me a job at the general contracting firm where she worked in the accounting department. Watching Mad Men, I've often thought about Judy. She experienced a lot of the crap women had to endure in an office dominated by men. One in particular insisted on calling her "doll." One of my favorite lines of hers was, "Please don't call me a doll. A doll is a stuffed dummy. I am not a stuffed dummy." The women in the office were secretaries or bookkeepers, but never account managers. In another day and age, Judy could easily have done the work the men did. She was a smart cookie. Eventually, she earned her degree, became a CPA and moved on.

There were so many lessons I learned from Judy, about life and the working world, during our late night chats and in the car as we drove to work together.

Judy was at my first wedding, and I was at her second. After I got divorced, we drifted apart, and I didn't see her again. But I never forgot her. She was my mentor, my life line and my friend at a time when all were in short supply.

I hope Judy is at peace. She knew how to live and love well. I have no doubt that she is a welcome addition to the next world, too.

 "Bye-bye, buy bonds, save chicken fat and join the WACs."