And
miscellany this shall be. Shut up.
Oh…but
before you shut up and I take over; let me pop this story with something sartorial.
Because it seems like that’s what this venue used to focus on. I need to
confess my guilt…about over-fuzzying this jacket. I’ve taken a perfectly
sublime, ain’t gonna see ones-damn-self walking down the street in the same Russell Plaid jacket, ADG tasty contrivance…and tarted it up so over-the-damn-top-ly that
even I, the Potentate of P-tang, can’t wear it out of the damn house.
So
I’ll have that Velveteen Rabbit meets a Vegas hotel suite sofa cushion collar…removed.
And then I’ll write a proper story about how this jacket came to be. Shut…I’m
serious. I don’t want to hear it.
I’ve
said it to scores of people…While my blessings absurdly outweigh my challenges,
I’ll be giddy when 2013 is over. It’s been a rich year, life-learning wise and
my lessons learned-humility account is filled to the damn brim. My
pugnacious declarations regarding my desire for 2013 to pass are balanced with the knowing that if I crow too
much about ’13 being behind us, the karma coordinators may show me a 2014 that
makes this one look like a stroll through Burlington Arcade. It’s all about
balance. Or something.
And
one of the most amazing blessings this year has been my mother’s decision to
not yet leave us. I believe, deep, deep, down in my being, that if we; amidst
chronic disease or the end of our life journey, have some unfinished something
that we've yet to reconcile or say or do or experience, we won’t let go. I’m
not sure why my mom didn’t die in March. All I know is that the doctors remain
pretty much speechless and when science and data driven clinicians use twee-ass words like miracle, I
take notice. So amidst the humbling—for her and us—duties involved with helping
my mom, we are all aware that every day she remains with us is indeed a
blessing.
I
drove over to spend one evening with her after my uncle’s funeral the other day
and she was to say the least, on her game! Sharp as a damn tack and in my grill about how I was arranging
her leg pillows and her three blankets that have to be just damn right and her
little footies that I put on her feet inside-out and you’d a thought that I’d
chopped her feet off. And then we laughed after I finally, barely, got things
arranged to suit her.
I hadn't been to the family farm in years so my trip down was filled with all
sorts of memories and speculations about how I’d feel when I got there. While
it’s sad to see the once bustling tobacco farms essentially idle—mainly because
it’s winter—we rent the land to other sower-reapers so during the seasons,
there is life and activity and the fallow fields are planted and life emanates.
But I loved being there and my uncle’s funeral was sweet. More later on the
farm because there’s fodder for at least one story.
Before…
After…And
yes, I realize that you're doing the “what the flip is this project ‘cause I know
that LFG ain’t a part of it” head scratch right now. Well just wait till I
write the story.
Socks…I
told you this was gonna be a disjointed pile of irreleventia and collateralia.
My latest obsession is with these oversized houndstooth thangs that F. Todd HogFarmer Howell of Coffman’s Menswear has been sending me…NOT for free. I pay the
freight because my man FTH has a lovely little gal to spoil and I know what
kinda dough that requires. So when I find something I like, I get duplicates
and I’ve had FTHogg, the most mismatched swathier alive, supply me some spares of these babies.
And
I owe my man Vinnie of DeoVeritas shirts a story and review of this bulletproof
pink oxford cloth shirt that I commissioned over at his site. So until I do so, please go over to his fully automated, order with ease website and make
yourself one. Please.
LFG
was supposed to be over here at my Bethesda digs like every other day after I
moved within five minutes of her, right? I mean...wasn’t that the strategy for
moving here? Well so far it ain’t happenin’. What was I thinking? That her
blessed and over-scheduled life would suddenly be less so? Christmas is in six
days and we still ain’t got no tree. I’m gonna go and buy an inflatable one
today.
But
her holiday dance recital last weekend was just great. Surprise I know, but I’m
as proud a parent when in the audience as anyone could be…regardless of how the
performances go.
This
year was different though. I can see real talent and I can see an
incrementally more skilled and accomplished dancer in my not so little LFG. Her
mother and I both marvelled at how this year’s recital showed us a daughter who’s
a really talented performer. And then I went home. Alone.
Meermin…If
anyone should pay me for shilling…which to-date nobody has, it should be
Meermin. At $240.00 a throw, I’m awaiting pair number two. Merry Christmas. To.
Me.
Let
me close this one out with my mom’s next door neighbor, Harry. I shared photos
of Harry and my mom when we finally got her out of the house and Harry bounded
over to love up on her. I posted this on my tumblr but it’s sublime enough to
share again. The best by far, Christmas card of 2013.
Onward.
Randomly and Houndstoothically.
Eighty-Gee.
Bofe
Oh! And one more thing. My all-time favorite Christmas song is Boogie Woogie Santa Claus sung by Mabel Scott. But her admonition for Santa to ... "run, run, run Mister Santa--jump, jump, jump Mister Santa" disturbs me. He's overweight and probably a type-2 diabetic with mild congestive heart failure. And we don't need his jolly ass on Worker's Comp. bam.
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