And that’s what I am doing. Maintaining a blog with no internet is nearly impossible, and so PfC went on hiatus for a loooong time. We are back, and have some great ideas and goals for the new year. I am working on a book about the PfC concept and stepping up our efforts on the blog.
It has been a month since my fiance lost his father, since the call that after a certain age, I think we are biologically programmed to know we will receive, but end up never being fully prepared for. It came without warning, on the heels of the good news that I was employed once more. Our phone was out at the time, and we had to travel the short drive to my sister’s home to call the cousin that had emailed Josh, telling him to call her…it was urgent.
We’ve all lost someone; there is no need to rehash the details of something that everyone has or will one day share. What struck me then, and continues to strike me weeks later, are the reactions of the people around me, including my own and Josh’s. Little things that I take out of my memory and look at like a morbid little mini scrapbook, with pictures of love and smartassery on the pages. The gentlemen involved got all manfully annoyed at me for making a big deal of it, but when our good friend Demko arrived at a graduation party we attended the next night, he put his arm around Josh and Josh hugged him back, and for a moment Josh laid his head, just for a second or two, on Demko’s shoulder, in a way that men never do when things are fine and good and fart jokes are more appropriate. I squeed aloud and made a joke about hetero man love and the boys got all hurrumphy and told me to stop making a big deal of it, but it was one of the most touching things I had seen in a long time.
My family are extremely irreverent about sickness, death, and dying. Through three grandparents deaths from stroke, cancer, and just plain antiquity, we have made every inappropriate joke you can think of. My mother’s diabetes has offered up reams of humourous material, including my calling her “Helen Keller” when, in addition to being blind as a mole, she was having trouble hearing me one day. During a stint in the ICU a few years aback, the nurses looked on, aghast, as my fascinated sister and I made my mother laugh because it “made the monitors jump like she was coding”. Hilarious!
When Josh and his cousins started talking about the plan to send his dad’s ashes down here, the inevitable coffee can jokes began. He wished to be spread in a canyon in California (real convenient, Mike!) and I immediately mock worried that we would inadvertently recreate the scene towards the end of The Big Lebowski where the ashes fly at Jeff Bridges’ face. “Don’t accidentally make coffee out of him”, I also joked to Josh. And Josh got it, and ran with it, and there was some back and forth along the lines of the best part of waking up was not Dad in your cup, or some such. Totally not acceptable, but it worked for us.
The most recent episode of How I Met Your Mother featured the death of one of the lead character’s dads, the emotions of disbelief and horror excruciatingly and realistically rendered by the actors. I saw the rather twist-y ending coming not three seconds before Josh did, and I lunged to turn off the tv before the scene played out. Josh stopped me and insisted he was fine. I think I cried more then then I did at any other point after he got the news. I won’t try to analyse why. Josh’s dad and I didn’t always get along well, but he gave me Josh, and Josh loved him dearly, and when his remains arrive on our doorstep, I am going to hug that coffee can to me and tell him I that I think, in his own slightly bumbling way, that he was good to the very last drop.
The events about which you are about to read happened one random morning, but are representative of any given morning in my household. I had the sudden, urgent need to share them here.
I have awoken. My fiance, Josh, is still lightly sleeping next to me. I am bored.
Me: ::flops teddy bear arm over Josh’s face::
Me: ::places arm more firmly over nose::
Josh: ::opens one eye, visible over furry bear arm::
Josh: Stop that. ::mildly, for he is used to this::
Me: Hello. ::moves bear arm firmly over mouth and nose::
Josh: ::moving arm:: Stop smothering me.
A small tussle ensues wherein Josh moves bear arm, and I replace it, only to have Josh tuck bear arm tightly under his head with a slight “Ah HA!” flourish. After a moment or two, I simply flip entire bear onto his face.
Josh: ::giggling a little:: STOP IT! You’re smothering me.
Me: ::exerts more pressure::
Josh: Your sense of humour manifests itself weirdly.
Me: How is that?
Josh: You’re trying to kill me.
Me: Don’t be silly, I would stop before you die.
Bear is removed and there is peace for a few moments. I cannot have this. And so I start poking my finger into the edge of Josh’s nose. He groans irritatedly and flops over onto his side, little spoon fashion, upon which I start fluttering my fingers at his ear. He squirms and says, “Stooooop iiiiitt!” I take pity on him for a short while. Then I get over that.
Me: ::hugging him tightly:: My lil spoon.
Josh: ::suspicious, but enjoying hug::
Under the covers, I very lightly tickle his tummy, where he goes berserk and starts squirming madly. I have, in the past, managed to squirm him off the bed with this.
Josh: Stop TICKLING ME!!!
Me: Don’t be silly. This is simply an early morning ritual of advanced yoga moves for the hands.
Josh: You’re full of shit.
Me: No, dude, there’s a book, called Yoga for the Hands.
Josh: I believe that. I don’t believe that is what you are doing.
A pause. I have stopped tickling him and have my fingers up by his ear again. I flutter my fingers at his ear once more.
Me: This one is Fluttering Moths.
Josh: AHHHHH! Stop!
Me: ::stops:: ::long pause:: ::places finger directly into ear::
Me: Piercing Arrow.
Josh: :;appears dangerously close to forcibly locking me in closet for the rest of day::
I subside. But I will return with my Fluttering Moths of Doom and Piercing Arrow of Annoyance.
Which is what it will most likely take in order for me to me productive again.
Long time no see.
After several months of some pretty difficult experiences that have kept me away from anything remotely creative, I have some solid goals for the New Year, including starting a podcast, committing to a new post each week, and getting in some guest authors to the blog.
Oh, yeah, and I am going to make stuff.
I was checking my blog stats and was getting this monster (for me on an average day) number of views and so I checked the referrers and saw that my buddy Rana, whose marvelous blogs on her awesome work can be found in my blogroll (check out Definitive Designs) had posted a comment to a post over at Epbot. Consequently a whole loada folks came and checked me out. I wanted to thank Rana, Jen-the amazing talent behind not only Epbot but also the immensely wonderful Cake Wrecks, and the folks who swung by to give me a view.
Jen at Epbot talks in this post about a crushing disappointment which led her to find solace in the laughter that reading other people’s brings her and invited commenters to link to their go-to belly laugh providers. She also challenged readers to turn a day of disappointment, sadness, or fear into a B.A.D Day (Blogger Appreciation Day Day…yes, the redunancy is part of the joke). I thought it was a cool idea, and felt it really odd that it coincided with my rare serious post about finding happiness where you can.
So turn a bad day into a B.A.D. Day when you can.
*toots a clown horn*
Hey, just wanted to toss out a quick couple of links to some work I have done elsewhere on teh intarwebz. These are my various articles on Mookychick, a very cool UK based lifestyles website for the alternative type human female. It’s a pretty awesome site, so give it a look. Especially my stuff. Cuz I rock.
Just a quick thank you to all the folks that have hit up my blog in recent days, and especially for Amy from Mod Podge Rocks for featuring me on her Facebook page and sending a bunch of good folks my way. I tell you true, I love, shamelessly and gleefully love, folks subscribing to Points For Creativity, and I would be tickled all kinds of shades of pink if you would do so…if you’ve a mind to. I force no one. The indoctrination is all voluntary, I promise.