This post is full of pictures, so if you’re a member of the GET OVER IT camp, you are permitted to peace out now. :) I AM ACCOMMODATING EVEN IN MY EMOTIONAL STUPOR! Anyway, this is one of the walls in the den, featuring some framed baby prints of yours truly. Also my aunt Susie and some old people. The den is one of the only…how do you say…subdued rooms in the house. The wall paper in that room is textured, and I used to always scratch it with my nails, probably while watching HUNTER, who knows. I would be lying if I said I haven’t been sneaking in some gentle wall-scratches lately. Creature comforts, old habits, etc.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve pinched my fingers in that goddamn gate!
GIRRRRL, cover up.
Sharon was way into Cabbage Patch Kids in the 80s. She used to fly to Babyland, USA once a year to buy whatever those special ones were, I don’t know. I was never into it, even though she tried to get me to be. She bought me a preemie once (how weird is it now to think that you could get “premature” versions of Cabbage Patch Kids??) and I thanked her by repeatedly bashing its head off the road in front of my old house in South Park. (Sylvania Dr., holla!)
Henry found a drawer with a stash of Cabbage Patch Kids birth certificates the other day and just sighed.
When I was really young, the Christmas tree was in this room and we ate in the adjacent dining room. But then my grandma started inviting less people so we started having more informal Christmases on the porch. I didn’t care where the tree was as long as there was a veritable toy store wrapped underneath it with MY NAME on it.
I’ve really been trying to take advantage of the situation by spending as much time over there as possible. Henry keeps saying that I’m too involved, too immersed, too obsessed…maybe the obsessed part is true, but I firmly believe that this is where I need to be right now, taking the time to go through the drawers and closets, remembering my old plastic bowling set that I used to play with on the indoor porch; the paper mache mail holder I made for my grandma (which is still intact 30+ years later!); the smell of the cedar closet where my old, baby fur coats still hang.
I gotta find that Bruce Willis cassette.
I am grateful for this time I was given, in spite of the circumstances. Plus, Corey and I collected a shitload of new hashtags that mean nothing to no one but crack us the fuck up.#SMELLMYGLOVE #POSTALBINSORGTFO #GOFUCKYOURSELF #DAWNSBLOCKOFCHEESE
But on a happier note, here are some things I’ve brought home and I promise to give them many more years of life.
My Aunt Sharon was apparently really into Magnum PI in the 80s and always had this padded Tom Selleck…art piece (?) hanging on her wall. Henry found it in a closet last weekend and I was like, “I HAVE TO HAVE THIS.” I mean, c’mon. First, Chooch was like, “This is hideous.” Then, Chooch was like, “Can we hang him in my room?”
“DO YOUR FUCKING HOMEWORK OR FACE THE WRATH OF THE ‘STACH, BOY!”
I promised Henry I wouldn’t take every single clown in the house even though he so very sweetly (and smartly) said he didn’t care either way, but there are several that I do want to keep because MEM’RIES.
LIGHT THE CORNERS OF MY MIND.
(This whole thing is bringing out my inner Old Person.)
And this beaut! I’m no doll expert, but Kara put on her Creepy Doll Investigator’s Hat, jammed a cigar in her mouth, and reported back that this is a Little Miss No Name doll, and that the ones with the tears are rare!
She fits in super well in my house.
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