An wonton heirloom lustily lays atop a bed of greens , edged in hues of red, and swirls of white, then fading to wisps of orange. Pickled shades of indigo and violet cuddle under a yellow blanket and here and there blue veins burst through crumbling chunks of stinky white.
Mmmmmmm. You’re damn straight its all good in the neighborhood.
You should know that I am a master of distraction. This affliction, and sometimes boon, makes “thinking” anywhere quite easy for me. Others have called my super power such thing as “not being present”, “adult attention deficit disorder”, and “rude”.
These are all mean words and phrases, and they are all true. My ‘gift’ of distraction is not innate but situational, akin to a person who runs fast only when being chased.
My powers of distraction allow me to me to be a visitor to many moments but rarely a resident. But I’m about to move in and that crumb bum (me) to the curb. Actually, these diary style Daily Prompts are like a runner putting miles on his legs just to start training for the marathon. I’ve ran a marathon. Now I want to write one.
What does “happiness” look like to you?
Well this is all about when you read the prompt isn’t it? I glanced at this prompt this morning and had a different idea as to what I wanted to write about. I don;t remember what that was. Its much later now and my infant is just getting to sleep. Too late for me to veg out with some good ole bad sci-fi and I gotta say I’m none too pleased.
So, “happiness”, for me, right at this moment is the utter quiet in my apartment. Happiness is not wondering what the neighbors think of my late night baby working out her lungs. Happiness is the sound of the keys fulfilling one more day of of daily posts.
I’m already looking forward to tomorrows happiness. A hot cup of steaming black coffee. No sugar because I seem to gain a pant size for every year into my forties I live. And there goes the “happiness”
no “happiness” was consumed during the writing of this blog.
I have to respond to this Daily Prompt with a story.
My beloved Seahawks had a few bad games this season. One home game in particular they won but had a very poor offensive showing against a team many felt should have been handily beaten. A friend commented on how I must acknowledge that it was a good game. I responded how I often do when told I must do something by dropping an F bomb and the personal pronoun you. My friends argument rested on the premise that I was reacting as fan of the Seahawks and not as a fan of football. To this I responded with a resounding “fucking a”. I am celebrated in my circle of friends for such pithy retorts.
And now we get closer to the reason for this post. Another third person was present for the football argument but not involved. The third person was not someone I had just met, but the question he asked during the heated exchange of properly evaluating the merits of a good football game, assured me that I would always like him.
Just as the debate crept over the line of friendly but boisterous to mean and personal, this hitherto spectator asked, “Jimmie, what do you do for a living?”. “I’m a wedding planner” came out smooth and dainty, and like a lace trimmed doily dusted the tension away in clouds of laughter.
Its true that I am a wedding planner. And here we finally arrive at my Beyond the Pale story. In 2012 I took a position at an events space that does a lot of weddings and by default became a wedding coordinator. My Beyond the Pale is one) learning to bustle a wedding dress, and two) reaching into the gowns of mom’s and grandmothers to pin boutonnieres to bra straps.
Bustling a wedding dress in necessary so the bride can walk around with more ease by raising the back of the dress upward so that it doesn’t drag on the ground. This means getting your hands up under the dress. Often there is fabric under the outer dress and above the skirt of the dress, thereby making bustling a modest affair that can be done anywhere. But not always. Sometimes there is little left to the imagination as to what the groom, and more than once, what the bride’s bride (love wins!), will see later that evening. And that is Pale indeed. I’ll do it again because that is my job. My clients need to know that I can handle whatever comes up, or whatever I need to go up. Its the biggest day of their lives and any hiccup can cause anxiety.
Pinning the mom’s isn’t so much a Pale as it is comic relief. The common response to my warning of “I’m going in” are the myriad variations of “at least someone is”. Also comic relief are the husbands just out of my focus watching me stick my hand inside their wives gowns. My only fear in this task is one day sticking a mom with the pin. Worse than hurting the mom would be getting blood on the gown. What if they want to return it?
(no moms were hurt in the writing of this daily post)
Honesty is almost never the best policy, other than being honest with ones self, or when asked by your boss why petty cash is short $50. I might have that last one backwards.
The problem with always being honest is other people. Most people don’t want to hear the truth, or ask question to which they never intended a truthful response. The measure of telling the truth should be how much that truth will help the recipient and your intentions for being the truth crier. There is no deep knowledge to the fact that the truth hurts. If you are not willing to take responsibility for the wounds inflicted then leave the truth someone that will.
I will now stop down from my soap box and tell you true that this post sucks.
(no bloggers were hurt in the writing of this daily post)
When you look back at your blog on January 2, 2015, what would you like to see?
I want to see 200+ posts and a following of subscribers. From that pool of readers I hope to meet collaborators, illustrators, and ideally a writing partner for my fiction work. I tend toward world creating leaving plot stunted if not totally ignored.
I have too many things I want to say and very little motivation, until I get into a rhythm. So I plan to post every day, even if that post is only a paragraph long. Hell, an original quote will do. You can only improve as a writer by writing and that is my ultimate goal for January 2, 2015. I want to see a noticeable improvement in my writing. The plot development, prose, the ability to use my voice and not devolve into flowery language, which isn’t me.
Also, I would like to be far less dependent on spell checker and a much better typer.
I have two daughters, a seven year old and three month old. I am not struck by my daughters overwhelming beauty when I look them. I do however experience an almost paralyzing fear of how much I have already screwed them up. The paralysis is largely due to two things. One, I am a slow learning. Two, there is so much more time for me to screw them up even more.
This blog will not be a sarcastic walk around all the new ways of being ‘present’. Nor will I be exploring the abundance model, the mindful paradigm, or any other parlance of the times, as I heard a man once say. These are my mistakes as a dad, put down here so I can practice the art of story telling and so you can laugh your way around the same bad decisions.
A friend of mine says that I am a great uncle but a terrible father. He drops sarcasm bombs on me all the time. The ‘Great Uncle’ comment is followed by a smile that suggests a joke, then quickly dissolves into a deadpan stare. Its confusing because you don’t know if its a perfectly timed joke or a cowardly way of telling me the truth. So I guess the best title for this part of my blog is The Great Uncle. Yeah. I like that and to be honest I found it just as I was writing this intro.
The Great Uncle: or Great Uncle. Bad dad.