An Aries Knows (this site is more fun when people read and comment)
Today’s coffee cup (it’s blurry; so am I), brought to you by Tom, is from Alonti Cafe and Catering. It was part of a gift bag he received a few years ago while he was working on a Habitat for Humanity home through AIDS Foundation Houston. AFH is the third HIV/AIDS assistance organization with whom Tom has volunteered over the past eleven years. I think he’s a stand-up guy, that Tom. He can’t be doing it for the coffee cups, because we have an abundance.
My in-laws are in town. They, and the rest of us at The Compound, gave your ziti with two cheeses all thumbs up. Thanks!
For several days now, Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” has been a constant refrain playing through my head. In hopes of ridding myself of this earworm–even though it’s a good one–here’s one of my few posts that actually reveals personal information about my past. I’m sure I’ll only leave it up for a day or two before I become horrified and make it private and inaccessible.
One thing about Tom and me having no kids… There’s no captive audience for our longass boring stories. And you are free, too–you can save yourself by not reading:
Have I put this photo in my LJ before? No matter. I’ve been inspired by a brilliant writer, Mark Harris, who just sent Tim and me a copy of the children’s book Corduroy, which Mark calls “the most compelling love story ever.” He’s right.
The photo below is Dr. Neil. Dr. Neil is the brown and…er…dirty bear. He was a gift to me when I was three years old and in the hospital. He came from my Uncle Gerald, who was the first person who ever called me “a writer.”
Uncle Gerald was a writer. He was a frequent contributor to a newspaper column. He wrote essays and poems. He wrote wonderful letters. He encouraged me to write letters to him, pored over them for any evidence that I had talent with words, and encouraged me in every way possible. NEVER doubt the positive effect and influence your praise can have on a child, because Uncle Gerald changed and shaped my life. Along with my parents, he taught me to call myself a writer long before I had the right. (So, Mark, if you’re reading this? Any encouragement you feel you’ve gotten from me? There’s a direct line back to Uncle Gerald.)
Uncle Gerald died when I was sixteen. But he’s alive to me every time I write. I owe him so much. And when I look at Dr. Neil, I smile at the memory of this man who, even with three children of his own and dozens more nieces and nephews, took the time to show one little girl that he loved her and wanted her to get well.
In this photo, Dr. Neil has a friend on his lap. That friend is Oscar, the battered, barely there bear of my San Diego friend Steve (the one who visited us last fall). But Oscar’s story is Steve’s to tell.
Eighteen years ago today, Tom and I were hanging out with these people…
And of course, opening these…
Today’s coffee cup, brought to you and me by my brother sometime around 1980.
And for clever LJ readers, behind Garfield, on my monitor, words from Tim that you’ll see again in the next TJB novel sometime in the fall of 2007.
Thank you.
see photos
Sometime Friday, I took pity on Guinness’s panting self, closed the windows, and turned on the air conditioner. I’d been putting it off to spite the profiteers. Today, I left The Compound for the first time since… I don’t know when. Wednesday? And HOLY CRAP IT’S HOT. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I’ve been sick.
My mother has been reading poems to a mentally challenged resident of “Shady Pines,” and she wanted to know if I had any books of children’s poetry, because these are apparently favorites. The last time I entrusted any of my children’s books to my mother, I ended up with little golden spines and nothing else–some kind of book-eating bastard bug in the place where she stored my stuff. Not that I’m BITTER or anything, but no, not even for a mission of mercy can she have the meager remnants of my early years. So I went to Half Price Books and bought three volumes of children’s poems. That should keep them busy for a while.
Because I’m not leaving the house again until October.
Even though I’m not a mother, I kind of experience some mom things. Like…I’m rarely in holiday photos because I’m always taking them. In the photo albums, there are more pictures of the “kids” (in this case, dogs and Tim) than of the “parents” (me and Tom).
I’m the one who willingly cooks, organizes occasions, bakes birthday cakes. And I’m the one who does stuff like this…
…with a complete sense of acceptance that it likely won’t be done for me.
Since my own mother recently moved into “Shady Pines,” my resignation to being the grown-up who won’t get treated to kid things has become more entrenched. So imagine my surprise when I got to her apartment yesterday to find this:
Continue reading “More springishness”