 Solitude |
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When I feel a lull between entries, weekends are the easiest place to start. So, my weekend. I went to Hobby Lobby on Friday afternoon to buy supplies for my new craft, marble magnets. They are kind of stupid, but I think they're fun. Except that I hate the marbles that I bought. They're allegedly clear, but they're really smudgy and annoying and sometimes completely obscure the image. So I need to re-think this type of marbles. (I've read that acrylic cabochons are better because they're perfectly clear, but the thought of spending $15 on them pains me.) But let me tell you, the Queer Eye magnets that are already adorning my fridge make me happy and proud. I stopped by my parents' to look through some more pictures for my wall, and my mom gave me my grandmother's journals from 1984 through 2000. (I mentioned them in this entry. Note to sister: I'm certain I'm not her favorite grandchild. I think Mom probably says that to all of us.) It took my mom a while to part with them, obviously, but not because she was sitting around reading them. The first time she opened them was when we looked through a few of them Friday night, and I burst into tears every few minutes. These are journals with the days already stamped in them, and on Father's Day one year, she wrote across the page in huge letters, diagonally in her strange script, "I MISS DADDY. HE UNDERSTOOD ME." And that's all she wrote on that day. And I burst into tears. And I pointed out to my mom how often she mentions her going to visit, or bringing her to our house, or talks about how wonderful she is. And I know that made my mom feel good. But overall, it was just sad. She talks about the weather a lot, and about saying the rosary and about her knee or her back hurting or how she couldn't sleep the night before. I couldn't read very much of them, but my God, I don't think there's anything I'm more honored to have in my possession. After looking through some pictures and the journals and bawling for a little while, I headed home with a plate of my mom's tuna salad, which I ate covertly because the one table food that my cats are obsessed with is tuna salad. I considered letting them lick the plate, but the last thing I need in my life is more pet barf. I then settled into bed with Once More with Feeling, cursing my VCR and wondering if this will ever come out on DVD. As usual, I found new favorite parts, but I really do think that the little smile and laugh Giles does after Buffy sings, "Hey, I've died twice," cannot be surpassed in terms of its greatness. I followed that masterpiece with an old Once and Again episode that I taped after it. "Gardenia." In it, Katie (Mischa Barton, who was SO much better on this than on The O.C., but that does not mean I do not love The O.C. anyway) tells Jessie about Billie Holiday, and how she was enigmatic and always wore a gardenia in her hair. And Jessie sings God Bless the Child. And Rick and Lily are married and Karen is depressed as shitty shit shit. And she's on medication and in therapy and lonely and sad and worried about her children whom she feels are slipping away from her. And she's having one happy moment walking down the street and she gets hit by a car! Fuck. And Susanna Thompson gets nude, talks about running in black and white, and has a gorgeous, incredible body. And she thinks of three things she loves, and she says, "Jessie's face." And then, "Jessie's face." And then, when he walks into her hospital room after they've been having horrible fights, she says, "Eli." And it fades out. And I really, really, really, really loved this show. And if they don't release anything past season one on DVD, I will throw a large, heartbroken tantrum. I decided my VCR needed to be put to the test, so I popped in the 1982 version of The Scarlet Pimpernel that I have been obsessed with since the age of seven, but I think I passed out before the first "sink me." I was beat. On Saturday, I went to some crappy garage sales. I went to Albertson's and spent $1 million on groceries and reminded myself why I usually shop at superstores even though I loathe them. I went to Michael's and bought a hole punch for my magnets. I went to a cute dress store and bought a dress on sale for $12 and a pink bracelet. I went to Babies R Us and did the shopping for a work shower. I went out with J. that night, a night out that did not end until 6 in the morning when I lied that I had to go to early mass and drove him home. It's kind of a long story, but the gist of it is captured in this email that I sent to him yesterday:
Nice. After I brought him home, I slept until noon after getting exactly zero hours of sleep the night before, went to the Y to swim out some of my angst, went to a Mary Kay party, washed down four pink cookies with pink lemonade, bought some lip gloss, and actually went to mass. The wacky priest called the mortified young piano player who is basically the only reason I ever go to mass, he is so awesome, up to the front of church and said, "This young man doesn't use any sheet music. Do you?" The red-faced pianist shook his head. The priest then asked him to play a few minutes of "Amazing Grace" for us, just because. "Do you know that one by heart?" The kid paused, nodded. For some reason, we laughed. And then he played, and it was mystical, it was gorgeous, I was overcome. I had a clear view of his hands, and I couldn't even keep up with what he was doing. He didn't play anything remotely resembling the melody, but it was there, and somehow we could hear it in and out of his magical playing. I tried to blink back my tears, but I felt them shoot down my face saw them land on the lap of my khaki skirt. I tried to wipe them away discreetly but they just kept coming. And I don't even particularly care for that song. But this kid. He is something else. And it helped me to think of him as something other than that incredible kid whom I booked to play at my wedding. He is amazing and if he ever leaves this church I will have to follow him. And everyone clapped so maniacally when he was done that I really thought there was going to be a standing ovation right there in the middle of mass, for Christ's sake. The priest said to him, "When I get to heaven, I want to sit next to you at the piano." It was a fucking nice moment, I have to say. Not to mention the fact that he is kind of hot. I made chicken fajitas when I got home and watched Broadway's Lost Treasures on LPB, and it was delicious. I highly recommend it. I was thunderstruck by how much Andrea McArdle (the original Annie) resembles Frankie Muniz (she's the bottom one in this picture), and I cannot help it, because even though I find a lot of Cats intolerable, I always get a little excited by "Jellicle Cats," and Betty Buckley is just astonishingly good, and seeing her from sixth row center as Norma Desmond is something I will never forget. And I sincerely was so roused by his passion that I almost stood up and started marching around the room when Mandy Patinkin came out and started belting "A New Argentina." I know some of you people hate Andrew Lloyd Webber A LOT, but not all of the performances feature his stuff, and this program was so enjoyable to me that I almost could not stand it. I am such a freak that when Joel Grey came on, I said to Khaki, "I stood right next to him walking in to see Titanic!" And then I clarified to her, "The musical, not the movie." And then when Tommy Tune came on, I said to Marley, "I saw him in Bye, Bye, Birdie!" And then I added, "And the emcee pulled him out of the audience when I went to see Cabaret, which Joel Grey was in, but not when I saw it!" The cats just blinked at me and yawned. For dessert, I ate a Weight Watchers ice cream sandwich mashed up with a mini-bag of M&Ms that I won at the Mary Kay party when the director gave us a quiz and asked us what M&M stand for in May Kay-ese, and I shouted, "Motivation and meetings!" Or something like that. I have blocked it out. But damn, the candy was good. Before bed, I reread some more of The Secret Life of Bees and fell in love with it again with every page. Which brings me today. Yoga tonight. Over and out.
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