Saturday, May 18, 2013

Quizno's Subs Burns Down.

I once worked at a Quizno's in Fargo, ND. And one day, a co-worker of mine called me up, and told me that I wouldn't need to go to work that day. I asked her why? and she told me it had burned down during the night. I will have to tell the story of that on another day, as it was quite a story.
But I just came across the poem I wrote about it. It is quite a awful experience seeing with your eyes the place you worked out burned to the ground. Here is my poem.

There will be no more walking through the front door.
The front door is broken.
The glass is strewn across the sidewalk.
I would like to take that red chair,
the one sticking out the burned out front window,
and sit on it for a while.
I would like to sit there and think about all the good times,
all the stressful times, motivational times,
that I spent there in that store.
The back door is still standing
I would like to enter through the back door
just one more time,
I still have a key for it,
Shall I see if it still works?
Oh, but wait.
The back door only opens into a big gaping hole,
a big gaping hole now filled with the bricks from the top floor,
and burnt debris.
Where is the upstairs?
Where is the downstairs?
Hello, I am suppose to work today.
Could you please tell me where the kitchen is?
Don't tell me it's gone,
Our kitchen, our cooler, our freezer,
All our food,
The bread, the soup, the meats and cheeses.
The desk.
I just organized it on Saturday.
The sink.
Our 8 quarts, 4 quarts, metal pans and metal lids.
Our till and all the money we made on Saturday.
The pop machine, counter, and make tables.
The oven,
The soup kettles, hot tables, and salad cooler.
Our green and red lobby table and chairs.
Our cute little dressing bottles all neatly labeled,
All of this melting, all burning, crumbling, caving in,
Holding on, some not,
some exploding.
All of it finally giving way after a hard fight,
having turned black,
turning to ashes,
falling down, falling down,
into nothing, but black upon black.
I want to take back that blackened night,
When the hot, bright light of fire took away the life of our store.
I want to go back to a night when the store stood fully intact,
waiting patiently for us all to come to work the following day,
waiting for us to turn on the lights,
and bring life into it for the day.
If I only I could walk through the front doors one more time,
just to say goodbye.

Impromptu Speech Topics

I was quite a quiet nobody back in my high school days. I always had a crush on some popular boy, and secretly admired him from afar. Let me tell you two stories of terribly shy teenage me trying to get her boy crush to notice her. 

So I was a Sophomore taking a speech class, and almost everyone in my class was a Junior. I felt privileged to be in a class with all these Junior High kids. And of course I had a crush on a ever so popular boy who was in my class. What his name was, I don't recall, but he had a identical twin brother, and well I liked them both. I recall writing both their names down in my speech notebook and putting a heart around their names. Well one day I had the great misfortune of being called on to do an impromptu speech with someone else in the class; and oh wow, the teacher called on my crush to come up and do the speech with me. Our assignment was to do an impromptu speech on body language. So speeches are bad enough to do right?, but impromptu and with your adorable popular boy crush?!? So there I was in front of the class with my big glasses and my badly permed mop of hair, and with my incredible shyness leading the way. So somehow we came to decide to demonstrate handshakes. And I reached out and tried to demonstrate shaking his hand like a fish; and well this caused the class to giggle a bit, and this caused me to try to not giggle, which in turn led to me suddenly bursting out in laughter, with compliments of snot flying out of my nose. Not just some snot, but a enough snot to require the whole hand wipe, and well we were doing handshakes. You get the picture right. Yep, true story.

Now let me tell a successful ploy of mine to get a boy to notice me.
So, my first big crush came in the 8th grade, and I had all my classes with this boy called Jim, (I think the twin from the story above, was Tim). Every day I tried to do a little something to get this boy to notice me, of which things I don't recall, except just one. It was study hall and it was the end of a long day, and we were all to be quiet and to study. He was sitting just behind me this day, slightly off to my left side. And there I sat with butterflies in my tummy and a slight flush to my cheeks, cuz I so close to my boy crush. I was trying to appear to be really focused on reading my text book. Well, my funny little mind thought perhaps I would place the book upside down and pretend to still read, and not notice the book was upside down. So I made a point of holding the book up high, and noisily flipping pages. Well it didn't take long before he noticed, after all we were in study hall, where there is nothing to catch your attention except the misbehavior of your fellow students. So he tapped me on a shoulder, and I slowly turned around, to see a wry little smile on his face and  he said with slight swagger 'Your book is upside down." Yep, true story too. 

Movie quote time. "That's IT! Call the FRONT DESK, AND GET A ROOM OF YOUR OWN!" 

Speaking of high gas prices and how they somehow feel obligated to jump 10 cents every day, let's talk about driving. 
Note to self for when I look back at this blog. Four days ago gas was $3.89, then three days ago $4.19 (put the stick in my ugly sticker), then the next day $4.29, and today $4.39 (first time for me that I have had to pay over $4 dollars for a gallon of gas). Therefore, I will be sitting home writing blogs more often now, instead of running about the town. 
Ok, back to the subject of driving. There are go-carts, and while they are fun to drive, the other people on the track take away the fun for me. I can't stand the thrill of crashing into go-carts, and trying to race ahead in tight spots. I would prefer to have the track to myself and race really fast all on my own. When my sister and I each got our own cars as teenagers; I do remember racing her in my little blue 88' Chevy Cavalier down the Bootlegger Trail: she had more guts, racing me with her blue Pontiac Sundance. But then she was always racing on the right side of the road, while I took the outside and dared to race against the possibility of oncoming traffic. It was a part of the road less traveled, I don't recall every facing the thrill of an oncoming car.... As a side note, I also do not like the bumper cars at the fair. Oh, she always won
Ok, so angry driving. Let's talk about when other drivers piss you off. I find delayed anger while behind the wheel to be the greater of the angry's. Don't you hate when the car in front of you is slow, but don't you hate it more when your own distractions cause you to notice you have been behind the slow vehicle for a while, and now you are missing green lights, and the cars in the lane next to you are flying by?!? I also find if I am on the highway, and I am behind a standard car that is going slow, I pass the car by in a normal manner, without much thought. However, if the vehicle in front of me is old and ugly and going slow, I pass with great irritation; it's the "get up on it's ugly backside, and yank the wheel to the left, and pass by with a great gunning of the gas, fly by, look over, glare at the driver, and then watch them disappear in your rear view mirror" kind of passing of the car. Ugly cars make for greater road rage. Or it that just me? 

So, I think most people have experienced a "homeless" person standing at a busy intersection holding  their sign, waiting for someone to roll down the window and stick out their hand with an offering of money or food. At some intersections, there is someone on all 4 sides. I have wondered before what the word on the street is for which intersections pay the most. What day is the best tipping day? Do they fight among themselves to stand at certain lights. If  five people show up at a four way stop, where does the 5th person then decide to go? Well I pass by one particular intersection here in the heart of uptown and everyday someone is there with a sign; with their individualized written statement written across the sign. Well, the other day I caught the red light at this particular intersection, and on this day no one stood on the side. But there in the grass just off to the side a bit was a rather large cardboard sign that simply said "Homeless." No person was with the sign. No person was walking among the cars collecting hand outs. This struck me as very odd, this abandoned "homeless" cardboard sign. What happened to the person who had held that sign? Did the day pay so well that they were now doing well in the world, and they had got a job and a place to stay? Did someone hand them a $100 dollar bill which caused them to then toss the sign aside and leave that street corner behind? Did they trade off that sign for a more personalized sign? That abandoned cardboard sign almost felt like I was at a crime scene, as a mystery certainly did exist as to how the simply stated "homeless" sign got to be all alone at the busy intersection of Lyndale and Hwy 94, where every day someone stood.

Same movie: another quote:  
Hank: "I don't like to see Kate upset."
Him: "Well if I were you, I would invest in blindfolds." 

Last but not least, the last subject I wish to discuss is people who have to work with the elderly. I spend a fair amount of time with my grandmother, and I bring her to her doctor's appointments, and I witness the patience that these employees have to show when they are working with the elderly. My experience has mostly been that people who work as receptionists at different doctor's offices are not entirely patient or kind  with the elderly; this makes me very sad. Well the other day, I was sitting in the waiting room at my Grandma's eye doctor appointment and all elderly people were coming in. So while I am sitting there I overhear a grumpy old lady state loudly to the receptionist that she is there for her appointment with Dr. Smoo. I hear a pause, and then the receptionist saying "I don't see that appointment in here for today, are you sure it was today?" The grouchy lady then says "What, I can't hear you?" The receptionist then states a little louder, "I don't show that you have an appointment today, that doctor doesn't work today." The elderly lady then gruffly says, "I'm deaf, I can't hear you, what did you say" Oh my, I felt for that poor employee!

That is all. It is a gray spring day today, all is quiet outside except the sound of falling rain, and the occasional passing car. A fine spring May day.

Wednesday, May 15, 2013

A Boy and His Cat

I have my usual odd and creative thought in my head, but my mind is exhausted today, so instead I want to tell a story that I clipped out of the Readers Digest many years ago, that tells the love of a boy and his cat. It is a sad story, but for those who have dealt with the loss of a pet this story will touch your heart.
I also want to share this story knowing of the recent loss of my cousin, and of other people I know that are dealing with the loss of a loved one this year.
May there be peace in death, perhaps not right away, but in time.
I'm not sure how he got to my clinic. He didn't look old enough to drive, although his child's body had begun to broaden and he moved with a heavy grace of young manhood. His face was direct and open.
When I walked into the waiting room, he was lovingly petting his cat through the open door of the carrier on his lap. With a school-boys faith in authority, he had brought his sick cat in for me to mend.
The cat was a tiny thing, exquisitely formed, with a delicate skull and beautiful markings. She was about the boy's own age, give or take a year. I could see how her spots and stripes and her fierce, bright face had evoked the image of a tiger in a child's mind, and Tigress she had become.
Age had dimmed the bright green fire of her eyes into a faded lace, but she was elegant and self poised. She greeted me with a friendly rub against my hand.
I began to ask questions to determine what had brought this charming pair to see me.Unlike most adults, the boy answered simply and directly. Tigress had had a normal appetite until recently, when she'd begun to vomit a couple times a day. Now she was not eating at all and withdrawn from her human family. She had lost a pound, which is a lot when you only weigh six.
Stroking Tigress, I told her how beautiful she was while I examined her eyes and mouth, listened to her heart and lungs, and felt her stomach. My fingers found it: a tubular mass in mid-abdomen. Tigress politely tried to slip away. She did not like the mass being handled.
I looked at the fresh-faced boy and back at the cat he had probably loved all his life. I was going to have to tell him that his beloved companion had a tumor. Even if it were surgically removed, she probably would survive less then a year, and might need weekly chemotherapy to last that long.
It would be very difficult and expensive. So I was going to have to tell this boy that his was cat was likely to die. And there he was, all alone.
Death is something we push to the background and ignore as long as possible  but in reality every living thing we love will die. It is an omnipresent part of life. How death is first experienced can be a life-forming. It can be a thing of horror and suffering, or a peaceful release.
So I would have to guide the boy through this myself. I did not want the burden. It had to be done perfectly, or he might end up emotionally scarred.
I would have been easy to shirk this task and summon a parent. But when I looked at the boy's face, I could not do it. He sensed something was wrong. I could not just ignore him. So I talked to him as Tigress's rightful owner and told him as gently as I could what I had found, and what it meant.
As I spoke, the boy jerked convulsively away from me, probably so I could not see his face, but I had seen it begin to twist as he turned. I sat down and turned to Tigress, to give the boy some privacy, and stroked her beautiful old face while I discussed the alternatives with him: I could do a biopsy of the mass, let her fade away at home, or give her an injection and put her to sleep.
He listened carefully and nodded gravely. He said he didn't think she was very comfortable anymore, and he didn't want her to suffer. He was trying very hard. The pair of them broke my heart. I offered to call a parent to explain what was going on.
He gave me his father's number. I went over everything again with the father while the boy listened and petted his cat. Then I let the father speak to his son. The boy paced and gestured and his voice broke a few times, but when he hung up, he turned to me with dry eyes and said they had decided to put her to sleep.
No rage, no denial, no hysteria, just acceptance of the inevitable. I could see, though, how much it was costing him. I asked if he wanted to take her home overnight to say goodbye. But he said no. He just wanted to be alone with her for a few minutes.
I left them and to sign out the barbiturate I would use to ease her into a painless sleep. I could not control the tears streaming down my face, or the grief I felt welling inside for this boy who had to become a man so quickly and so alone.
I waited outside the exam room. In a few minutes he came out and said that he was ready. I asked if he wanted to stay with her. He looked surprised  but I explained that it was often easier to observe how peaceful it was then forever to wonder how it exactly happened.
Immediately seeing the logic of that, he held her head and reassured her while I administered the injection.She drifted off to sleep, her head cradled in his hand.
The animal looked quiet and at rest. The owner now bore all the suffering. This was the finest gift you could give, I said, to assume another's pain so that a loved one may rest.
He nodded. He understood.
Something was missing, though.I did not feel I had completed my task. It came to me suddenly that though I had asked him to become a man instantly, and he had done so with grace and strength, he was still a child.
I held out my arms and asked if he needed a hug. He did indeed, and in truth, do did I.

Sunday, March 31, 2013

Pessimistic People We Are Not

To which my reply is there is not pessimistic people and optimistic people, but rather people who live their lives with great expectations or very little expectations. People typically think of me as a person of great pessimistic thought. However, I am aware of moments here and there from day to day where great optimism exists in my heart and my head. I realize that my optimistic moments lie in the moments of the day where I am confident in my ability to be in control of the outcome of a particular event. I find myself to be a fairly reliable person to myself. Here my expectations are high and therefore optimism prevails.
However, I find that I am pessimistic in almost all situations which require great expectations of other people. To which I argue, how can one be optimistic in this life when in fact so much is reliant on interactions with people. I think the news stories of terrible tragedies, of unthinkable horrors done to others, of failure and corruption; and of the reoccurring theme of mental madness existing right next door to us, and on the road in the car ahead of you, and with the co-worker that resides in the cubicle next to you, should all indicate we should all lean towards low expectations, which suspiciously dresses itself as pessimistic thought.
Let me begin with a story.
I once had a co-worker who proclaimed that he was a quite the optimistic person. He believed in good in all people. He proudly talked about how he went about his relationships with his lady friends by having no expectations. He felt that the secret to a great relationship was in fact to not have any expectations.
(note: his longest relationship had been 5 months)

I replied first with a ponder and then I stated that we in fact live with 1,000 expectations every day. When speaking of relationships, we have expectations of such things that they will dress themselves appropriately for the day, and take a shower, and utilize public bathrooms, and not pee on peoples tires. For most of us, we have expectations  that our significant other will treat us with respect and not call us names, as we stroll around in public. We expect our lover to not steal from us, and to pay all or half of the restaurant bill. We expect our person of choice to do any number of pleasurable tasks that apply to our happiness, such as give a massage when you are stressed, or pick up your favorite magazine when they are at the store. We expect them to know what things we enjoy and to go about supplementing our lives with their unique understanding of how to meet those needs. This is only a small sampling of what we expect in a relationship. To which his reply, was "Well those are all given things." To which I further argued, indeed they are not; in fact I believe there is no such thing as "Well that is a given." Look into any person's relationship, and you find what they wish were "givens' are in fact needs that are not being met.

Let me back up a little here and explain what I think defines optimism. If you are a person who feels life is full of "givens" such as the cars who share the roads with you will stay in there lane and use their blinkers as necessary  and not run red lights, etc., that McDonald's will get your order right, and that your workplace will pay you your earnings, etc., and that your apartment will not burn down, and that your loved ones will get safely through each day until they are old and gray... well the list is endless. So lets say you think all these things are "givens", therefore you do not give thought to what should occur should the GIVEN or the EXPECTATION not occur. So when all goes right with the day, you feel like you are an optimistic person; all of your great expectations occurred during your day successfully, while you go about being dumb to all the things that you expected to go right, therefore your world is rosy.
But then what almost always occurs when the expected fails. Well I am not a optimistic, so I can not speak entirely of how an optimistic person deals with unexpected tragedy. It is only my understanding that they most likely were not prepared for the failure of the "given" not occurring.
I have a unique m.kat.t. (me, myself, and I) theory to which I say "Tell my your worst possible scenario  and I will provide you with 5 other worst possible scenarios that you didn't even think of." I feel this is my specialism. I have rational worst possible incidents that I think in my head, and yet the world still surprises and surpasses every day my worst possible situations!
Now let me define a pessimistic person. Let me directly talk about my own thoughts, so that I am not speaking as if though I am an expert, but merely experienced in living life with low expectations. I do not expect drivers to stay in their lane, to stop at red lights, and to look before merging. I have never been the cause of any accident, and it was only a year ago that I experienced my first fairly significant accident when on slippery roads, a car slid into my car at a fast speed and took off my bumper and made some lovely dents in the side of my car. Did I initially swear a lot when the accident happened and say a word that rhymed with duck over and over; yes I did, but then I pulled myself together and instead found the destruction to be of fascination  and of "hmm, well that changes my plans for the day."  By the end of the day, the insurance company had my claim, and my car was in the shop, and I was driving a rental. I "expect" to get into accidents on snowy days, therefore when it happened I was prepared.

Oh stop all the madness. I can't stand it. This is going is so many different directions, because suddenly this is not about expectations alone, but about what are expectations are. I "expect" things to go wrong, and therefore, I experience and notice when things go wrong. I am sensitive to failure and I expect failure, therefore I have expectations, negative expectations, but great expectations never the less. And suddenly this is an entirely long rant about how I thought that I could say there is not pessimistic people and optimistic people but a difference in great or little expectation. When in fact if you have expectations of good, and good happens, you will  notice the good, and you're are an optimistic. And if you have expectations of negative and bad, and negative and bad occur, you will notice it, and you continue to be a pessimistic. To which I wish to return to my days of sitting up in a tree and enjoying the sun, and the great big blue Montana sky, and finding comfort in a simple world where tag and hide-n-seek were the highlights of my day.

And so I will end this madness with knowing there is still a great deal of hidden points in this blog. There are those that define their lives with "givens," and those that are aware of their expectations. There are those who associate with people who will help define their idea of self worth or self loathing. There are people who are givers and people who are takers, and without each to give and take, well it wouldn't be right if it wasn't a push, pull world. It is the momentum of the world, pushing and pulling, being happy, being angry, being joyful, being sad. Tragedy and Miracles occurring together in this space of a day. Together we hold hands united, and yet we are divided with disappointment in our hearts; yet only knowing, only wanting the love of others to lift us up, and hold us tight, and tell us everything will be all right. We are human, we are flawed, and we can only do our very best, which sometimes is in fact fantastic failure, and we live till our heart stops cold, and the last breath escapes, and then to where do we go, only then will we know.

To my cousin, Jennifer, you are not here anymore, and you lived your life in the only way you knew how, and it was filled with tragedy and heartbreak, yet joy and success; you are missed. You will always be in our hearts and loved fiercely by those who knew of your struggles and how you fought to do the best that you could.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Moments that Matter

Let's talk about some of the Hmmm's of life.
Let's talk about uncomfortable matters that somehow matter a lot. 

And is not the word "matter" just uncomfortable in itself; a) "matter" (means something), b) "matter" (of the universe floating freely about), c) "madder" (angry but sounds like matter). Nothing is more uncomfortable to me then someone saying "You matter to me," when really it sounds like they are saying "You madder to me." hmmm... Ah the English language and it's sound alike but are not alike words. Again, hmmm. 

Yes, I am thinking of you who says "May I have a pint of ice cream," as you rhyme it to mint and lint, and not to pie. You do have a valid point. 
So, today I had some uncomfortable moments, and I feel like sharing.  

I won't go in any particular order, but backwards. 

I think we can all say that we have told stories of a frustrating phone conversations we have had with someone who has a thick accent or uses certain slang, and we find ourselves saying things like "And she must have been a black woman, because...", or perhaps my most used is, "And they must have been middle eastern, because I couldn't understand anything (...AND I was talking to Tech support). So this morning I overheard a white (appeared homeless) woman recounting a story of a frustrating phone conversation to her male (also appeared homeless) companion, and the lady said, "and this woman answered the phone, and she must have been white, because she was speaking English...." Well, it made me laugh  but then really made me curious as to how else this woman viewed people in the world, when she needs to state she (a white person) was talking to a white person because they spoke English! It left me with a hmmm. 

And then just moments before that encounter, I was walking in the wonderfully warm sky-way system to my car on what is a most terribly cold day outside, and a (what appeared to be another homeless person who was dressed in ragged clothes) was walking the incorrect way. He wasn't following the rules; he was walking to the right of everyone, and well, people that don't follow the norm of walking or driving on the right side of the street, or path, drive me crazy. (Shirley; I shall never move to England. Ha!) And as he went to pass me on the right, I thought, "No, not today; today I will insist on staying to the right, and I will not hastily change my way and lurch to the left gracefully, but I will stand my ground and keep to the right of my way. Well this man insisted on his way as well, until we were both stopped standing defiantly in front of one another, (no eye contact, mind you) and he stood his ground and motioned his hands to the left and said, "You go ahead, (to the left)" and with some embarrassment in my heart of having lost the game of "chicken," I went to the left. And then I heard him mutter, "I'm trying to outsmart you." And what did I think then, I thought, well it was just a rope barrier, and how fantastic would it have been to have swiftly continued to the right with a quick duck down to go under the rope and step around him, and come out on the other side.Well it certainly would have made me look like a damn fool to all the business people who were walking about, but perhaps it would have made them smile inside too, because perhaps they too, don't like people who pass on the right. Hmmm... 

Speaking of walking and it's rules, and there are many rules to follow... 
I greatly dislike people who are walking just an arms length away ahead of you, and they enter through a door and they open it as little as possible and scoot through as quickly as they can, and make no effort to show courtesy of extending their arm out in an effort to keep the door open for you as well. I have seen some people not only open the door narrowly, but give a quick tug of the door to pull it shut after them. Well, I am a fast walker and I can keep up with the fastest" I'm in a huge hurry and I have a great big personal space bubble around me" people, so I quickly enter through the door as well, and I am usually fortunate enough to have a great length of shared hallway space ahead of us, and I walk directly behind them, just close enough to not be clipping their heels as they walk, and I walk as if though I am completely confident and not bothered (or aware) of my big bubble colliding with their big bubble. For some reason I am greatly satisfied in having walked in their bubble unwelcomed, merely because they were not courteous enough to keep the door held open for just a minute more for the person behind them. And this is coming from me, someone who has a tremendously large personal bubble I walk around in. 

And finally let's talk about the most uncomfortable of uncomfortable. Public bathrooms. I've had many public bathroom nightmares over the years. The most recent being that I walked into a women's bathroom to find all open toilets, just row after row of toilets, and girls sitting and peeing, or pooping perhaps. And I kept trying to find a toilet that was somewhat far from one being used, and I would discover that the isolated toilet would be filled to the brim with water that was clogged with toilet paper and brown floating "boats." I have had dreams about being in a large building and taking elevators to different floors to try to find an unoccupied bathroom, or to try to find just any bathroom at all. I typically have the reoccurring dream of having to use a bathroom that is wide open and that has a toilet that is typically clogged. But then I have a very emotionally disturbed bladder that acts like a toddler and demands my attention about 30 times a day, and that I have to take to the bathroom right away to allow it to pee. That also could be another entire blog, but this will the extent of which I talk about that. 

Sooo, at work there is an employee bathroom with only two stalls. And generally, 95% of the time no one else is ever in there when I attend to my tantrum throwing bladder. Well, today I entered into the bathroom to find that "Gah, someone was in the 2nd stall, and they were humming!" So I figured they might not humm any longer once I came to occupy the neighboring stall. But they did continue to humm!, and suddenly it seemed so embarrassing to yank down my pants and sit down my naked butt on the toilet and let them hear the sound of my fast trickle. 

side note: It was kind of like jumping into the shower naked with someone who is singing badly in the shower, "Uh, excuse me, can I just scoot my naked body around your naked, loudly shouting self, and borrow the soap, please?" 

It suddenly became kind of personal, me peeing as they happily hummed a tune. And I didn't just have one embarrassing at work bathroom moment today, but two! Well about half an hour after the encounter I just spoke of, I made the well known trip to the bathroom again, and I was greeted with the unpleasant smell of brown sinking boats having just been passed. Well, there are only two stalls, and there is nothing quite as uncomfortable as trying to detect which stall the deed was done in, so that you won't be totally grossed out when you sit on the seat and it is still warm.... The goal is find the cold toilet seat. Well, I tried to sniff it out, but yet not, with a narrowing of my nasal passages, and well this never works, so I had a 50/50 shot. I won't talk about the temperature of the toilet seat past this point. Oh, a girl's life. Hmmm.... 

Well, if you haven't laughed at some point while you read this or been a little embarrassed about what you were reading, well, then I can only hope you will come across your own discovery of new things to ponder about today. I hope for a "hmmmm" to exist somewhere in your day today.
May all be well. 

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

A picture perfect relationship

Let's talk about me and you. We are entirely two different people, yet we get along fantastically. We make each other laugh ridiculously; we play off each other, and we enjoy a lot of the same things. We get each other. We even argue with one another rather well. I really like yelling at you, and seeing what crazy defensive comment you will throw my way. You quite often get even more mad when I laugh at you during our arguments, and you will ask me" why?" To which I will never reply, "Well clearly I know what I am talking about, clearly I am right  about the shit that I am saying you do wrong, and well you! you don't have anything on me, I don't do anything wrong,( in which there is not a reasonable explanation for my errors!)" I usually tell him that I am laughing because I am nervous, and that seems to work ok. When he asks why I am nervous, I tell him that I don't like us arguing and not getting along and that seems to work pretty well too.

And so where am I going with this, well really no where at all, except I would like to talk about pictures. I would like to further explore into the world of people who put up pictures in the first couple of days that they move into a new place, as this is a behavior I am far removed from. I once lived in the same apartment for 5 years, and in the 4th year, I finally put up pictures. I did quite a fantastic job of it too. I cut up pictures from calenders and magazines and matched them up, and bought picture frames and put together several lovely framed pictures of 3 and created a warm autumn theme to my place. A year later I moved out, and have lived in 3 places since then and I have never put the pictures back up. My pictures spend far more time in the back of closets then they do upon the wall. I have been in my new place for a few months, and yesterday I hung up a small calender on the wall, after all it is the start of a new year, and it's reasonable to think that one ought to at least have a calender hanging up somewhere. I am pretty sure this hanging calender will be the only entertainment that my walls will experience in giving them life for at least the next years time. I am also almost certain, that January will exist for half the year, and then perhaps July will hold up for the remainder of the year. (And I am not particularly fond of deer).

And so let's talk about him; my other half. We have been together for a little over two years, and he has lived in three different places. When I first met him, I was quite impressed by the very nice tasteful artwork upon his walls. He had excellent taste and had spent some money on the pictures that hung on his walls. And then we moved in together for a short while, and the first thing he did on the very night we moved in was to hang pictures on the walls. They were measured and looked over, adjusted and rearranged, and at the end of the night, all the pictures were hung with a nice mix of my pictures and his. I was impressed, but yet in awe of someone who would find it necessary to hang pictures right away. What on earth does one person possess inside themselves to desire to put up pictures right away on the vast empty white walls? What does this say about him and perhaps his dislike for silence? His TV is always on, and mine is never on. I sit in silence at my place all the time, and rather like working with people and not saying a word. I am very comfortable  with silence. I barely notice empty walls. He is always with noise; even while he sleeps.

Well one night while we were living together we got into a bit of a silly argument  and I was at work for the night and he was home alone with the house centipedes. He was a little bit stupid with slight intoxication, and I was perfectly sober and of sound mind to tell him about how he was wrong about something. Well he went about his silly "well you do this," one liner's, and by the end of the night, he told me he was done, and he would be moving out tomorrow. I said, "ok;" we said a pleasant Good Night, and I finished working my overnight shift. Well I came home around 8am, to find that bags were not packed, clothes and bathroom items had not been gathered together in a corner; however the walls were empty, white and boldly staring at me with accusation of my part of stripping them bare. And there by the door were his pictures, and mine were neatly stacked in their own pile off to the side. It did result in a much more powerful reaction out of me, as suddenly the place that had never had empty walls from day one, seemed quite cold and unwelcoming. It had much greater affect on me then should a bag have been neatly packed by the door. It gave a much better picture of the emptiness the place would hold, should I exist in that place without him from that day forward. Had it been me, as it sometime was I merely packed a small overnight bag, and left without hesitation with intentions of making arrangements the next day to move out the rest of my belongings.

And so it goes that as the day continued on we talked as we always do, and we hugged it out, and went and got lunch together, and he went to work, and I went to bed. The next morning after my shift I came home to find all the pictures back up on the wall. And things were good, and the welcome of our home that only he could provide with his care in hanging up pictures was restored. And this is just one small reason why I think we are meant to me. Where I fail, he impresses; and where he fails, I impress. We are a puzzle that has been in the works for many years to finally come together and make a amazing picture. We create a picture that is a 1,000 little pictures of our past experiences of our hurts, of our connections and disconnections with friends and family over the years, of our accomplishments  and failures, a 1,000 plus pictures coming together to create one whole beautiful picture. And this my friend is a blog about me and you, and about those who put up pictures, and those who do not. This is my picture to you, my colorful art (whether you find it tasteful or not) hung upon your wall for the day.
Who's picture will add to your picture today?