Friday, October 3, 2008

I may be paranoid, but no android

For the life of me, I'm trying here people. Sometimes there's just too much I need to say aloud, but then, it's like, you know, you can't.

For those who haven't met her yet. The little lady on your viewing left, Miss Mazie Piggle, is currently in my lap as I type. Isn't she the cutest stinker?!


Wilbur J Waddlesworth III. He is my handsome little man.

(And PS the dog boarders put the Harlequin kerchiefs on them, not me. That's gay, albeit adorable!!)

So anyway,
I'm hunting for all these Fall decorations I'm sure I have. I mean it's been a year but I know they're there. I have Hubs pull down all these unidentified boxes precariously perched in the closet and it's hidden books we've been looking for, junk, wedding stuff that we still have yet to go through. The dogs and cats winding around my ankles. It's a mess.

And I find this one book full of albums. Those little albums you used to could, and I assume you still can, buy at Old Navy. Perfect sized to fit pics or postcards. I start thumbing through. wow. Remember Sweet Pee, how you made me keep the first phone number a boy gave me in college (bc you also told me I couldn't give him my number, declasse). Still have it. Pics of Hembree. The little alien head boxer with the red gloves. Remember him? Where did he go? The pics of the imacs in all the colors that I loved. Pics of all of us lining the beds of trucks, mason jars for glasses full o' beer. The giant Mario mug. Ceci, ce n'est pas un pipe postcard. My bleach blond Marilyn hair and my first shot of Jaeger and that face that I make when I take shots. And my first invitation to a party I actually wanted to go to (Dylan Bootleg party in a dorm room). I still have it all. We were certainly asking for it. Ha!

And then I found my old journal. Gifted by a boyfriend. A precious gift. I will never know it's value because he never understood the value in giving it. Firm and soft brown leather worn softer with time. The leather darkened. Addressed to me in the front in tiny script. I had lost it. And I do that. I find it, thumb through it, tuck it away. A year later (I think it has been about that long), I'll find it again. Thumb through it. and etc. So I thumbed through it. There's one page towards the back where some flowers had been pressed. Pansies. I just planted a bunch of lovely royal blue pansies yesterday. I felt the way that time has made their petals smooth, leather-like. The sun comes in by where I'm sitting. By the lemon tree we had to bring in out of the cold. And I see it. Tiny strips of cellophane tape, yellowing slightly on the edges. Tape. I'd never seen that before. A gift from 2000 and I had never seen the tape. Which made me smile because I treasured that journal so much, I painstakingly eyed every little detail in the binding, the stitching, every page minutely, but ever so slowly. Not wanting to ruin the surprise. It actually took a couple of years before I ever even saw the pressed flowers. And now, 8 years later, I see the tape. A new surprise. And it did make me smile, in that way. He cheated, I thought to myself. These flowers aren't pressed at all. And if that's the case, as I tuck it away for who knows how long, I feel the spool unreel another turn. Game on.


Sweet Pee said...

8 years?? Wow... xoxo

Sully said...

Wait, you commented on that but not naked Harry Potter dong? Are you feeling ok?