I’ve been away from home since the last week of July. Today, my charmed carriage turns back into a Kansas pumpkin and by tonight, I’ll be sitting alone in my little house talking to the Yorkies about what’s been going on in my life since I last saw them.
They aren’t very good listeners. They are easily distracted by things they think look like bunny rabbits – like shoes and chairs and my false eyelashes when I peel them off and stick them to random things around the house.
My son, the Big Dog, will be heading over to his Dad’s tonight for an indefinite period of time. As school and football start Monday, and there is also work and a girlfriend (who is cuter than a speckled pup) to contend with, I may not see him again until he crosses the stage at graduation.
I hope I remember what he looks like.
As I sit here in a Starbucks on Michigan Avenue in Chicago, I’m mentally listing all the reasons it might be a bad idea to walk up to the man in the blue T-shirt drinking what I hope is a manly black coffee and not a sissy froo-froo drink like a non-fat iced Chai, and ask him what size wedding ring he wears. He’s not particularly handsome, but the giant scar across his neck looks like he might have been in a knife fight and for some reason that appeals to me.
If I’m gonna jump ship and get lost in Chicago, I may as well marry a man who can protect me in a prison break.
Returning to Kansas today, and to the little house with the little dogs and loudest silence I’ve ever experienced, makes me so sad I don’t dare even tell you or I may as well rename my blog Wiping the Tears and Snot Off My Face.
Even though my son is still in high school, I rarely see him. He’s like a teenage Big Foot. The only way I know he still lives with me is the pile of dirty clothes he leaves for me as a token of his appreciation for giving birth to him. The moment he got wheels under him, I started spending a lot of time alone. When he met the dark-haired girl with eyes as big as saucers and a smile that makes everyone around her smile, I developed a new respect for the power of biology. I remind myself daily that a seventeen-year-old son who wants to spend time with his Mom is in reality a future pansy husband whose wife hates his Mother.
Is pansy still a word? If not, I’m bringing “pansy” back to blogging. You’re welcome.
I’m in a period of honest to goodness transition and self-exploration. Who am I? Where am I going? What does my future hold? How many iced coffees can I have this morning before my heart spontaneously explodes?
The HGTV show airs in October. While I’d love to believe some TV exec will be sitting around that night channel-surfing and will be compelled to scream out to his man-servant Jyles, “THERE ARE THE STARS OF MY NEW SHOW!” I can’t exactly bet the farm on it. After all, JD and I don’t bake extreme cakes, or cupcakes, or even microwave pizzas.
We don’t own a pawn shop, we aren’t prone to getting drunk and stupid on the Jersey Shore, and I’ve never been a Real Housewife even when I was one. I was born without the Martha Stewart girl gene, so I have no sense of any kind of style – personal or home and frankly JD is even worse. And please believe me when I tell you Lord knows I’m not eating larvae or sheep intestines or eyeballs of any kind, no matter how many dollars that kind of work pays.
What else is there on TV for a nearly fifty-year-old bad dresser from the South who wears too much make-up, can’t sing to save her life and travels around with a male companion whose relationship baffles and confuses everyone who meets them. (Are you dating? Is he gay? Are you friends? Are you siblings?)
JD says our destiny is a show called “Sherindipity”.Â (I guess I’ll be Sher and he’ll be Dipity.) He says our love of travel, of meeting people, of being good to people, and of laughing, will all come together and we’ll give folks across the country a reason to feel good again in the midst of a lot of sadness. He sees it as kind of Queen for a Day, even if you’re a King. Want to throw a giant backyard party for your friends? JD and I will show up at your front door and help you shop for cups and ice. Do you wish you could zipline in Hawaii with your long lost identical cousin (who, by the way, should really alert you as to the kind of man your Dad was)? We’ll go together.
It’ll be feel good TV like Extreme Home Makeover, but without the need to live in a shack because you lost your left arm saving a homeless man in a fire while giving mouth to mouth to a Kitten. As fantastic as that show is it’s not my cup of tea because no one gets to laugh. Let’s face it – ugly guttering and exposed wiring is never funny.
The desire of my heart, when it comes down to it, is to spend as much time in the future being with new people and finding as many ways to bless them and make them smile as I possibly can. I want to laugh LOUDLY every single day, and make other people laugh. I want to see this entire country, every little nook & cranny. Everywhere I go, I want to leave it a little better than I found it.
But most importantly, I want to go back to the hotel room right now because (little known fact) gallons of iced coffee create a real sense of urgency. Who knew?