Several years ago I stood on the green with my back to St. John's Episcopal where I used to go at lunch sometimes because unlike most churches in Stamford its doors were open between 11 and 2 during the week for no good reason other than to offer sanctuary and I listened to the organist, whoever he (yes, this is a gender assumption) was, hidden away somewhere sending In-A-Gadd-Da-Vidda barrelling through ancient pipes and I always meant to calm myself or cry or something but walked away centered in some unexpected place and I stood with my back to St. John's and looked up at my building, my window on the 5th floor specifically and photographed the blue, blue sky with the rolling white clouds reflected in the windows. I posted Perfect Blue Buildings and Shai G. from Tel Aviv by way of some English speaking country (I don't remember which, maybe Detroit) knew exactly what I meant.
I went back to Facebook today looking for that photograph but between then and now there are too many to scroll through in a reasonable amount of time and that Blackberry is long gone and so is that photograph but in the mean time I tripped through 2010 and part of 2011 found the bits and pieces of what I feel like today. Or something. I don't have the words to wrap around any of it, really, just this horrible empty hole in my center where sometimes I wake up, take a good hard look at my life and say, what the fuck?
It doesn't matter. I'm just hanging out in it at the moment. Here's what I found.
Under the category of: Things I still have to explain. Why I need a farm truck and what's missing in my life. Just how bloody big that dog really was. How much he loved me that he was ever willing to get in that car. The amount of dog food I had to buy from the Agway on a monthly basis, never mind the chicken feed and the straw bales.
I will never cross a runway. I don't need a sign and I don't need to be told. It's in my DNA and I need a footpath. My favorite book about Pilots is the The Shepherd by Fredrick Forsyth and it's about a De Havilland Vampire pilot who gets himself in a shitload of trouble Christmas Eve, 1957. Fredrick Forsyth wrote The Day of the Jackal and a lot of other stories just like that. The Shepherd is about as much a deviation for Forsyth as The Princess Bride is for William Goldman (screw the movie).
These are from 2010, my summer of dating sailors. One is from August and the other from September. I am waiting for the boat to be put away, I did as much as I could do and the rest was just lock up in the first shot and the second is really my date with a storm, it was a really BIG ASSED STORM, because The Sailor was putting away his fleet. Yes, fleet. He has a sailing school. And some really big boats too because he sells them. Or at least he used to sell them; I haven't asked lately if he's still doing that.
I was wicked shut down this summer. Mostly.
When I posted this I asked, Why, Cletus, Why? Now I know.
He didn't like children. No. Not at all. I'm not being facetious. I think I know what happened, but anyway, there was Elizabeth but she didn't count, she belonged to him. We all did.
This is the day I found Contra at Clearwater. It was also Florkow's birthday. I'd already been pulled away from the tent. I'm still grinning. We are in the only shade we can find listening, probably to the Indigo Girls and below we are way back from the stage photographing the crowd and the reason why we are not trying to be in front of the stage, under the hot, hot sun. This also falls into the category of Things I Don't Have Anymore. Not contra. I have that.
I swear to god, nobody gets it about Cletus. OK, some people get it about Cletus. Most of the time people just judge Cletus. It pisses me off. Here is Cletus doing her version, plus of that scene from Risky Business which is entirely unfair because she has never SEEN Risky Business. Shortly after this was taken the power went out. For like a week, or eight days or something. We blamed her. She accepted gracefully inasmuch as anyone can be graceful with a light saber and a frog. Wait, that's a water gun or something. But she's using it as a light saber. Trust me on this. And there was music. Loud music coming from the Bose iTouch speaker in her room. She was sliding up and down the hall and skidding into my room. Do I really need to go on?
Love. Her first. She wasn't even allowed to touch it. Only open the case and look at it.
Things I Don't Have Anymore Not Counting The Dog:
Sub Category One - my last job where I actually felt competent:
During the fifth floor build out I refused to move out. So I got a bubble. I was as happy as I'd ever been. Behind me was a huge window looking out over the green. You'll see it in a minute.
Blow it up. Pick. Left, Right or both. Your choice. If you don't have a sense of humor you'd better take the one on the left.
One time when I cleaned up my desk... (although the bubble shot is REALLY clean because it was one of my bi-annual surface purges)
I needed an upgrade right before we started the massive dual product system upgrade. I asked for an HP Slate (which is NOT a personal computer, but still). I got an HP Slate (eventually I got one of the new HP notebooks with fingerprint authentication that worked for everybody but me. HP fingerprint authentication insists that I do not have fingerprints (hell, maybe I don't, the Level three facility down the street thinks I don't have fingerprints either although it's ok with a palm scan and a retinal scan)). Also, this is the view out my window in the winter (late fall) and that is St. John's to the left.
You can file this under Weirdness but it's still part of the subcategory My Last Job. I was spooked just taking the picture. It took me three years of periodic sightings in the parking garage to do this.
WHO DOES THIS?!!!! And can anybody come up with a reasonable explanation?
And this. Other Things I Don't Have. These birds are half grown. Ok, maybe only a third grown. This was the end of it. And then the weasels came and it was all over.
When I was still optimistic and energetic and hopeful and looked out my window that first night after I'd picked them up from the post office and could still say all of Goodnight Moon in my head and so I did.
Perfect Blue. I saw some of these the other day still growing wild what is now back meadow. No sign of flowers though.
Quite honestly I need to cry for about three hours and then not talk to anybody for about a week. Cielo, when are you coming to get me? Please? I'm so tired today. Aren't we all some days?