How’s about some non- grief things?

I feel like I’ve jinxed it now and grief things are gonna pop up here… I guess we’ll see!

And to begin… a tale of sleeping with two cats.

Alabama is so polite. He may come up to the head of the bed briefly for some head scratches or to aggressively knead for a minute or two… but otherwise he’s curled into as small of a ball he can make himself on the opposite bottom corner of the bed. He has never crowded me once in his entire life.

And then there is Asher.

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I have been washing and drying my Zuri dresses (Zuri found here) for years… and yeah. The regular length ones are all a little (lot) short now. So I ordered some new kitenge fabric from Kenya and am adding a panel to the bottom of the dresses to make them longer and making a matching belt to kinda pull it all together. I am doing this for each and every one. This is a labor of love, but oh man is it hard to find the right “match but contrasting” fabric, I tell you what. I have found the right fabric for ONE so far. The hunt continues and is enjoyable, don’t let me pretend it isn’t.

I also found a local seamstress who works out of her house to do the actual work. There is a curved hemline and button placket to contend with, so skill is needed. I’d do it myself… but my sewing skills edge more towards “battlefield nurse” and not “fine detailing.”

Consider it a labor of love to mix and match insane fabrics. I’m pretty damn excited about this project.

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Every SINGLE tarot pull lately (I have my own cards- this isn’t costing me $30 a pop, mind you. Also in various decks, not just this one. Yes I have a collection- don’t judge.) has The Fool card show up. Which DOES feel like the cards calling me names (Pfft. Look at this asshole out here…) but is actually a card of new beginnings, new journeys, and unknown possibilities.

Little on the nose but okay…

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In other news the Denver Audubon society did a couple of joke social media posts about bird fashion and I really and truly need a dedicated and serious website put to this:

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Hard right turn here…

Hey question- you ever price your mom’s tits at a garage sale?

Because that happened this weekend. And lest you think I’m being indecent here- just know these were displayed in my childhood living room till I was 10 when my Catholic grandmother threw an absolute shit fit about it. The charcoal drawing over mom’s desk stayed up though, because, as she told my grandmother: “that isn’t my vagina.” All works from her art college days. When I tell you I am so thankful to be the very blackest of black sheep around here…

After being taken down from the living room, the boobs then moved into the box of Christmas stuff for some reason for the next 30 years or so. And then I stumbled across them again with all the boxes of clothes Dad had me sell at a garage sale this weekend. Slipping one last trauma in under the wire… thanks Mom.

Surprisingly Dad didn’t want them. I don’t want them. And so…

They sold for $5 to a very nice lesbian lady who said “there is just something about it…”

Is it the tits? I bet its the tits part.

Anyway, when I tell this story to my brother later he says: “You know what? I bet mom would love that” and I think he’s right. She had nooo shame about her nude art- she displayed her works before in a gallery and (way) front and center in her own house. This is no private work of hers, so never you fear on that front.

The lady bought them within the first hour of the garage sale and I never did get the opportunity to reply to the question of “Is this you?” with “Worse! It’s my mom!”

Thanks for the $5, mom.

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I’ve been on a bit of a Mary Oliver “what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life” kick. There is hardship and pain here but most importantly I still stand here breathing… so what AM I going to do with that?!

I’m pretty sure that’s how I ended up standing atop a hovel in Mexico and staring at a pyramid to the sun god, so the answer needs to be “not THAT.” But still. What am I doing now- there is no future really, not really… it’s always right now and so what I am doing now matters.

I’ll tell you one thing. While I need the income to support the family, being a salesman isn’t it. And I’m good at sales. And I’m good at gardening. But those are ancillary as far as I’m concerned.

It’s always struck me that if we all just did the thing that brought us the most joy the world would be a better place. And so… I write. I write and write and write now, here in the “after,” because it makes me feel like flying when I catch it correctly. And it’s just silly little things and sometimes I doubt it’s value but I remind myself it doesn’t matter what the result it. It matters what the “doing” is…

So I have held to my schedule of making time for writing in each and every week. And I need to up it from one night a week to more, I think. Though to be fair I DID write 12 pages when I did sit down to write this past “writing night”. So thanks, “experience of every college paper ever getting written in one sitting”, that capacity is serving me well over here.

See you know that post wasn’t written by me because I’m not a singer. The other two examples though…

The other thing I have to force myself to do, over and over and over again, is to write what I want to write, not what an audience might want, or what nebulous critics might like.

No.

I have to write what I want to write and only only only that. This is the only way this all works, it seems like. Like there is some kind of agreement to fulfill.

Besides:

And so I write what I want to write. And it fills more and more of my time. And that all seems okay.

Okay or alright.

You know… whatever the worse one is.