When my sister Lea was four-years-old she attended a wedding of our cousin and flashed the priest her vagina. Not once. It was vagina party time. Flowery dress, white eyelet socks, shiny black dress shoes, hair in ribbons, and there it was, on full display, as my terribly bored sister played with the hem of her dress, up, up, up—how high would she take it? To her bangs, for sure. “Where is your underwear!” my mother snapped.
Lea paused to think about this. “On my bed,” she responded. This is what happens when you don’t dress your children. They forget things, then people end up appalled with a dancing vagina on the premises.
Now, as far as I know, no one is appalled that my site has been showing up without it’s panties on. But I hate to be the one responsible for mucking things up, sending identical posts to people in their emails. I’ve misplaced bits of code, had to run some updates, and some loverly things broke, which had posts shooting out to email subscribers in duplicate. I had to roll back to earlier backups of my site, so now, without pussyfooting any longer, HERE is the content you missed, or you saw, whichever the case may be… from earlier… yesterday-ish…
I have no complaints, for once. I’ve been off living a five star life. Mind you, we didn’t travel over this April break from school, but each day has felt like a luxury. A luxury—not because something has gone wrong, and I’ve suddenly felt life more fully in the wake of disaster—because I know deeply how right my life is, and I’m terribly grateful that all my wishes have come true. A life full of mess on your hands, with refrigerator magnets, and voices to greet you when you walk through the door. It’s all that I’ve asked, and now that it’s mine, I’m devastatingly blissful. I should make time to write about the good moments, because there are many of them. Perhaps, it’s the arrival of Spring that’s lifted me. Or, perhaps it’s the Wellbutrin.
For a good while there, I didn’t leave the house. I ate my feelings and felt scattered and unable to complete anything. Recently though, I’ve been treasuring my days, early to rise, strong coffee, kissing the tops of their heads and inhaling their fragrant scalps. I won’t get on a scale because the fat jeans are tight, and deservedly so, what with my stowing away all winter, baking and devouring in excess. But lately, I feel as if I’m back on track, looking up. Some things I’ve really been enjoying lately:
Sheet Pan Suppers, the cookbook, makes me feel like a mother. Or maybe like my mother, who always had a balanced meal on the table when my father arrived home from work. I think I’m apt to try making everything because all the recipes require that I only use a single sheet pan. It contains my clutter, that overwhelming feeling that everything’s scattered, that there will be pots to clean and burners to watch. When I’ve tried the slow-cooker, Phil has always complained that everything tastes the same. It’s usually brown. But no more! Tonight it’s lamb chops over buttered carrots, and I feel in command.
I think it also helps that my mother was just here for a visit. That recharged me, too. I haven’t heard myself laugh like that in a long time, that similar cackle. I’ve been filling up on family, with Passover at my father’s home, with Carol’s family, and then with my mother in tow! “What a story this will make,” my father said. “Passover with my ex-wife and the family of my second wife. All that’s missing is a new girlfriend.” Carol’s ex-husband was there, too. “We truly are a blended family,” my bonus-sister Amanda texted me when I mentioned that my mom was joining us. I’m sure both my parents were a bit nervous at first, though to see them together you’d never know it.
We spent Easter with our dearest family friends at their new home, and I was so happy to introduce them all to my mother. My friend made the day a true memory, down to the most thoughtful details (From moss covered bunnies on the table to the Easter basket party favors and pussy willow tree of glittered eggs, each one hung as if it was a child’s wish). Photos to come.
While our beans slept at their grandparent’s home, Phil and I headed to Washington, DC for a few days. He was there on business, and I was there on play. I ate and drank all of DC.
I Netflix while at the gym, 40-60 minutes on the treadmill watching my way through a wishlist. Today, I found an unexpected gem of a film titled, A Five Star Life.
A single 40-something woman with a jet-setting dream job questions her solitary life and wonders whether romance might be her ticket to happiness.
The subtitled film (Italy, 2013) captured exactly what I’m feeling now: deep contentment strung up with hope. Aside from the acting and storyline, I also appreciated all the travel locations and cinematography. The close-ups, the hand gestures. It reminded me, in the filming only, of the movie Unfaithful with Richard Gere and Diane Lane, and I enjoyed the wish fulfillment factor, taking us behind the scenes of a pampered five-star hotel life, with and without kids. The film is quiet, and there’s no antagonist. I’m actually surprised it wasn’t an adaptation, as much of the conflict seems internal, and many of the complications are shown to us Greek Chorus style, after the mess has been made off screen. I won’t speak of such things, or I’ll ruin the gentle flow of the film.
My sister Lea is coming for a visit at the end of April. And while we love each other better from a distance—where we’re less likely to regress, I’m very much looking forward to seeing her and for the beans to spend time with Tia Lea. Last time she was here, I’d asked her to help me unload my trunk of a heavy package as we both got out of the car, to which she responded, “Do it yourself.” I wasn’t asking her to get off the sofa and put on a coat. Would you say this, ever, to a friend? “No,” she admitted. “But you’re my sister, so I don’t have to be nice.” Nice. It’s my dear Taurus sister’s birthday when she comes, so she’ll expect and deserve extra love. And while I may lead a five-star life, my home is decidedly not.
As a Netflix #StreamTeam member, I receive a complimentary subscription to Netflix in exchange for sharing 1 post each month about Netflix movies and TV Shows, though I often share more often because, let’s face it, I own the verb “overshare.” As always, all opinions are mine, without apology..