Midlife Musings

Seriously, I just misspelled seriously as seriuosly. That’s how bad my head hurts. It hurts badly enough that I am considering going to the walk-in clinic instead of waiting for the physical appointment I made for May 30th. And if I had health insurance, I might even possibly go to the ER. My eyeballs are bugged out from the pressure and pain, Walgreens Migraine Relief is my frined, and I am one unhappy camper.

The other day at the library I picked up a book. Amazing, right? A book at the library? And honestly, it was more like a month ago, but I just finished it Sunday. Let There Be Clothes by Lynn Schnurnberger is a magazine-like book that covers the world of fashion from pre-history to 1990. (As an aside, is there really such a thing as pre-history? I mean, history is the story of the world, and what came before that? Nothing. And so what’s to tell? Nothing. So there can be no prehistory. OTOH, people sometimes use the term to mean before recorded history, but they always use it in the context of “during prehistoric times blahblahblah”, so they are recording what happened. Ergo, it’s not pre-history. D’uh)

I enjoyed the book, especially once I quit trying to read it word for word, and just browsed it like a catalog. There are numerous pictures on every page, and they are well labeled so you know exactly what you are looking at. It’s a fun read for someone who is into clothes or history or just knowledge for the sake of knowledge (that would be me, on all counts). I don’t think I’d buy it, but it’s a nice book nonetheless. And hefty, weighing in at 432 pages! Set aside a lazy Saturday, and give it a look, if your library has it.

Who is the black sheep in your family/group?
If you were a character from a book, what character would you be?
What’s your favorite accent?

Yes, these questions are from last week. But that’s ok, I am ready to Manic Monday, and the new ones aren’t up yet.

Black Sheep: I have this uncle. No, I actually have two uncles, one on either side………and that’s all on that. I guess I might also qualify as a black sheep, depending on the family/group we are discussing. It just seems like my life is one interesting adventure after another, kinda like the Chinese curse kind of interesting, yk?

If I were a character from a book, I would be…leading an even more adventurous life than I already have! Seriously, who needs the extra drama (say that with the short a sound in the middle). The life I have isn’t easy, and it’s quite busy, but it’s the one God gave me, so I will keep it. Also, I identify with the heroine in almost every book I read, unless I am identifying with the hero instead, as happened in The Time Traveler’s Wife and Matrimony. Also, I maybe would not mind being Claire for just a few days, provided they were days where she and Jamie were comfortable ensconced in a cozy……..ok, done.

My favorite accent, is a British one, particularly as delivered by Pete. You ought to hear him read American history. Sounds nothing like Jamie. Verra different, verra good all the same. I read his blog, which is all tech speak, just so I can hear him talk. Yes, I “hear” blogs. I don’t “hear” books. Weird? Maybe so, although now that I have actually heard Diana Gabaldon speak, I imagine I will forever “hear” her as Claire.

A lady who had been a good friend to Grandmother died this week. Here’s what I looked like heading out to the wake Thursday night.

That’s exactly what I am planning to do. I have had a very busy, very pressed week, and I need to chillax. I have just done the week’s grocery shopping, I am going to hang out and do some fun shopping with my mom tomorrow, and then write some lesson plans. Unless I decide to not write them until Sunday afternoon. Regardless, I am setting the SPS to autopublish, and I plan to spend the weekend not stressing.

Also, I have decided I really don’t blog very well when I wait until the late afternoon to do it. That will have to change.

Also, I bought another pair of shoes today–strappy wedge flip flops.

Also, some shoe fetishist asked me what size my shoes were last night. Or maybe it was a foot fetish. Yes, I totally typed both those phrases for the traffic. But it did indeed happen.

To get to the other side! D’uh!

Please forgive me, but I just had to lighten the mood a little bit over here. I can do somber for a bit, but then I have to laugh. And I know just where I got that trait from

I’ve been doing some magazine reading lately. This week, it has been allure. There are several good articles in there. I particularly enjoyed the perfume piece, and have a couple I want to go sniff when I get a chance. The issue also has an entire section on anti-aging, which I haven’t finished yet. So, far I have learned that one should use a moisturizer with retinol at night, and anti-oxidants during the day. And that InStyle isn’t the only mag to come out and recommend Aveeno. Guess I’ll be checking them out.

Ok, that’s it. Short and not serious. All fluff today!

It occurs to me that yesterday’s post might have been a bit confusing for those of you who do not know me personally, and maybe even for some that do. I mentioned Daddy’s grave and just last week I told you Daddy bought me some shoes. Well, neither one of us has lost our minds. Daddy and Daddy are too different men. They are so different, even, that I have been told I say the word differently depending on which I am talking about, and that those who know I have two dads can tell which one I am talking about by the way I say the name. I suppose that’s true, because they feel, smell and taste different inside my head.

My first Daddy is indeed dead, and it was his dad’s funeral we attended Sunday. He died when I was thirteen, but I’d not seen him since I was 6 or 7. It wasn’t what either of us wanted, but it’s the way things happened, and there you have it. You might as well put your past behind you, because you certainly can’t change it. I remember very little about him. A jar of marbles on a dresser, being carried through the snow. I was ….not happy as a child, and my solution to that was to blank my memory. I remember very few events, even up through my teens, and my first miserable marriage. Apparently, I found a trick that worked and I stuck with it. From the small tidbits I do remember, I know he loved me, and that is enough. I can remember things if I am reminded and/or shown pictures, and that is also enough. See, no one takes pictures of bad things, so then all my memories can stay good. That’s my Daddy.

My second Daddy is my mother’s second husband. They married when I was nine, and I have called him Daddy for 31 years. And he truly is my Daddy now. It took a very long time for us to get to that point. A lot of time, and a lot of pure-tee hurt, there is no denying that. He’s a huge man, and his voice is very deep, and I was a very small child, and so I stayed scared of him until I moved away from home. And then when I came home, I guess we both decided that it could and should be different, and so we made it that way. He may have never carried me through the snow so my shoes would not get wet, but I know he loves me just the same. He’s the one who drove me to the university hospital when Drama was life flighted out of our community hospital on a breathing tube. He’s the one who drove me to the eye doctor last year when I thought I was going blind. That’s my Daddy, too.

So there you have it, as well as I can explain it, anyway.

I noticed that many of you thought I looked different in that picture I posted Sunday. I guess I did. As I posted it, my mom was in the driveway honking for me to come out and get in the car, so we could go to Papa’s funeral. Yes, that Papa of the soap and cuckoo clock. Cuckoo, Papa, Cuckoo! (That link leads to all the posts I have written here that mentioned him since I started this blog in 2006.) I took the picture between doing my face and doing my hair. That’s why it’s in the clip. I stopped to get some moral encouragement from Ang. and then didn’t post it right away because I….got up to do my hair.

I did enjoy the time with my mom. We talked our heads off on the way up, and we were very early, so I was able to go to the cemetary and see Aunt Janey’s grave. And Daddy’s. I’m glad of that. I stood during the service, and I think my knees might have buckled under me if I had looked over and seen Janey’s marker without knowing it was right there before hand. I wasn’t living here when she died, so I didn’t know until yesterday where it was.

Then we did what nervous women do best, when they decide not to eat—we shopped! Lord have mercy, we shopped. And we bought clothes in the color of hot pink. Wanna see? There are shoes in there. Yeah, I thought you’d say yes. Here ya go:

And we talked some more on the way home. I learned a lot of stuff about this crazy mixed up thing that is my family. And we love each other anyway. UNCONDITIONALLY, Aunt Marie, UNCONDITIONALLY!